"They succeeded." I sniffed. "This place stinks-"

"Like a New Orleans cathouse." Someone muttered behind me, I didn't turn to see who it was.

"Yeah," I agreed, "not that I've been to one," I added hurriedly, "but it's like someone is wearing way too much perfume." Cloying was the word for it.

"Too much of my grandmother's perfume." Adams wrinkled her nose.

"The designers want the crew to be reminded of their biological nature with visual, scent and tactile clues.  Instead of touch screens, all the controls are physical knobs and buttons, which even your society considers old fashioned. Having to touch and turn a knob, a knob that is cold and rough to the touch, and resists being turned enough for the user to feel the torque, constantly reminds the user that he or she needs to think in biological terms. In high pressure situations, which are the only situations in which the Thuranin would use this backup control center, the crew must suppress their instincts to use cybernetics. In an emergency maneuver, pilots here need to have their brains immediately send a signal to their fingers on the controls, and not first waste a split second trying to control the navigation system through their implants."

"Can you turn up the ventilation, to suck this stink out?" I asked. "And it smells musty like the elevator."

"It's musty because this compartment is not used often. I have deactivated the scent emitters, and the ventilation is on full. Leaving the door open will help, I calculate your noses will go scent blind within the hour, and the scent will have dispersed below detectible levels by tomorrow. If one of your females becomes pregnant, with her enhanced sense of smell she may be able to still-"

"That's not going to be a problem, Skippy." I shared a side look with Simms, and looked around. The backup control center was roughly oval shaped, with a central oval section walled off by floor to ceiling windows, or what looked like windows. In the central section were three of what looked like pilot chairs, and a larger chair behind them, all surrounded by control stands. Ringing the central section, and facing the glass, were workstations with chairs, chairs that were too small for human backsides. "Are the flight controls in that glassed-in area?"

"Yes, that is the core of the backup control-"

"That name is too long, we'll call the core section the bridge, and the rest of this the CIC." I declared. Chang and Simms nodded agreement.

Captain Desai settled into one of the three pilot couches, it was a tight fit for her, even with Skippy extending the couch open to its maximum size. "It's all right, sir, I'll manage. I'm more concerned about all this," she gestured to the confusing array of manual controls surrounding her.

"Most of these controls are for subsidiary systems that I'm handling," Skippy assured her, "we'll begin with the basic controls, the jump drive first."