Orbital

Thirty-Four Space Shoes

I spend the rest of the day working in my lab doing my best to assemble the parts the 3D printer produced. Although there’s a robotic assembler with three arms on my bench, I want to give it a go myself, so I can sound reasonably informed if anyone asks.

The boot is designed to fit at the end of a standard iCosmos coupling. Much smaller than the ski boot things we wear on space walks, it’s got a flexible sole and grip on the bottom that can vacuum-grasp the outside of a space station and let you walk on carpet in gravity without feeling like you’re stomping through a ski lodge.

Once I get the parts in place, I decide to give the shoe a test — inside the space station. At some point I’ll have to live up to my role as human guinea pig and try it outside the station, but I want to do the easy part first in case the thing just falls to pieces.

We might be able to regrow toes after space frostbite, but there’s no need to push that boundary just yet.

I slide them over my feet and flex. They’re surprisingly more comfortable than hiking boots. Maybe there’s something to them after all.

As I leave my lab, Yancey is floating down the module towards the door. She opens it, letting me pass.

“Nice shoes,” she says.

“These old things?” I reply, rotating in mid-air to face her.

“You make those?”

“I just printed them out. The folks below are the ones that designed them.”

She reaches out and touches the sole. “Cool. Gripping fibers. I like the honeycomb reinforcement. You going to test them in the hotel?”

It took her all of three seconds to figure out exactly what the shoes did. She’s real smart. Hell, everyone here is probably a genius — well, except this guy. I have to keep that in mind.

“Yeah, I want to make sure if they’re going to fall apart it’ll happen in here.”

“Good call. You don’t want what happened to the last AstroFirma tester happening to you.”

“Right,” I nod, trying to hide how damn curious I am to know.

“At least they can grow toes back,” she adds.

Jesus Christ.

I reach the ladder to the hotel, grab the handrail and do my first test with the shoes carrying my weight as I descend.

They grip the rungs just right, using some kind of intelligent software that can tell what my feet are trying to do.

I reach the bottom and take my first few steps using the shoes in Earth gravity.

They’re more boot-like than thin athletic shoe or space slipper, but after a few strides I forget they’re even there.

When I stroll into the lounge, Schroeder, my pilot to the station, is eating a salad.

“Nice shoes.”

“Thanks.” I drop down into the seat across from her. “Nice to eat a meal that doesn’t come out of a bag.”

“I’ll say. How’s your lab?”

I point to the shoes. “I’m waiting to find out if my toes fall off. When you headed back?”

“They finished loading the trunk, so my next insertion is in two hours.”

“Does anyone do an EVA to move cargo?”

“No. It’s all done through a robotic arm that removes everything and places it into an airlock or outside the station. That’s what I was supervising while you were sightseeing.”

“And it loads the ship too?”

“Yes. Someone supervises it from the command center. I have to watch and make sure the automatics don’t punch a hole in the side of the ship.” She changes the topic, “So, think you can handle being up here for six weeks?”

“I’m ready to buy property. I love the mixed gravity thing, but I’m still trying to adjust.”

“It’s weird. The first couple times I ran cargo here it took me a while to get used to the sensation. Right now I’d swear we were in a Hilton back on Earth. It’s hard to wrap my head around the idea we’re in space.” She points up towards the zero-g section. “I hope people just don’t forget what it was really like.”

“You know what, I never flew in the Wright Flyer or sailed the seas in a dugout canoe. Maybe it’s okay if future generations experience something a little safer.”

“Perhaps. I’m just looking forward to being able fly a little further than 300 miles from the Earth’s surface.”

“You trying to get in the iCosmos deep space mission?”

She holds up her crossed fingers. “Here’s hoping I make the cut. What about you?”

“I’m still trying to figure out my place in all this. When I was a kid I just wanted to be a pilot. But that job is becoming more and more babysitting the robots as they do the work. No offense.”

“None taken. I became a pilot so I could go into space.”

“Me too, sort of. I guess. Maybe I had my fill of flying things for a while.”

“You pretty much set all the records, Dixon. I’ve gone over that maneuver you did in Rio and still can’t quite figure out how you pulled that off.”

“Never underestimate the power of fear and stupidity. Anyway, I’ve only been here a day, but maybe I could get used to this kind of space work.” I lift a shoe. “Assuming I get to keep all my body parts.”

“You do that.” She checks her watch then gets up. “Time for me to start my preflight.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

“Likewise.” She smiles, hesitates for a moment then leans in close so nobody else can hear. “Something I’ve been meaning to tell you. God forbid you ever find yourself in another situation like you did, but if you do and need some help, let me know. You have a lot more friends than you realize. People willing do to anything for you.”

“People willing to steal a hundred-million dollar rocket and rescue me in a third-world country?” I reply.

Before I can even smirk, she replies, “Abso-fucking-luteley,” then clasps my shoulder.