Laren"So why *is* it called Dropspace, anyhow?"
Stevens turned from the nav board a moment, face half-lit by the calculations scrolling by on the center screen, to flash his far younger compatriot a grin. "You remember that first time you crossed a Dropspace aperture?"
"Yeah, I spent about half my duty shift coughing in technicolor. Felt like my stomach just-"
"-Dropped." Stevens finished, a little smirk on his face. "One of the downsides of Dropspace. Something about the interspatial shift makes it feel like the floor falls out from under your belly, and your lunch tries to space itself. Usually succeeds."
"So, wait." The young woman's face slowly screwed itself into the sort of horror that only came with the realization of an ugly truth. "...You mean to tell me that that pre-Drop meal everyone insisted was traditional... was specifically so I could throw it up?" She heaved a frustrated sigh at that. "I should've crewed up on a slipship."
"People are assholes." Stevens agreed, a grin on his lips. As if on cue, the math on the nav console's screen blanked away, replaced by a star map to their destination. "Dropspace calculations complete - feeding them to the aperture generator." The newbie got one last look, grin stretching just a little wider. "How was lunch?"
"Fuck you, Stevens. Push the button."
Moments later, a yawning void opened, swallowing the ship entirely.