Stuart Nash grasped the metal handrail with both hands, convulsed, and through streaming eyes watched the remains of his breakfast vanish into the churning waters of the North Atlantic. Another spasm ran through his slight frame, but there was nothing left in his stomach to come up. He spat, vainly trying to clear the foul burning taste from his mouth. Beneath him, the research vessel Waylander surged and rolled as the vast cold grey waves jostled her. Spray prickled across Stu's face and the backs of his hands, the only parts of him exposed to the elements. His grip on the rail tightened. Before him there was only an endless vista of wild iron-grey sea, clouds scudding across a sky only a few shades lighter. Stu looked weakly out across the sea, and hated every square foot of it.
There were footsteps on the deck behind him, and a warm voice said, "Oh, shit, Stu, not again, man?"
"Afraid so, Zack," Stuart moaned. "I told you at the start, I don't sail well. I wanna go home."
"I don't blame you, " Zack said. "But wouldn't that look bad? I mean, you are the captain."
Opening: Steve Wright.....Continuation: Faceless Minion (mostly)