Abandoning his plan for sleep, the commander retraced his steps back to the lounge.
Gabriel was still sitting there, sprawled in an easy chair with his head tipped back, staring at the ceiling.
“Are you feeling all right, Gabriel?” the commander said, speaking gently.
While some of the Legionnaires were borderline hypochondriacs, others were more like children, hiding it when they felt ill rather than reporting to the ship’s doctor.
“What? Oh. No, I feel fine, sir,” Gabriel said, suddenly aware that he was no longer alone with his thoughts.
“Is there something bothering you?” Phule pressed. “Anything you’d like to talk about?”
The Legionnaire hesitated. “It’s … well … I’m afraid, sir. Of this.”
He made a vague gesture, encompassing the air in front of him.
“I … I’m not sure I understand.” Phule frowned. “What is it you’re afraid of? The new assignment?”
“No … this,” the man said, repeating his gesture. “You know … space travel.”
“I see,” the commander said. He had encountered nervous travelers in the past, but not recently, and he tended to assume that everyone was as accustomed to space travel as he was. “Haven’t you ever been on a ship before?”
“Sure,” the Legionnaire said. “A couple of times. But it always affects me the same way. I keep thinking about what will happen if anything goes wrong. Life pods may be effective for interplanetary travel, but for interstellar, we wouldn’t stand a chance. The only choice would be between dying fast or slow.”
Phule thought for a moment, then heaved a sigh.