Orbital

Twenty-Eight The Hotel

The reason they call this section “The Hotel” becomes pretty self evident when we enter a lobby area that would fit right into any micro hotel in New York City. A handful of people are sitting in relaxed couches working on laptops and conversing as if this were some executive suite. Which I guess, technically it is.

“Hey everyone, this is David,” says Tamara.

I recognize some of the people who met me at the airlock and exchange a few greetings.

“We have a primary dining room on the other side with a larger selection. But the coffee here is better.”

“The best in the Hotel, not on the station,” says a woman with brunette hair sitting at the edge of the lounge with a computer in her lap.

“This is Samantha Turco, our resident biologist and space gastronomist.”

She gives me a broad smile and shakes my hand. “This week I’m a sous chef. And the best barista in orbit. You haven’t had coffee until you’ve had a cup brewed in micro-gravity.”

“I’ve had the instant kind. How do you even control the drip?”

“Trade secret. But stop by the lab and I’ll let you have a taste. First cup is free.”

I’m not sure if she’d flirting with me or just being friendly. Tamara doesn’t offer me any helpful advice as we continue down the corridor.

The passage narrows. There’s a door on either side about five feet apart.

“These are the personal quarters.”

We stop at one with “11” on the door.

“This is yours. It should already be keyed into your thumbprint.”

There’s a small console next to the door with a fingerprint scanner sitting above a keypad.

“No keycard?” I ask.

“A keycard doesn’t tell you who entered. You’ll need to set a number code too. Not all of our fingerprint sensors work.”

“Mechanical problem?”

“Software. They have to communicate with the main computer. With all the experiments going on here, sometimes they interfere with the wireless systems. Now get ready to behold your suite…”

I push my thumb on the sensor and the door slides open revealing something the size of a closet.

To the left is an elevated bed with a workstation below it. On the right is a wall with canvas pouches for storing things.

“Not much. But way more than we had on the ISS,” she replies. “Going up the ladder is like traveling back in time for me. This…” She stomps the floor. “This is the future. I guess. But the whole point of a space station isn’t really about being in space, it’s working in microgravity. That’s why we like to say around here that the hotel is where we live, while the station above is where we work. Now let me show you the two most amazing wonders of Sagan station.”

The first wonder is the toilet. The number one advantage of artificial gravity is the ability to use the bathroom like a civilized person.

“You ever have to use one in zero-g?” asks Tamara as we stare into the small restroom.

“Um…not exactly.” I don’t need to give her the details of all the horrific experiments I conducted for iCosmos.

“Some people would argue that you’re not a real astronaut until you’ve spent a week in space using a toilet in a weightless environment. I say to hell with them.”

She points to a robotic arm folded up in the corner. “That’s the cleaner. It sort of works. So keep up after yourself or I’ll revoke your privileges.”

“Noted.”

“Now onto my favorite part of the tour.”

We exit the lavatory and step back into the corridor. She goes to a wall panel and types in some commands.

“Okay, close your eyes,” she says.

“Seriously?”

“Remember what I said about bathroom access?”

I close my eyes.

“Okay, just listen at first.”

There’s sound of distant traffic. An accordion is playing somewhere and I hear the sounds of a French street. Shop bells tinkle and voices come from bistros and windows all around me.

“Pretty good.”

“Keep those eyes shut, Dixon.”

There’s a breeze and I can smell trees and the scent of baking bread.

“Very good.”

“Okay, open your eyes.”

When I open them I’m standing in the middle of a French street. All the things I heard and smelled are in front of me.

It’s not a perfect projection. I can spot the seams if I look closely. But it’s on par with anything I’ve seen on Earth that doesn’t use a headset. Overhead, stars twinkle beyond strings of electric light bulbs.

“Welcome to Rue Montorgueil,” says Tamara.

As we step forward, the projection adapts and makes the curved corridor appear flat. I’m able to look inside shop windows and see interiors and people as the projection adjusts to my point of view.

We reach the end of the block and the street begins to give way to where we first entered the hotel. I turn around and the French street is still there.

I’ve been in dozens of simulations similar to this on Earth. Every shopping mall has something like it — many new homes too. But what is impressive to me is how it makes use of such a small space, and more importantly; completely created the illusion that I wasn’t standing in the middle of a giant hamster wheel looking at a curving floor.

“We can put just about anything in there that’s on Google Earth. Even things from movies.”

“That’s incredible. It certainly makes living in space easier to deal with.”

“Maybe too easy. I’m not sure I need anything beyond artificial gravity. But I might be in the minority. Still, it’s nice to take a walk anywhere in the world you want when you step out your door. Plus, there’s a good chance you might be directly over that actual place at some point.”

“Yes, it is,” I agree.

“So now that you’ve seen the place, I hope you don’t wreck it.”

I make another forced grin at her favorite joke, then realize she isn’t smiling.