Watching the Fire Drill

There was a fire drill today. I knew about it in advance, knew where I was supposed to be, and still experienced a small bodily disagreement with the alarm when it sounded. Apparently being told that a noise is practice does not prevent the older parts of your brain from making their own arrangements.

My passenger instructions came first. I reported as directed, was accounted for, and did not invent any additional duties for myself. Once that was settled, Priya arranged for me to watch from a safe position on the bridge. Watching, she emphasised. This was not an invitation to improve the procedure.

From upstairs

The scenario involved a reported fire below decks. There was no actual fire, no smoke for dramatic effect, and no special accommodation for my desire to see something exciting. There were radio calls, a response team, protective equipment, and people moving with the serious calm of a thing they had practised before.

From above, you could see how much happened without fuss. A person went to a locker. Another checked a connection. Somebody repeated a message back rather than simply assuming they had heard it correctly. The small details were the event.

I asked Priya whether it ever became routine. She said, "It should become familiar. Not casual."

I have been thinking about that distinction ever since.

The hoses were run out and tested as part of the exercise. A white stream of water curved beyond the rail into the sea. It looked tremendously satisfying from where I stood, which I kept to myself because I was attempting to maintain a grown person's relationship with the proceedings.

Below us, the team checked their equipment and continued. Above us, the bridge continued to manage the ship. We were passing well south of Shikoku, with the open Pacific ahead and other vessels providing entirely real things to pay attention to. The drill did not cause the rest of the world to pause politely.

After the all clear

The exercise finished with an all clear and a discussion I was not part of. Equipment was checked, cleaned, and put away. There was no cheering. I had the impression that a successful drill is one which leaves very little story to tell afterward.

Tiny found me later and asked whether I had enjoyed the view. I said enjoyed was probably the wrong word, but that the hose had looked impressive.

He grinned. "Thought you might say that."

Priya, who had arrived within hearing distance at precisely the inconvenient moment, looked between us. "Only if it is arranged properly. And only with supervision."

I had not asked to do anything. Technically.

She gave me the expression that means technicalities will not be admitted into evidence.

I returned to my cabin feeling reassured by people who knew what they were doing, and mildly embarrassed by how much I still wanted to hold the hose. Container was on my chair. She appeared to have completed her own emergency exercise by remaining exactly where she was.