🦺 The Role of Safety in Science Fiction

Welcome to the 23rd edition of Safe For Work. Continuing the June theme of safety and regulations with a story of work on the red planet, or perhaps a little closer to home.

Everyone has a story. Or everyone who’s worked long enough, at least. Past a certain point, you almost need one, for people to stop looking at you funny-- after all, who could be working for the better part of a decade out on the rigs, and not have any story? Gotta hardly be working at all, to make it that long, no?

Most of them aren’t even really stories-- not about real things that really happened. Most of them are just almost-stories about almost-things that almost-happened: the frayed tow-cable almost snaps; the shuttle-engines almost misfire; the rigging almost crumbles.

“Unacceptable,” says Roulf.

“That’s safety working, isn’t it?” says Kirschner. “Safety is all about ‘almost’, right? Every time something terrible almost happens is a time that something terrible doesn’t happen.”

But Roulf disagrees. With a scowl-- that’s how he disagrees. That’s how he does most things: he scowls while he checks to make sure the tow-cable isn’t starting to fray; he scowls while he replaces the wiring on the shuttle’s engine; he scowls while he swaps out rusted parts of the rigging. “‘Almost’ is how you have ‘actually’. You should never get to ‘almost’.”

He is knotting, double-knotting, triple-knotting the extra cable coming off from his carabiner around one of his belt-loops. “If your carabiner is going to break, what chance do you think your belt-loop is going to have?” asks Kirschner with a scoff-- if Roulf is always scowling, Kirschner is always scoffing. But he’s not the one leading the quarterly safety presentation this go ‘round-- now, that would be a good time, a few of the guys are thinking to themselves. As it is, Kirschner is just lightly heckling-- and even just that is spicing things up a little. These presentations are always such a waste of time.

“If an emergency happens in zero-G, what chance do you think you’re going to have, dealing with it, loose rope flapping around in your face?” Roulf grunts.

“‘If an emergency happens in zero-G’-- very specific.”-- Kirschner rolls his eyes. “Okay, ‘Mr. Quarterly Safety Presenter’, how about this? We’re down there, in the belt, hard at work on a vein of platinum. Setting the pylons. Getting everything ready to go. Being our super extra safe selves, Roulf-style; we’ve got our cords triple-knotted around our belt-loops, nice and snug. Nothing flapping around in our faces, sure. But then… then comes the call, yeah? Sudden sunspot activity. Flare incoming-- straight through the patch where we are. We leave right bang now, we’ve got enough time to get out of the way. We don’t? Cooked-- nice and crispy.”

A few of the guys start laughing-- at the words, and because they see where Kirschner is going with this, and maybe he’s got a point, actually.

“So what do we all do? We unclip our carabiners-- simple and easy-- and we start pulling ourselves along the rigging, back up towards the shuttle-- but uh oh! Wait a second! We’re still attached to our spots! Why? Because we’ve got our ropes single-double-triple-knotted to our pants! And ain’t no way we’re untying that in a hurry!”

“Take off your pants!” cries Michaels from the back. Now the laughter is coming quick and smooth. “Easy fix!”

“Yeah, take off your pants! That’s the way!” calls another one of the guys through coned hands.

“This is a demonstration, Roulf! Show us how it’s done!”

“What’s the safest way to strip?”

“Is this company policy? Is this in the handbook?”

Roulf responds by unclipping something from his belt-- just a handle, it looks like, until he flicks a switch on the side, and a one-inch hyper-razor pops out, ready to go-- glinting in the buzzish orange work-lights. “This is what’s in the handbook,” he says flatly. “Go ahead,” he says flatly. “Show me yours.”

A moment passes, silent.

“I’ll wait,” he says flatly, and he does. He stands there, waiting, until each and every worker has made the five-minute trudge to their lockers to grab the safety cutters that have been sitting there, untouched, since orientation, and the five-minute trudge back again. Finally-- “You want to take off your pants during an emergency? Fine. I can’t stop you from doing it. And maybe you’ll just ‘almost’ die… or maybe you just ‘almost’ won’t die. That’s the thing about ‘almost’, it’s a coin with two sides, easy to flip. If we’re really being safe, we should never get to ‘almost’. Never.”

Another moment passes, silent. A grave silence, that’s what it is. Mortality gently passing a hand over the group-- casting a little shadow. And then--

“So…” says Kirschner, “...we use the knife to cut our pants off?”

There’s his scoff again. There’s Roulf’s scowl again. Detente. “Whatever. Dismissed,” grumbles Roulf.

“Great presentation, Chief.”

“I’m feeling safer already.”

“Sorry for razzing you,” says Kirschner, quietly, up close, on his way out. “Next quarter it’ll be my turn-- feel free to give me hell.”

He claps Roulf a still clap on the back-- friendly, that’s how they all do it.

He almost doesn’t notice the older man wincing. Roulf hides it well. The pain of it. The scars under his uniform. The cuts. The burns. Kirschner almost doesn’t notice.

Almost.

SFW Films presents The Chipped Cedars

Film adaption of week 16’s Neuromancer style cyberpunk thriller.

See you next week as we continue to explore safety and regulations. This time electromagnetic propulsion in space exploration. Stay safe.