Orbital

Twenty-Seven Habitat

Tamara Collins leads me down the main section of the Sagan pointing out the different modules plugged into it. Each one is owned by a different country or institution. They rent the space and their researchers get to use the crew facilities on the station. Basically it’s a billion-dollar RV park.

Each module has its own hatch and security lock. Tamara and one other person are the only ones who have access into every section in case of an emergency. There are cameras every few meters, capturing the movement of people 24-7.

Since I’m still pretending to be an astronaut researcher, I don’t ask her too many questions as we pull ourselves along the main section and she plays tour guide.

“These next two modules were MIT’s until they built their own platform. We’ve converted them into lounges, which you’re free to use. Here’s the first one.”

She opens the hatch to a zero-g Tiki bar. Hammocks stretch from one side to the other as a video of a moonlit tropical beach plays on the walls. At the far end there’s an actual bamboo bar complete with bottles stuck to the hull.

She points to the shelves of alcohol. “Beverage companies sent those up hoping we could come up with some imaginative microgravity drinks.”

“And have you?”

“Come by at happy hour and find out.”

“I’m not sure if my company would approve.”

“That’s what they all say. This way.”

She leads me across the main section into another module. The room is divided into smaller padded cubicles with body straps to keep you from floating away.

“This is our attempt at creating a more relaxed environment.”

“More so than the Tiki bar?”

“Well, more professional.”

She leads me to another module where there’s a variety of zero-g exercise equipment. A man is using a resistance machine to do bench presses. He takes a break when he sees us lurking by the hatch.

“Warren, this is David. He’s up here to do some equipment testing.”

Warren dries his hand off on a towel and floats over to shake my hand. Although he’s in his late fifties, he’s got a firm grip and a very athletic body.

“What are you testing?” he asks.

“Gloves and tools. How about you?” I already know but I have to pretend I don’t.

“I’ve got a grant from Nike to study zero-g athletic apparel and another from a medical college to figure out optimum workout cycles in zero-g.”

“Watch out,” she says, “Or he might turn you into a guinea pig. He’s got half the station as unpaid volunteers in his workout programs.”

“Until they make some grad students available, I have to make do. But seriously, let me know if you want me to put together a regimen for you.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure if that sounds fun, but it certainly sounds interesting,” I reply.

“How long are you up here for?”

“Six weeks.”

“If he doesn’t break anything,” says Tamara.

“Ouch.” I fake a grin.

“Let’s talk when you get settled in. I’m in module sixteen when I’m not in the hotel.”

When we’re out of earshot, Tamara whispers, “Horny old goat, there’s a reason his university decided to send him to space.”

“What?” I reply. “The professor liked to teach unconventional workout techniques to the faculty?”

“And the student body. He’s harmless, but his libido is too much for one planet.”

Although I’d looked at everyone’s dossier, I wasn’t quite sure how it would all mesh together. I’m now beginning to get a picture of a somewhat loose academic environment you’d find in the field.

Tamara shows me where the different labs are and makes a few more introductions before taking me to section called the “hub.” This is where the station connects to the large rotating wheel set in the middle of the platform.

We reach a round corridor with two open hatches rotating across from each other.

“You ever go from zero-g to artificial gravity?” she asks.

“Only in the simulator.”

Currently, there are only five rotating environments in orbit. The US/iCosmos still hasn’t begun its spin, nor have the other stations still in the process of being built.

“It’s easy. Just choose a hatch, grab hold of the handle and then descend like it’s a ladder. Your inner ear will be confused at first, but by the time you reach the bottom, things will mostly feel normal again.”

I drift over to the center of the spinning section and grab hold of a handle. Immediately my body gets pulled into motion. I bring my legs down into the passage and use the handholds to go lower.

The force of the rotation that wants to fling my body outwards begins to feel like gravity as my feet start getting pulled towards the floor below.

After a few meters I have to put my toes on the rungs to keep from falling.

When I reach the floor my brain suddenly decides that I’m back on Earth and it’s a crazy sensation.

I’ve done this hundreds of times in VR simulations, but nothing can quite prepare you. Even flying in a parabolic trajectory on an airplane, experiencing a few seconds of weightlessness at a time is a very different sensation.

This was like climbing back down to Earth, although I feel substantially lighter.

“We’re at one third gravity,” explains Tamara as she joins me.

“Mars equivalent,” I reply.

“Yes. The wheel can go even higher than one g, but we try to keep it here so we can measure the long term effects.”

I look around the landing. This section is about 10 meters across and much wider than the rest of the station.

The really interesting part is when I look forward and see a long corridor stretching up towards the ceiling.

The diameter of the wheel is two hundred feet, making the circumference just over six hundred feet. It’s as if someone built a hotel hallway that curved back onto itself.

“What do you think?” asks Tamara.

“Freaky. I feel like I’m back on Earth.” I point towards the upward curving corridor. “Except for that part.”

“We can actually use projection mapping to make it look straight. It’s really quite surreal. Let me show you.”

I eagerly follow her along and play space tourist, forgetting for the moment my real purpose here.