17. Free Falling
SEVENTEEN
FREE FALLING
Vance
“Never take both hands off the Space Station on a spacewalk.”
Maneuvering my hands along the rails of the International Space Station’s truss, I angle forward out of the airlock to go under the S-0 truss, while the Virtual Reality Lab instructor narrates for the new astronaut class who is observing as part of their training.
Once under the nadir side of the truss, I work my way down the nodes on my way to the Columbus module. That’s where I’ll be installing the bridge support for Bartolomeo in a few months.
I need to be focused, even if this is just a simulation of my upcoming spacewalk. But even though I’m surrounded by a virtual, three-dimensional replication of the International Space Station, I’m seeing something completely different in my mind.
Rose, hunched over her laptop. Rose, staring into my eyes lost in pleasure. Rose, covered in glitter and joking about being pregnant.
“See how he’s gripping each brace as he goes?” the Virtual Reality Lab instructor asks. “The gloves have tactile response, so they simulate the pressure of each hand grip.”
“Manus gloves, correct?” Jackie asks. She’s been front and center since she entered the room, analyzing everything.
There’s a pause before the instructor answers, and I suppress a laugh. Jackie is going to give all the instructors here at NASA a run for their money. She probably knows more than they do.
“Ah, yes. They are Manus.”
“I’ve heard they have one of the best motion tracking bracelets and finger sensors on the market.” I can’t see her, but I can imagine her either pushing her glasses up her nose or tilting her head in thought.
Not to be outdone, the other astronauts start talking virtual reality jargon.
I successfully climb under the truss, my gloves tightening with each grasp of the handholds on the Unity module, all the while wondering if Rose has been too busy to notice my recent MIA attitude.
This past Saturday she asked for some space until finals were over.
I went from going over every day, if only to watch her study and bring her food, to nothing—no calls, texts, or visits—for five days.
Her presentation is Monday. After that, there is no plausible excuse for my physical and technical absence.
Even now, I’m pretty sure Rose knows the difference between giving her space to get things done and going completely dark on communication. She’s too smart not to.
“Vance, pause here so that we can get an idea of your visuals,” the instructor says.
I still my movements, hands outstretched mid-climb. There are two screens in the VR room that those not wearing goggles can see. One has a bird’s eye view of my training session which shows my avatar pausing in its path and the other a view of what I’m seeing on the spacewalk.
“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’s after I 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.
Glitter.
I’ve taken showers, I’ve done laundry, and yet still, the glitter remains.
The perfect metaphor for my relationship with Rose West.
Even when she’s not here, she’s here.
Rose
Vance is being weird.
My phone is dark and silent as it rests screen up on my favorite table at the coolest work café in Houston.
Brass Tacks serves coffee and breakfast tacos, so I’m winning at life every time I come.
Add in the converted old brick building that gives it its millennial/hipster vibe (in all the good ways), and the atmosphere is legit amaze-balls.
Top it all off with the plant lady, Gladys, the owner of a local garden shop, who keeps a steady rotation of oxygen cleansing plants arranged throughout the café, and I’ve died and gone to bougie heaven.
I’d seriously consider franchising this place after I graduate, but the hipsters would probably drive me out with pitchforks made of recycled tires if I mentioned the F word to them.
I tap my phone screen just to make sure I didn’t miss any notifications.
I didn’t.
After Vance and I set off the glitter bomb and successfully coated the kitchen mixer, I told him I’d be majorly swamped during exams this week. And I am. Graduation is imminent.
But I also needed a break from my warring emotions.
At the start, I told Vance I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. We said friends with benefits. I probably should’ve said sex buddies instead. Booty calls only. Stranger danger pals. Because all these extra ‘benefits’ that aren’t sex are starting to confuse me.
And then he went and threw lotus in the mix.
So distance. Distance is good.
I tap my pen on the flea market found table, wondering why I am so annoyed if distance is good.
Vance is giving me exactly what I asked for. Space. Quiet. Breathing room.
All the things a Business Fellow in their last week of college needs.
I’ve got shit to do. Shit that doesn’t include having an emotional breakdown over a man.
I nod to myself for emphasis and settle back into my work, the clacks and clinks of the café soothing me.
For about five minutes.
Giving up, I close out my screen before I do something stupid to my completed thesis presentation.
Over the past few days, I’ve turned in all my papers, taken my exams, and said good-bye to my fellow Fellows. All that’s left is the presentation on Monday. A presentation I’m already prepared for but came to Brass Tacks to fiddle with so I wouldn’t sit in my apartment and obsess over my phone.
Hashtag feminist fail.
You’d think I’d be excited or nervous or something about this presentation . It marks the culmination of all my hard work. The end of co-ed life and the beginning of… adulthood? Becoming a contributing member of society?