Page 71 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
“Now turn your head around, Vance. Give ‘em the show.” There’s pride in the instructor’s voice, and I get it. If you haven’t been to space yet, what the new astronauts are seeing on the screen is pretty awe-inspiring. NASA got into the virtual reality game early, and their equipment has always been top of the line. Best Uncle Sam can buy.
“Look at that,” the instructor says, probably pointing to the screen showing my viewpoint. I’m looking back at the moon, partially shrouded in darkness, offset by the bright blue glow of the Earth’s atmosphere.
“Whoa,” someone says.
With sights like this, usually I feel nothing but grateful and focused on the path I’ve chosen for myself. But with Rose on my mind, for the first time, those feelings waver.
Pregnant.
It’s the word that’s been bouncing inside my skull whether I’m geared up in virtual reality gear, pushing myself at the gym, or fielding text messages from my nephews asking to play Fortnite.
Meanwhile, Rose just laughed it off, thinking pregnancy an impossibility due to double contraception. But I still can’t shake the fear that word spikes in my chest.
“Earth to Vance?”
My head snaps up, and I realize all I see are stars spinning by me like I’m flying in the Millennium Falcon at light speed.
“Shit.” Lost in thought, I must’ve lowered my hands from the imaginary handholds. And that’safterI failed to make the all-important tether swap to the new anchor point. Basic spacewalk 101 stuff.
Now I’m playing out NASA’s worst nightmare—an astronaut unattached to the station, spinning out into space in a simulated fall from the ISS.
“Ah, Vance is probably just showing you our emergency training protocol.” The instructor laughs awkwardly.
I drop my hands to the chest plate I’m wearing which mimics the SAFER jet pack astronauts wear in space. “No, I’m just an idiot.”
Jules jokes about me being a glorified flashlight during spacewalks. I can laugh at the joke because I know what everyone else knows—that I’m one of the most reliable astronauts in rotation. I don’t make mistakes like this.
I flick the SAFER on and wait the few seconds it takes to power up. A few seconds more of spiraling away from the ISS.
Once it does, I cancel out my rotation. As soon as I’m not spinning, I swivel my head and body around until I find the station. Thanks to Newton’s first law, I’m only yards and not miles away. Even so—
“The SAFER only has so much fuel,” the instructor says as I switch to translation mode, using the jet pack’s yawl and pitch to get closer to the station.
“I believe the estimated window of time for an astronaut using the SAFER is five to ten minutes,” Jackie says. “Anything over fifteen, the chance of rescue drops to zero.”
“Yes. That’s correct.”
A little bit of thrust goes a long way in space. So although the clock is ticking, it’s basically a waiting game once you propel yourself toward the station.
Even with my headset, I hear the instructor typing on a keyboard, probably logging in my order of operations for record.
Great.
As a veteran astronaut with an upcoming lead for a high-profile spacewalk, having to use the SAFER in a standard VR spacewalk replication is bad enough. I don’t want it to go on record that I also burned up in the atmosphere because I was too busy worried about my friends with benefits situation to get my ass back on the station.
After what seems like an hour, but is only three minutes, I reach out my Manus glove and grab onto the S-3 truss on the zenith side—the opposite side from where I’m supposed to be.
“Well done.” The instructor seems pleased with my time and SAFER controlling. “I’ll shut down the simulation.”
Jackie says nothing, which is nice of her seeing as she knows that had that been during a real spacewalk, my mistake would not have been as easy to correct. I would still have to maneuver myself back to airlock, the countdown to low oxygen, the worry of solar rays and lighting issues due to the station’s proximity to the sun all life-or-death factors that this particular VR simulation wasn’t set up for.
The VR mask goes black.
When I slide off the headset, Jackie’s gaze is penetrating. Like she’s trying to find the deeper meaning behind my mistake.
I hand her the headset, knowing she’ll want a closer look at the equipment.
But instead of studying the headset’s mechanics, Jackie runs her finger along the inside, then holds it up to the light.
