“This is CERV One, officially known as crew emergency reentry vehicle one, affectionately known as a lifeboat,” said Stanley, with just a trace of the outback in his voice. He had awkwardly turned himself around so that he could see the fifteen panting souls pressed shoulder to shoulder along the padded walls. One of the women was clutching a flimsy robe to her hunched-over body. A newcomer, O’Donnell recognized her from the flight up. This sure discourages you from sleeping in the nude, he told himself wistfully.
Stanley ignored the blonde’s dishabille. “You’ll notice that it is not very comfortable, not elaborately instrumented, and allows almost zero visibility. It isn’t designed for sightseeing jaunts. It’s designed to take sixteen people to Earth in case of an emergency.
“There are four CERVs docked at all times. Another one is across the tunnel, two more are at the far end of the tunnel. You are all designated for CERV One. In the event of an evacuation order, you come here from wherever you are. Understand?”
There were murmurs of assent. Ramsanjawi snorted. His hands worked at the harness, but the buckles kept bouncing away from each other.
“Problems, Dr. Ramsanjawi?” asked Stanley.
“This damnable buckle is defective.”
“None of them ever seem to work for you,” Stanley said.
O’Donnell, strapped into the harness next to Ramsanjawi, helped snap the buckle into place, his nostrils twitching at the cloying perfume that overlaid a more pungent body odor. Ramsanjawi scowled.
“This drill took forty seconds,” said Stanley. “Excluding Dr. Ramsanjawi’s continuing tribulations. Not bad, but there is room for improvement.”
“When do we learn to fly it?” asked a tech.
“You don’t. All you need to know is how to get into it, and fast. As for flying, each crewman is a certified CERV pilot. The training takes six months. All right—that’s it until next time.”
One by one, the people unharnessed themselves and filed out until only Ramsanjawi remained.
“May I have permission to linger and familiarize myself with these buckles?”
“Not a bad idea after tonight’s performance,” said Stanley.
Ramsanjawi fiddled with a harness until Stanley was gone. Then he settled into the pilot’s seat. The controls were rudimentary—flat panel displays and two hand controllers, one a T-handle for maneuvering and the other a pistol grip for attitude control. Six months training in order to fly this contraption. Ridiculous! He could fly it right now, if the situation arose.