Same Ship, Different Day
By: David Sands (aka Beth Pipe)
An entry in The Sands of Time Writing Competition
Sadie Shaw, health and safety trainer on the Starship Athena, had delivered the same mandatory course 83 times. She knew this because her perky assistant, Cassie Bates, had decorated the breakroom whiteboard with a glittery ‘83 and Still Fire Free!’ sign.
Ahead lay a galactic week (6 days) of health and safety training. No one enjoys health and safety training. Especially not the trainers.
Cassie was standing in front of the class, handing out workbooks and safety lanyards like they were party favours. What she lacked in height she made up for with unbridled enthusiasm. Her twinkling green eyes peeked out from beneath an orange fringe that never quite did as it was told.
“Welcome, everyone!” she beamed. “By the end of this course, you’ll all be Level 1 Certified Safety Stars!”
Sadie sipped tepid coffee and wondered if climbing into the emergency escape pod right now would set a bad example. She’d read the manuals, she’d ‘dressed for the job she wanted’ with her brown hair neatly pulled back into a safe and secure plait and her boring flat shoes, but no one had noticed. No one ever noticed…except when things went wrong. Which they inevitably did.
The delegates were already assembled in Training Room 3B. The room was brightly lit with a whiteboard, holographic board, oversized 3D screen, and a giant simcube - a room within the room where delegates interact with life sized holographic simulations while everyone watches on big screens around the outside. No pressure then. There were also 4 desks, neatly set out, one for each delegate.
A large sign was attached to the wall which read: ‘DO NOT ATTACH ANYTHING TO THE WALLS’.
The delegates were milling around eating biscuits and taking it in turns to show a deep and meticulous interest in the sign.
Troy, an intern from the ‘Weapons (non-lethal)’ team had fallen through the door first, buzzing with nervous excitement. He was clutching a brightly coloured, clearly unused, notebook labelled ‘Safety Thoughts’, complete with a colour co-ordinated pen, from which the lid was already missing. It was widely thought that he couldn’t tell a pork pie from a phase pistol, but he never let that stop him careering into anything, and everything, usually headfirst.
Behind him stood Clyde, an exchange worker from Caton 8. His three large eyes rotated through different colours, changing each time he blinked: turquoise, magenta and ice-cold steel. He was lounging around with the nonchalance of someone responsible for a legendary antigravity forklift incident. Mainly because he was responsible for a legendary antigravity forklift incident. Specifically, one involving a Senator from Cassius Prime. Strong words had been exchanged and neither of them liked to talk about it.
Lazzo, a curiously rotund, and delightfully blue, reptilian from the swamps of BiFF Minor, was super excited about everything and had already ricocheted off 3 walls before taking his seat – the earth-level gravity setting on the ship was far lower than he was used to. He’d read all the pre-course materials, twice, and now sat vibrating with excitement from stem to stern, talons poised, ready to answer questions that hadn’t yet been asked, or possibly even thought of.
Meanwhile Perkins from the starship’s canteen had arrived late and was slumped in his chair. Short, wiry, and overflowing with attitude, his arms were tattooed with burn marks, and he emitted the energy of a man who had extended his lunchbreak beyond all reasonable limits and was now being forced back to his desk.
Finally, right at the back of the room sat Moster, the (t)rusty droid. With the exciting prime of his life at the tech hub far behind him, he was now consigned to serve as a ‘training support’ robot. The handy ‘Power Down’ button in the centre of his forehead offered a blessed release from the monotony.
Module 1: General Starship Safety
Sadie took a deep breath and put everything she had into generating a welcoming smile. Sadly, the effort proved too much, and it collapsed into something that fell somewhere between ‘friendly’ and ‘constipated.’ “Right... Let’s begin with the basics.”
As she flicked her wrist a giant holo-poster shot out from her cyber-bangle and bobbed in front of the whiteboard: ‘Do Not Lick the Power Conduits!’
Everyone stared in silence.
“Bit obvious?” muttered Perkins through a mouthful of crumbs – his emergency snack ration had bitten the dust early.
Troy’s hand shot up. “What if you thought it was a self-cleaning snack dispenser?”
Clyde rolled all his eyes. “Then, you’d be an idiot. And dead. But still an idiot.”
“But…” continued Troy, “isn’t it Grey for Systems, Green for weapons, Red for food…”
Rumour had it that Sadie’s ancestors were deeply religious. She channelled the patience of her forefathers: “Red, is the galaxy-wide colour for ‘touch this and die’”
Troy looked downcast. “So, what’s the colour for food dispensers?”
“Food is orange – except on Deck 8 where the canteen unilaterally changed the colour scheme because, and I quote, ‘it clashed with our uniforms’. I suggest we move onto hazard signs before Troy licks anything dangerous.”
“Why am I even here?” grumbled Perkins.
Sadie checked her notes. “It’s your annual refresher. Last month you tried to deep fry soup.”
“Whatever…”
Cassie cleared half the room with one bound, clicking her cyber bangle midair. Up popped a holographic image with ‘Be A Hazard Hero’ written in warm, friendly, letters.
“Image 1: Lightning bolt inside a glowing red triangle – any ideas what this means?” She beamed at the room.
Lazzo bounced twice then blurted out. “It’s a Class 5 Power Fluctuation Warning. Full hazard gear to be worn if you plan to go within 20 paces of it.”
“Top of the class! Cassie grinned, dug into her sticker stash and hurled one across the room, landing it neatly on his desk. ‘Warnings Ninja!’
Troy was squinted at the image; you could almost see the cogs turning. “So… definitely don’t lick it then?”
Sadie, saying nothing, reached for her notebook and doodled the word ‘Troy’ in blood-red ink…
“Next symbol” trilled Cassie. On the screen appeared a yellow triangle filled with vertical wiggly lines.
Perkins shifted in his chair and broke wind. “Too hot to touch.”
“Your chair, or was that the answer?” asked Clyde, fixing him with one eye, while the other two remained on the holo image.
“I work in a canteen. It’s literally my job.” He shifted again. The chair ‘creaked’ suspiciously.
Lazzo leapt into the awkward silence. “Fun fact. That symbol was updated after Perkins mistook a giant quiche for his hat and ended up in sickbay for a week.”
“It was a pizza…actually.” Sniffed Perkins.
Clyde leaned back and blinked his three eyes in sequence. “Do we really need these? I mean, if your species hasn’t evolved enough intelligence to know not to lick power conduits or wear hot food as a fashion statement then I’d argue that’s just natural selection at work.”
Cassie raised a finger and, in a sing-song voice, trilled. “On Starship Athena, inclusive safety is our dream-a.”
“So help me,” mumbled Sadie.
Cassie flashed the final symbol on the screen. It was a blue circle with a stick figure holding something elongated but indeterminate.
“Laser baguette!” yelled Troy
“Hot sausage!” chipped in Lazzo
“Conduit, possibly live.” intoned Clyde
“I really don’t care.” grumbled Perkins, searching in his bag for more emergency snacks.
“Clyde gets the sticker!” announced Cassie, launching a ‘Sign Supremo!’ sticker, which landed with perfect precision on his breast pocket.
“Alright,” said Sadie, scrambling for sanity. “What are today’s key takeaways?”
“Never wear red on an away mission?” Suggested Troy.
“Wrong ship.” She breathed deeply; she needed strength from her ancestors now more than ever. “Today’s takeaways are: Don’t lick anything you shouldn’t, I’m looking at you, Troy.” She peered over her glasses. “Keep food and headwear separate at all times…Perkins. And finally, and I really can’t believe that I need to say this, if something has a red sticker on it, don’t grab it and bite it just to see what it does.”
Cassie clapped. “Well done, team! That concludes Module 1.
The lights flickered.
Somewhere in the distance, something exploded, and the ship gently rocked.
“Not my circus, not my monkeys” breathed Sadie, as she packed away her paperwork.
Module 2: Mess Hall Etiquette, Fire (Pt1) and Food
Sadie stood at the front of Training Room 3B her laser pointer aimed roughly in the direction of a slide that read, in big colourful letters: ‘A Safe Starship is a Happy Starship.’
She recited, mantra-like, to herself, “The only way out, is through.”
Cassie, beaming like a binary sun and fuelled by excessive amounts of caffeine, sang merrily to herself; “And I know it’s gonna be, a safety day…safety day…safety day…” as she adjusted the digital nameplates on each desk until they aligned with military precision. She saw Sadie’s grim face. “Compliance is king!” she beamed.
Sadie emitted the sigh of a woman right on the very edge. “We’re in space, Cassie. Nothing is compliant.”
Cassie laughed a happy little laugh that left Sadie musing 101 alternate uses for her laser pointer, none of which could ever feature in a health and safety course.
Troy, wide-eyed and somehow wearing his intern badge upside down, appeared through the door, tripped over a cable and saluted the screen. “Reporting for health and safety duty, ma’am!”
“That’s not... fine. Sit down, Troy,” Sadie sighed.
Clyde, sleek, silver-skinned, and oddly handsome in his military grey uniform glided in, two arms were folded over his hi-viz jacket while the other two were busy carrying a foul-smelling beverage (possibly Bovril), and a lunch box. “This is deeply unnecessary. I’m the reason the forklift incident wasn’t worse.”
“You reverse-launched it into a diplomatic shuttle,” Sadie replied without looking up. “Twice. Now sit.”
Lazzo bounced off two walls before landing squarely in his seat. “Last night I read the full Intergalactic Safety Manual! Three times! Did you know that the optimal fire extinguisher pressure setting on BiFF Minor is…"
“Save it for the quiz,” Cassie said brightly. She tried to attach a star-shaped sticker to his uniform before realising he wasn’t wearing anything over his scaley blue skin. She stuck it to his name plate instead. ‘For Enthusiasm!’
Perkins slumped in last, dragging a foot and smelling faintly of burnt toast and regret. He had two fingers in bandages and a clingfilm-wrapped crumpet in one hand.
Moster whirred to life at the back of the room, screens flickering across his chest. He scanned the scene, made a weary beep, and immediately pressed the off switch in the middle of his forehead and went back to sleep.
Sadie cleared her throat and pointed at the first slide. “Today we’ll be covering mess hall etiquette, fire suppression in oxygen-rich environments, and why you should not leave food near electrical panels.”
Troy raised a hand. “Not even small snacks?”
“Especially not small snacks.” Sadie replied flatly, through teeth clenched so tightly that Moster stirred momentarily to schedule her an appointment with the ship’s dentist.
Cassie grinned. “Roleplay time! Who wants to pretend they’ve accidentally released a maintenance drone swarm into the mess hall?”
Perkins looked up. “Already done that.”
Clyde snorted. “This is an insult to my intelligence.”
“Diplomatic shuttle,” Sadie reminded him.
“I was just being friendly…”
Lazzo was vibrating with anticipation. “Pick me! Pick me! I memorised the BiFF Minor Canteen Evacuation dance! Want me to demonstrate?”
“No, no dancing,” Sadie pleaded, but Lazzo was already halfway through the routine, knocking Troy’s water bottle into Clyde’s lap.
Four hours later, the class had completed one fire drill (real), one level 1 evacuation (a false alarm caused by Troy pressing a button clearly marked ‘DO NOT PRESS THIS BUTTON’), and Lazzo had been duct taped to his chair to prevent any further dancing incidents.
Cassie handed out completion certificates in glittery folders. “You all passed day 2! Even you, Perkins!”
As the class dispersed in various states of confusion, Sadie slumped into her chair, rubbing her temples. “Next week,” she said wistfully, “I’m asking for reassignment. Maybe to a distant asteroid. Alone.”
Cassie patted her shoulder cheerfully. “Only another 54 sessions to go this quarter!”
“No one likes a buzzkill.”
Module 3: Slips, Trips, and General Catastrophe
Sadie took a deep breath before stepping back into Training Room 3B. She’d had a whole evening off after Module 2, and had spent most of it floating around in the observation dome, wondering what it would be like to just drift off into a gravity well, far, far away…
“Cassie,” she quietly implored, staring at the half-open door. “Tell me this one’s been cancelled.”
Cassie was already sticking up holographic posters that read ‘A Floor-midable Day for Cautious Soles!’ in sparkly fonts. “Nope! Everyone’s confirmed. Even Perkins! He was early! Sort of. He wandered in thinking it was a kitchen and then stayed for the biscuits.”
“Great, just great.” Sadie gently banged her head on the doorframe and prayed for the invention of time travel.
Inside, the usual suspects were already assembled.
Troy was upside down, tangled in a net of hazard tape. He’d apparently been trying to build a ‘safety hammock’. No one knew why and no one dared to ask.
“I was testing fall prevention!” he shouted, unprompted, swaying back and forth as things fell from his pockets. “Just a few tweaks to iron out then I’m sorted!”
Clyde sat silently, sipping something from a flask labelled ‘Not Flammable in Zero G.’
“Please tell me you didn’t bring an unstable chemical compound to a safety class,” Sadie said.
“It’s no more lethal than your coffee,” he replied, taking a large gulp.
Lazzo was bouncing up and down in his seat, clutching a floor plan of the ship with every emergency exit circled and colour coded.
“I made a game!” he announced. “Find the fire escape before the foam floods the room!”
“Please don’t flood the room,” Sadie groaned.
Perkins was returning from the simcube, with a melted mop and an air of bristling resentment.
“This,” he wailed, waving the now banana-shaped implement, “is not how mops are supposed to work.”
“You activated the anti-gravity cleaning program,” snapped Sadie. “Without water. Or floors. Or permission.”
“The alarm said: ‘foam flood imminent’ - I panicked!”
“Yes, then you yelled ‘yeehaw’ and rode the mop down the corridor like a bucking bronco,” Sadie added, pointing to the big screens. “I watched you do it.”
Moster powered up, looked at the group, and Perkins’ deformed mop in particular, before promptly powering down again.
Sadie exhaled slowly through her nose. “We’re starting with basic floor safety. Anyone here not responsible for a recent slipping incident?”
Everyone shuffled and looked at their feet.
Cassie leapt into action. “Right, who’s wants first go on the Simulation Mat? The Virtual Spill Simulator is loaded and ready to roll! First up, a Fanta spillage next to a power junction box.” She rolled out a large rug as a series of images began bobbing around above it.
Troy, still upside down, waved his one free hand. “I’ll do it! I love Fanta!”
“Nope,” said Sadie, who really wasn’t being paid enough for this. Whatever ‘this’ really was. “And will someone please cut Troy down from the ceiling?”
Clyde and Perkins tugged at the hazard tape until Troy dropped free.
While they unwrapped him, Lazzo lurched to his feet, narrating an imaginary scenario. “I walk, I spill - it’s apple Fanta! I panic! I hit the alert button! The door seals! Everyone’s stuck! We are there for 5 hours! We bond emotionally and start a jazz quartet!”
“None of that is in the manual, nor is it ever likely to happen.” Sadie stared into her half-empty mug and questioned her life choices.
Clyde stood, drawing himself to his full 3 metre height. “This is insane. The odds of slipping are negligible if everyone just wears the correct pressure-distribution footwear.”
“Oh, really?” asked Sadie.
“Allow me to demonstrate.”
He strode confidently across the simulation mat... and, predictably, slipped on a simulated oil patch, all 4 arms flailing as he fell.
Cassie clapped enthusiastically. “Very educational fall, Clyde! Textbook!”
Moster who had quietly rebooted, recorded the fall, for training purposes only, and powered off again mid-eyeroll.
Perkins was eventually coaxed into trying the ‘Mopping with Safety’ simulator. He was far from happy, but at least this time the mop retained its mop-like dimensions throughout.
Cassie handed him a sticker; ‘I Mopped Responsibly!’. He stuck it to his bandage.
Sadie wrapped up. “Congratulations, you survived Module 3. No one caught fire. That’s… progress.”
Troy beamed.
Clyde grunted.
Lazzo rolled out the door.
Perkins wandered off, muttering something about custard.
Sadie turned to Cassie. “Remind me why I haven’t jettisoned myself into space yet?”
Cassie winked. “Because, deep down, you know you’re making a real difference.”
Sadie paused. “No. It’s because no one will give me the command codes for the airlock.”
Module 4: Hazards in Shared Living Quarters
Sadie stood outside 3B, holding a steaming cup of something which was labelled ‘coffee’ but tasted suspiciously like luke-warm despair. She stared blankly through the reinforced glass.
Inside, Lazzo was trying to create a ‘Personal Safety Alert System’ made from a shoelace, a spoon, and three left-over pieces from a motion sensor. Troy was inadvisedly poking it with a pen.
Clyde had brought snacks, no one knew what they were, but they hissed occasionally.
Perkins was asleep at the back with a tea towel over his head.
Cassie clutched a pack of scented highlighters.
“This one smells like lemon!” she chirruped, waving a yellow one under Sadie’s nose.
“It smells like suffering,” Sadie growled, and stepped inside.
“Welcome to Module 4: Hazards in Shared Living Quarters,” Sadie’s voice was flatter than a dinosaur that had recently been hit by a passing asteroid.
“Exciting!” twittered Cassie, clapping. “Nothing says space teamwork like cohabiting safely!”
“Someone stuck a slice of cake to the ceiling in my bunkroom,” said Troy. “Is that covered?”
“Was it moving?” Sadie asked.
“Well...It is now.”
Cassie made a note on her tablet. ‘Biohazard Protocol 6C, Intern’s Bunkroom’ and sent it to the facilities team flagged ‘urgent’.
Clyde raised an eyebrow. The other two remained firmly in place. “This module is irrelevant. I have my own air-sealed sleeping quarters, with enriched nitrogen air.”
“You left your plasma nasal-trimmer plugged in, next to the communal fern in the hypersonic-shower room,” noted Sadie, scrolling through her incident log. “That fern will never be the same.”
“It was regenerating!” Clyde protested.
“No, it was smouldering.”
Sadie dimmed the lights and fired up the ‘Welcome to Shared Living Safely’ video on the 3D screen. It was narrated by a female hologram with a gravity defying cleavage and suspiciously tight overalls.
“Always store personal grooming tools safely,” she warned. “Remember: you’ll get more than a close shave from a loose razor in zero g.”
Lazzo gasped and raised his hand. “OH! OH! Can I demonstrate my Emergency Toothbrush Containment Protocol?”
“No,” said Sadie, in the firmest voice she could muster.
He stood up anyway, removed a toothbrush from his belt and brandished it like it was a tactical weapon. “Observe! The snap-lock mechanism, the magnetic tether, AND the foam handle for zero grief in zero g!”
Cassie handed Lazzo a glittery sticker: ‘Toothbrush Champion!’ He added it to his growing pile.
“Let’s move on to kitchen hazards,” Sadie switched off the video, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Perkins?”
He groaned, removed his tea towel and sat up.
“Is it true that you once stored soup in a glove?”
“It needed to go into a glove compartment.” He shrugged. “Anyway, it was frozen”
“Only to begin with.” Sadie turned her attention to Troy, “and, as for you…Moster!”
Moster struggled to life and played back security footage of Troy attempting to ‘microwave’ a crumpet using a fusion wrench.
“Fair enough,” Troy blushed. “That was before I learned about wave containment fields.”
Sadie pointed at the screen. “That crumpet sprouted legs and escaped. What exactly did you do to it?”
“Not my fault.” Troy, stared pointedly at Clyde. “Someone had left the remains of their lunch on the same bench and somehow the two things, well, sort of combined…”
Sadie was desperate for the day to end. She turned her attention back to the group. “Tomorrow, we tackle Module 5: ‘Safe Access and Egress – Ladders, Airlocks, and Emergency Exits.’”
Troy’s eyes lit up. “Do we get to jump out of an airlock?”
Sadie took a long sip of misery infused coffee. “We’ll see how the day goes.”
Module 5: Safe Access and Egress (or, ‘How Not to Fall into Space’)
Sadie arrived at the Training Room early. Not because she was eager to teach Module 5 but because she'd heard Moster had locked Troy inside a storage cupboard during an exercise in ‘corridor optimisation.’ She was hoping for five minutes peace and quiet before he was rescued.
No such luck.
The cupboard door swooshed open, and Troy tumbled out holding a tangle of cables and a half-eaten protein bar.
“Ready to learn about ladders, teach!” he grinned. “I even brought my own harness!”
Sadie blinked. “That’s a pile of old bungee cords.”
“Just give me a minute” he said and began tying the cords together.
Cassie clapped her hands and sang to herself as the others filed in.
“Happy Module 5 Day!” she beamed. “Today’s all about airlocks, ladders, and not plummeting into a void!”
Perkins sat down with a cup of tea and a small, nervous-looking plant. “Can I just watch the video or something and pretend I learned something?”
Sadie raised an eyebrow. “Is that the fern Clyde nearly vapourised?”
“I adopted it,” he murmured. “The poor thing’s traumatised.”
Clyde strode into the room; he examined the air vents before announcing. “I’ve taken the liberty of mapping all alternate escape routes in this sector in case of… incidents.”
Lazzo burst in, rapturous with joy. “I brought my own grappling hook!”
“Why?” Sadie asked, instantly regretting it.
“Backup plan! What if the ladder is broken and the airlock won’t open and we’re under attack from flesh-eating hamsters?!”
“Then we bow to the rodent overlord and meet our blissful end with whatever shred of dignity we have left.” Sadie sighed.
Cassie, unfazed as ever, kicked off the session with an interactive hologram of the ship’s emergency exits. “Let’s practice locating your nearest safe egress route! Who wants to go first?”
Lazzo leapt up so quickly he knocked over Perkins’ tea. The fern wept silently.
“Is there anyone you’ve not soaked yet, you half-witted gecko?” hissed Perkins.
“I memorised every exit from Deck 3 to Deck 12, including subframe-crawlspaces!” squeaked Lazzo.
“Deck 9 isn’t, technically, crawlable,” observed Clyde.
“Well, it isn’t if you have that attitude!” Lazzo shot back.
Cassie handed him a sticker: ‘Exit Enthusiast!’
Then came the airlock demo.
Sadie grimaced. “Right. Who’s not going to press a button they don’t understand?”
Troy raised his hand, looked around, then slowly lowered it again.
“Good call,” Sadie nodded.
She fired up the simcube, which simulated an external airlock in the midst of some sort of emergency. The safety lights were flashing wildly and there was an unnecessary cacophony of judgmental beeping.
“Okay, rule number one…”
Before she could finish, Troy pressed a button marked ‘EJECT: DO NOT PRESS UNLESS IT’S A REAL EMERGENCY.’
The chamber whoomped open, releasing 3 training dummies and a broken trolly out into space.
Cassie clapped. “Great reaction time!”
“I thought it would like, y’know, ask, ‘Are you sure?’” Troy said sheepishly.
Clyde intervened and offered a smug tutorial on ‘efficient airlock egress,’ which only ended when Lazzo ‘helped’ by rerouting the lock panel to a musical keypad that played Ode to Safety when engaged. Cassie sang along.
Perkins, fern in hand, in another effort to escape, opened a ladder hatch at the back of the room and found himself face to face with a small cleaning drone, who immediately tried to polish his eyebrows.
By the end of Module 5:
Troy had tied himself to a wall with bungee cord in a misguided attempt to ‘simulate weightlessness.’
Clyde had declared the training ‘mildly useful’ after discovering a hidden stairwell he hadn’t previously known about that lead directly to the pantry.
Lazzo had built an ‘emergency ladder launcher’ using paperclips, chewing gum, and three of Cassie’s backup lanyards.
Perkins had given the fern a name: ‘Nigel.’
Sadie sipped her coffee and leaned wearily against the whiteboard. “Tomorrow is Module 6: Fires and You – When to Scream and When to Just Hold Your Breath.”
Troy gasped. “Do we finally get to use fire extinguishers?”
Cassie beamed. “Only with permission!”
Clyde narrowed his eyes. “I’ll bring flame-retardant gel.”
Lazzo started humming the fire alarm tone in anticipation.
Moster reactivated long enough to lock the ‘flammable hazards’ cabinet and add a level 5 security clearance.
Module 6: Fire (Pt 2) and You (When to Scream and When to Just Hold Your Breath)
Sadie had a headache before the day even started.
Module 6 was always the worst. Fire safety. Alarms. Foam canisters. Controlled burns. Uncontrolled emotions. And four of the most baffling students in the Starship Athena’s training history.
She entered the room to find Moster already powered off with a ‘DO NOT REBOOT’ post-it stuck to his forehead.
Never a good sign.
Cassie, irritatingly cheery as ever, was wheeling in a bright red trolley stacked with extinguishers, fire blankets, flame gel packs, and marshmallows.
“Final module, Sadie! We made it! And look!” she pointed excitedly to a twinkling hand-painted banner: ‘Flame Free is the Way to Be!’
Sadie sipped coffee that was as bitter as her soul. “If no one spontaneously combusts today, I’m counting that as a win.”
The team, such as it was, filtered in.
Troy was wearing a tinfoil helmet. “For fire safety,” he explained.
“It’ll cook your brain faster,” warned Clyde, who had brought a fire extinguisher from his own lab, which he insisted was ‘superior to ship-issue equipment’ and ‘only moderately lethal.’
Lazzo had six pages of notes and a cardboard model of the ship’s fire response system. It had buttons. It made sounds. It had lights that flashed. He was very proud of it.
Perkins arrived ten minutes late holding a half burned toasted sandwich.
“Don’t ask,” he grunted.
Sadie pointed at it. “How hot is that?”
He shrugged. “Not as hot as the pan I cooked it in.”
There was a distant beep-beep-beep.
“Cassie,” Sadie said wearily, “Be a love, call the staff kitchen and suggest they deploy the foam.”
They began with Theory.
“Today,” Sadie continued, “we’ll cover how fires start, how to stop them, and how not to be one.”
Troy raised his hand. “Is it true if your shoelaces catch fire in zero gravity, they spell your name?”
“No,” Sadie replied.
“Could they?” Lazzo asked, visibly excited.
Cassie handed him a safety brochure and a sticker; ‘Hard Questions King!’
Next up: Extinguisher Practice.
Cassie activated the training flames on the simulation mat - holographic, realistic, slightly toasty-smelling.
“Let’s try foam first,” she chirped. “Who wants to go…”
Troy already had the extinguisher, which he’d accidentally set to ‘max pressure,’. He hit ‘fire’ and unleashed a jet of foam so strong that it blew him 10 feet backwards, destroying the whiteboard and Lazzo’s cardboard fire-simulation model as he passed.
“My bad. I panicked!” he yelled, mid-air.
Clyde stepped forward, activated his own extinguishe and froze the holographic fire, half the wall, and the remainder of Cassie’s stickers.
“Possibly a bit OTT?” Sadie suggested.
“Worked, didn’t it?”
Lazzo launched into a dramatic reenactment of ‘What Not to Do During a Corridor Fire,’ which ended with him wrapped in a fire blanket yelling, “I’M THE BURRITO OF FIRE SAFETY!”
Perkins tried to sneak out during the chaos but was caught when Moster spotted him and slammed the door shut in his face.
Finally, the big finish: Live Drill time.
Cassie dimmed the lights. Sadie pressed a button. The emergency siren began its whooping chorus.
“FIRE DRILL INITIATED,” boomed a voice overhead. “THIS IS ONLY A TEST. PROBABLY.”
Troy ran into a wall.
Clyde calmly walked to the emergency exit, muttering about amateurs.
Lazzo tried to lead the evacuation and accidentally triggered the secondary alarm by yelling “This way to survival!” lighting a celebratory cigar and accidentally setting fire to his pile of stickers.
Perkins just followed the fern, which he’d potted in a fireproof bowl. “Nigel knows the way,” he whispered, patting it as he walked around in circles.
Once everyone was herded back into 3B, foam-covered, singed, and lightly smouldering, Sadie stood at the front and folded her arms.
“That,” she grasped for the right words, “was terrible.”
Cassie beamed. “But nobody died!”
“It’s not over yet…” she mumbled.
There was a brief moment of blissful silence before Moster awoke, played a triumphant ding, and printed four certificates from his chest.
‘Basic Starship Safety: All Modules Complete’
Troy whooped. “I’m officially inflammable!”
“No,” Sadie corrected. “You’re just marginally less likely to ignite.”
Clyde glanced at his certificate. “I’m framing this but only ironically.”
Lazzo cried a little. “This was the best week of my life. We should set up a reunion!”
Perkins asked if the certificate counted as fireproofing for the staff kitchen.
Sadie took a deep breath and looked around the room. The chaos. The foam. The laughter. The fern.
She almost smiled.
Almost.
As the group filed out, chattering about their new certificates and survival tactics, Sadie sat down beside Cassie.
“So,” Cassie said, gently nudging her. “Will you miss them?”
Sadie looked at her. “Miss the human tornado, the 9-foot alien, the reptilian labrador, and the walking biohazard?”
Cassie waited.
“…A bit,” Sadie admitted.
They sat in silence.
There was a distant crack-pop followed by a fire alarm.
“Perkins!” they screeched in unison and jumped up.
Moster turned toward the wall and powered down for the final time.
Hi, I'm Beth. I grew up in the West Midlands but now live in Cumbria and still get excited every time I see the sea. Every. Single. Time. I've spent the past 25 years or so delivering training courses, which is what inspired the story. I started out as Cassie, but I'm definitely more Sadie these days. I have the lowest boredom threshold known to man and wear a variety of differnt hats, from radio presenter to walking guide. I'm a crochet addict and always have yarn about my person. I usually write non-fiction - travel, local history, wildlife - and only occasionally dabble in the 'dark side', and I've certainly never written sci fi before - despite being a life long Star Trek fan. If the story feels a wee bit bonkers then blame the fact I put milk in my tea and love mashed banana and Nutella sandwiches.
If you would like to enter The Sands of Time competition please CLICK HERE
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