Restoring the Internet

At first light I cleaned the Starlink terminal, clipped into a safety line and considerably more aware of my own limbs than I usually am before breakfast. The South China Sea provided the setting. The birds had provided the substance. I had provided the questionable judgement that led me to volunteer, though by then the only sensible course was to get on with it.

The work was wet and unpleasant, exactly as Priya had promised. There was a certain grim reassurance in finding her description so accurate. She supervised from a distance close enough to be useful and far enough to laugh privately. I could not prove the laughter, but I know the difference between a neutral expression and one being maintained through professional effort.

The terminal restarted. The internet returned. These were wonderfully clean outcomes to emerge from such an unclean beginning. I felt a modest glow of accomplishment, together with a stronger desire to put the immediate sensory details behind me. There are contributions to shipboard life that sound better in summary than they feel while one is making them. This was emphatically one of those.

I was applauded in the mess and immediately asked whether I could now fix the coffee machine. I cannot. It is important to establish the limits of a newly acquired reputation before people build plans around it. Priya had made sure I was properly supervised through the task I could manage. I would prefer not to reward that confidence by dismantling something that serves hot drinks and has done nothing to deserve me.