"James White - Lifeboat" - читать интересную книгу автора (White James)

books you brought along."
"You'll be lucky."
Prescott ignored both the anger and the ambiguity in Mercer's reply. He said,
"I hope so. But you are going to have company in a moment and I haven't time
to chat, even to overexposed ministering angels. See you."
Mercer turned as the First Officer continued his climb to the cone. The two
hostesses who had been checking and strapping in the passengers on arrival
were just a little overexposed, and neither could hold a candle to Mrs.
Captain. Or maybe it was just that his artistic appreciation had been deadened
by the recent exchange with Prescott. He nodded, uncomfortably aware that his
face was still red.
"The passengers are settled in, sir," said the darkhaired one. "All have been
given medication, but you might keep an eye on Mr. Saddler and Mr. Stone, who
may be trying to prove something-I think they palmed their capsules."
Mercer nodded without speaking.
"Don't let him bother you, sir," said the blonde one, reading his expression
if not his mind. "He is an exceptionally good officer, believe it or not, even
if he does lack charm."
"Surely," said Mercer, "you aren't his mother?"
The girl laughed. "No, and nobody said they loved him. But we have to go now
and separate the Collingwoods-they swing in the boarding gantry in five
minutes. Good luck, sir."
"And good hunting," added the other.
When they had gone Mercer stood for a moment looking slowly around the
passenger deck, feeling lonely despite being knee-deep and surrounded within a
wall to wall carpet of people, most of whom were staring at mm. This is just
like the simulator, he told himself firmly, complete with ship noises, muted
countdown from the wall speakers, the paint and plastic smell of the
acceleration couches, and the pressure of cool, artificially fresh air on his
face-exactly the same, except that the couches were not being occupied by
bored junior clerks from the administration building next door and the sounds
and smells were real.
His job now was to give real comfort and reassurance to his charges, not just
the simulated kind.
According to the instruction book and the psychologist who had taken him
through it, it was a simple job. At this stage the passengers were already
wrapped in broad acceleration webbing; even the shape of the couches was
reminiscent of a cradle, and the calm, competent figure of a ship's officer
moving among them was a father-figure tucking them in for the night. Greeting
them individually by name, making a perfunctory check on the tightness of
their straps, asking if they were comfortable, and dealing, very briefly, with
any special problems they might have was all that was necessary to reassure
them at this time.
At this time, his psychologist-instructor had added drily, he had over forty
people to process pre-flight-wise and less than sixty minutes to do it in, so
there was just not the time to undertake deep analysis.
Surprisingly, it was simple.
The couches were laid out parallel and with the passengers' heads pointing in
the same direction so that they could all watch the large projection screen
set on the underside of the deck above. The walking space between them was