An Excerpt ...

The ship took another dizzying roll and Davant braced himself against the desk, confirming what he already knew: the weather was shitty, it was blowing stink, and he didn’t want to leave his warm, dry, comfortable rack to stand four damn hours in the damn cold screaming damn wind.
This is not what you signed up for, he thought and he sucked in a deep breath, resigning himself to what he had to do as he lurched down the passageway.
The red night lights allowed him to see just enough and he stopped suddenly to avoid tripping over something just outside the door to the officer’s head. He leaned over and took a closer look. It was an inert, comatose Ensign Harvey Hobson, curled up on the deck in a fetal position. The side of the ensign’s pale seasick face was pressed against the bulkhead, and his chubby, clammy hands were clenched around an old gallon coffee can, now partially filled with vomit and bile.
Davant took a sideways look into the can and recognized the green peas from supper.