A steward with a holographic data link waited at the branch corridor to Bay 32, Chekoumian’s lifeboat station. Chekoumian turned toward him, following the arrow. The link zeeped as it compared the passenger’s features with those stored within the ship’s AI.
“In here quickly,” the steward called, though Chekoumian was already past him. “Quickly quickly, please.”
The lifeboat’s hatch was broad enough for passengers to board six-abreast in stumbling panic. The interior fighting was dim compared to the bright corridor, but an illuminated yellow arrow slid swiftly down the central aisle to the only empty seat in the 50-place vessel.
Gray faces stared at the newcomer from the occupied places. Many of the passengers carried bundles, quickly gathered from their cabins. Though the announcement had been clear that this was only an exercise, lifeboat drill was unexpected and an unfamiliar event even to experienced travelers.
Chekoumian plumped into the empty place. The companion on his side of the aisle was a heavyset man with a sour expression, holding a disposable hologram reader.
The lifeboats’ seat pitch and width were minimal, since the little vessels were designed to accommodate as many people as possible and protect them against the shock of a hard landing. Chekoumian wriggled to settle himself.
He bumped his neighbor. “Sorry,” he muttered.
The hatch closed from either end. One of the panels rolled with a singing noise where something rubbed.
“That’s all right,” his companion answered, speaking Standard but with what Chekoumian took to be a Georgian accent. “If they don’t get us out of these sardine cans in another five minutes, though, I’ll walk before I lift with Trident again. I thought I was treating myself!”
“You’re from Tblisi?” Chekoumian said.
His eyes were adapting to the interior lighting. A sailor seated at the console in the bow carried on a conversation with the starliner proper. Apart from him, the lifeboat was a can containing passengers in four-abreast seating—and five in the last row, where the aisle ended.
“You bet,” his companion agreed, switching to Georgian. “Yuri Timurkanov, Gold Star Fisheries. You’re from Tblisi too?”
Timurkanov set his reader down on the armrest to shake Chekoumian’s offered hand. There wasn’t enough room. The reader clacked to the floor.
“Abraham Chekoumian,” the importer said. “And yes, from Tblisi, but I haven’t been home in five years. I’m going back to be married.”
He bent to pick up the hologram reader.
“Please?” a passenger nearer the bow called to the lone crewman. “When will we be able to leave, young man?”
“Oh, don’t bother with that thing,” Timurkanov said. “It’s last week’s news-load from Bogomil. It was the only thing I had along when the alarm sounded, but I must have read it a dozen times by now already.”
“They tell me that the exercise should only take a few more minutes, madam,” replied the crewman. He spoke loudly enough for everyone aboard the lifeboat to hear. “Then we’ll be able to return to our business. Believe me, this isn’t my idea of a good time either.”
“Tblisi news?” Chekoumian said as he poised with the reader in his hand.
“Last week’s Tblisi news,” his companion said in a tone of mild protest. “Want it? Go ahead.” He took the reader and ejected the data chip, which he handed to the importer.
“I had to make a quick run to Tellichery to install a new manager at my outlet here,” Timurkanov explained as Chekoumian inserted the news download into his own reader. “Half our exports are to Tellichery, you know. I came over on one of our cargo charters, but I decided to treat myself first class on the hop back.”
He looked around in disgust. “At least on The City of San Juan, I was only sharing my cabin with one other guy, not fifty.”
CLANG
Several passengers screamed.
“What the hell is that?” bellowed the well-dressed young man across the aisle from Chekoumian. When the fellow tried to stand up, he found that the restraint system clamped him solidly into his seat no matter how he poked or twisted.
“By the name of the Virgin!” Timurkanov said. “That was a lifeboat launching or I’m a Jew!”
“Please stay calm, ladies and gentlemen,” the crewman called. He had to shout to be heard. The timbre of his voice suggested that he hadn’t been thrilled by the sound either. “There’s nothing to be—”