The Visitor

by Tony Harmsworth

  ‘Hope you’re right,’ I said.

  ‘I think NASA thought that when they stopped funding, it would soon become too expensive for the others, but they almost seemed to see it as a challenge. Don’t suppose your missions will be affected.’

  ‘No, we can work out of any orbital base.’

  ‘No one thought the ISS would last over thirty years, so it’s outperformed all expectations. Did you always want to come into space?’

  ‘Always dreamed of it, but never thought I would. It just happened somehow. You piloted the shuttle, yes?’

  ‘I did. Nearly twenty-five years ago, now. This is my third and last gig, so shuttle, Dragon, and Starliner.’

  ‘You missed the delights of the Soyuz then. Which was best?’

  ‘Oh, the shuttle, definitely. Was like flying a plane.’ Mike moved towards a circular window in one of Kibo’s walls, around a foot in diameter. He said, ‘Guess what’s outside this porthole.’

  I gave him a puzzled look and pulled myself over to it. The entire reason for my being at the space station was right outside.

  Wow! There she was.

  ‘The Scaffy Wagon,’ I said. My baby. The reason for me being in space, berthed at the Harmony node docking station was my Space Débris Investigation Vessel. I couldn’t wait to get started.

  ‘Scruffy Wagon? Where'd it get such a name?’

  ‘Scaffy, not scruffy.’ I laughed. ‘It’s a strange story, really. The designer, Angus MacBeath, is a Scottish Highlander and they call refuse collectors “scaffies” – meaning scavengers. A refuse collection vehicle in Scotland is called the scaffy wagon. QED.’

  ‘Ha-ha, but if you use the name in a broadcast, it'll go viral for all the garbage trucks in the world. We've great influence over trivia up here.’

  We both laughed.

  Mike despatched me to find Yuri and to retrieve my belongings from the Soyuz. In my sleeping space, off Destiny, I unpacked them quickly. I wanted to call Mario and Mum and Dad once I was organised. How wonderful to just release things and leave them floating until you worked out where to put them. Mustn’t make the mistake of doing that when I got home or there’d be some breakages.

  I went to the ISS toilet where there was space to strip out of my flight suit, get rid of the soiled Soyuz diaper, freshen up and put on my ISS kit – cotton top, Bermuda shorts and socks.

  I returned to my personal space, finished unpacking, and Blu-Tacked a picture of my partner, Mario, to the wall. I’d taken it on the London Eye with Big Ben in the background. I loved his beaming smile. Seeing his dark curly hair and bushy eyebrows made me feel lonely. I paused to think about him. I’d almost turned down astronaut training because I couldn’t stand the thought of separation. Now was to be the best and worst of times. Best because of being in space and worst because it meant seven months apart, without even the odd naughty weekend we’d had during training. I unwrapped a small gift he’d given me for my birthday. A beautiful engraved ballpoint pen. How lovely.

  I had to thank him and logged into Skype.

  ‘Eve, you’re there? Happy birthday.’ His smile was so comforting.

  ‘Can’t believe I’m thirty-three.’

  He laughed. ‘How are you getting on?’

  I released the pen in front of my face. ‘Thanks for the pen. It’s lovely.’ I gave the personalised silver stylus a spin along its longitudinal access. It drifted, so I stopped it and left it floating almost stationary beneath my chin. ‘Love you,’ I said softly.

  There were a couple of seconds’ lag, so I assumed we were going through a relay in the southern hemisphere. ‘Love you too. I was a bit restricted on weight with the present.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ I gave it a touch and it began to tumble. I laughed and retrieved it again.

  ‘Tell me then. What was it like?’

  ‘Well, brilliant flight up, although a bit scary at blast-off. God, the Soyuz is claustrophobic, but it gave me a birthday ride I’ll never forget.’

  ‘But it was okay, really?’

  ‘More than okay. Once I relaxed and we cleared a few miles in altitude, I had the window. Stunning. You wouldn’t believe the views. You think all the videos from space would prepare you for it, but no, it is spectacular. You could see every detail, field, lake and forest. Wish you could see it.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful.’

  ‘Mike showed me around the station and did my induction.’

  ‘Say “hi” to him for me. He was pleased to see you?’

  ‘More concerned that Yuri might want to share his hot dogs.’

  ‘Ha-ha, I bet. You feeling space-sick at all?’

  ‘Oh, Mario. When we first hit zero-g, I felt awful. Worse than the vomit comet. To be honest, I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to do anything up here.’

  ‘You knew that it would settle though.’

  ‘It is one thing knowing and another thing feeling you might throw-up any second. Awful.’

  ‘Were you actually sick?’ he asked with a sympathetic expression.

  ‘Thank God, no. It soon wore off and, I’m fine now. Don’t tell your parents I felt ill. They’ll tell mine and that’ll make them worry.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ he said and gave me a lovely smile. God, I was going to miss him.

  ‘Keep bashing myself on things, though.’

  ‘Sounds painful.’

  ‘Not too bad. Strange talking to you while floating in my private space.’

  ‘Wish I was there with you.’ He mimed a kiss.

  ‘Yes, that'd be an interesting birthday experience,’ I flushed at the intimate scene which flashed through my mind.

  ‘Wonder if anyone has made love in space,’ he said quietly, putting my thoughts into words.

  ‘Shut up! Someone might be monitoring this.’ I said, and chuckled. I was going to miss him and our closeness. We’d known each other several years, love had grown, and we’d lived together for some time. The next seven months promised to be a trial.

  ‘Don’t forget to call your parents.’

  ‘I won’t. Better go. I’ll call you later in the week.’

  ‘Okay. Be careful.’

  ‘I promise,’ I said, we blew each other kisses and I cut the connection.

  I followed the call to Mario with one to Mum and Dad. Pride has a strange effect on parents. My dad had always loved anything to do with space and he remembered staying up, aged seven, to watch Neil Armstrong’s giant leap for mankind. Now tears ran down his cheeks as I performed zero-g tricks for him. Mum, much younger than him, called him a silly old fool and told me to wrap up warmly for some strange reason only mothers can explain. I tried not to laugh at her concern and told her I would if I went outside. I don’t think she got the joke.

  Afterwards, I switched off my light and tried to accustom myself to the hums, clicks and noises of the space station. The sleeping area wasn’t particularly restful. A laptop stuck out of the wall on a bracket, and it was like trying to sleep in a shower cubicle. On top of that, disorientation made me feel dizzy each time I opened my eyes. It wasn’t unexpected and would settle down in a few days, but it wasn’t conducive to sleep. However, sleep eventually searched me out.

  ««o»»

  ‘Eve,’ a quiet voice said. ‘Evelyn.’ A little louder.

  I gasped and grabbed a strap to stop myself falling, then laughed at my stupidity. I’d done that a couple of times during the night. Why wake me? My alarm hadn’t gone off yet. Was there another emergency?

  ‘Yes, what is it?’

  It was Brian’s voice, another American. ‘Think you might have overslept.’

  The digital clock in front of me said eight o’clock. Good God. I must have slept straight through my alarm. I’d set it for seven.

  ‘Yes, thanks, Brian.’

  ‘No problem. It often happens to newbies.’

  I stretched, blinked several times, climbed out of my bag, and moved the door cloth to
one side. I could see Brian working on something inside Destiny.

  ‘Gave me a fright. Thought I’d fallen out of bed when you woke me,’ I said and laughed.

  ‘Yes. Takes a week or two to get used to it,’ he replied.

  Pyjamas were allowed until nine, I’d been told. After nine it was considered bad form. I flew through to Tranquillity for my ablutions, returned to my compartment and pulled the door closed to dress. The relaxed ISS environment and temperature remains constant so shorts, top, and socks was fine. I wouldn’t need shoes except on the exercise machines, although the specially adapted socks had thick instep-pads to prevent sores when working with your feet hooked under grab handles.

  I shot back to Tranquillity for some breakfast, choosing cheese and fruit juice. There were cereals, but I’m not a great fan without real milk. I reconstituted some egg with bacon. Delicious. As I finished my coffee and munched on an energy bar, Yuri flew in.

  ‘You’re late,’ I said with a laugh, guessing he’d been told about my failure to rise.

  ‘Ha-ha, oh yes? I was being generous. Brian told me you had sleeped beyond your alarm. I will have coffee with you while you are still making yawns.’

  ‘Ha. Wide awake and ready to go! Been waiting for you!’

  We sucked our coffees through straws as we talked over the plan for today. Coffee finished, we did pirouettes in mid-air, then passed through Destiny and into Harmony, where the SDIV was docked.

  Yuri swung the hatch back out of the way to give us better access, but it was still tight for space because of cables and the air-conditioning hoses. We wriggled between the internal docking mechanism and the frame of the docking port. Easier for me than Yuri.

  Now the Scaffy Wagon opened up before us. Wow!

  ‘Oh, Yuri, it’s amazing,’ I said, rotating to take in the whole craft. Yuri did the same.

  ‘Much better than just the front half,’ he said. Our simulation training had all been in the business end. Seeing the whole thing made it so much more real.

  Two seats faced forward with a huge compartmentalised window in front of them. I wound back the protective shutters. Spectacular. ‘Look at that!’ I said. The Kibo module and some of the extensive ISS solar arrays filled much of the view. Yuri pulled himself over towards the seats to see.

  Behind them, we had a compact toilet and storage cupboards for equipment and food. Two floating spacesuits were attached to the ceiling above. These were not the full EVA suits used from the space station but similar to the suits worn by the early Gemini astronauts for spacewalks. They had umbilical cords and were fed with the necessary environment directly from the SDIV. They were for emergency use only and we doubted we’d ever need them. The manipulator arms were extremely flexible in their abilities and I’d undertake most fine work on satellites using them.

  Also to the rear, was the SDIV’s life-support and propulsion system. We had a main motor for orbital work and several thrusters for positional use. The back-up engine, smaller than the primary rocket, would be sufficiently powerful to get us back to the station’s orbit if the main engine failed for any reason.

  In front of each seat were truly space-age consoles. Yuri’s dashboard, on the right, was for flying the Scaffy Wagon. My commander’s seat had a bank of sophisticated computer screens which gave me access to radar, lasers, and navigation aids for locating, vectoring to, and pinpointing space débris. Sensors and probes could provide information on radiation or leaking gases from satellites. Yuri and I were after the big stuff initially, future crews would eventually eliminate smaller material using nets. We both had sophisticated joysticks, mine to control the manipulator arms and Yuri’s for flying.

  The Scaffy Wagon’s prime objective was the collection of large space junk from low-Earth orbit to protect not only the space station but also other satellites. Our precinct, so to speak, was between one hundred and three hundred miles above the Earth.

  This morning’s task was mundane. Stocktaking. Every cubbyhole and drawer was to be checked against our inventory. It took us nearly four hours. We returned to the station for lunch.

  ‘How’s it going?’ asked Mike as I rehydrated some beef casserole and vegetables. Yuri chomped on some Russian fish dish I didn’t recognise.

  ‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘We’ve finished the inventory. Will be attaching the manipulator arms and testing the engines this afternoon. We’re a couple of hours ahead of schedule, actually.’

  ‘Can’t wait to see it with its arms,’ said Mike.

  ‘Yes, it’ll look like a flying lobster,’ I said, and laughed.

  ‘Cannot wait to fly her,’ said Yuri, miming joystick hand movements.

  Boris, another Russian cosmonaut, asked, ‘Do you have specific pieces of junk to destroy?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Four items of a substantial size to deal with on the first actual mission. Tomorrow will see them aligned. We know one's an old unidentified satellite from the sixties. The plan is to give it a nudge earthwards and it will burn-up on re-entry. We also have three unknown objects which are probably parts of early satellites or other space items no longer in use. We think one is a housing from a satellite launch, but another has a puzzling shape and is surprisingly large – bit of a mystery. Can’t wait to find out what it is. NASA is pretty curious about it. To be honest, it looks like a missile in long-range images.’

  ‘Take care,’ said Brian, the scientist from Caltech.

  ‘Too small to be a real missile,’ I said. ‘It’ll be something much more mundane, I’m sure.’

  During the afternoon, we wore flight suits for the test flights.

  After separation our first task was to collect our remaining tools, ropes, chains, a variety of extra arm extensions, plus ninety-six blast cylinders. These were officially “de-orbit burn modules,” but we all referred to them as deorbules. They varied in size from the smallest – no larger than a domestic aerosol can – to the size of a large fire extinguisher. We would attach them to débris which was too large for us to knock out of orbit with a push, and fire them remotely. We stored them under the Scaffy Wagon’s belly. It was so exciting to finally be equipping the Wagon to make it mission-ready.

  During the test flight, target four, the mystery object, was about to pass thirty miles beneath us and produced a clear speck on my monitor. I zoomed in on it and saw an odd shape. Right enough, it looked similar to a missile or fat torpedo, but with one smooth and one irregular side. It didn’t match any on our list of known orbiting equipment. I examined it as best I could, and radar pinged it a few times which told me it was metal, but I couldn’t make out anything else. Intriguing. It was soon out of range because items in lower orbits travel at higher speeds. Dealing with four items on the first mission needed detailed planning as they would only be in proximity with each other for a few hours. The missions had been planned weeks previously. Any mission which failed, couldn’t be simply postponed for a few hours or a day. It would be completely rescheduled. For this reason, each mission had specific targets.

  After the test flights, we docked to the ISS and Yuri went off to help with unloading our Soyuz. I was alone in my spaceship.

  I fed the power cables and air conditioning hoses through the hatch, reconnected the power, then relaxed in my commander’s seat, still needing to pinch myself that I was actually here. This was not the simulator. This was the real thing. The window in front of me was not showing a video projection as it had been in Houston, it was space itself.

  This wasn’t how I’d seen my life. Being in space was an unexpected career move, a sort of climax, but at a young age. I might make two or three trips to orbit, but also had to fit having a family into it. I guessed I’d end up back at ESA Mission Control eventually as some sort of mission planning consultant or manager, but I really had no idea. I intended to thoroughly enjoy the excitement of the moment. My career would look after itself.

  I flipped off the lights and was plunged into almost total darkness.
Only the glow from my instruments remained. The Earth was eclipsing the ISS so it was night outside. Kibo and some solar arrays were illuminated by moonlight, but the right side of the window was inky black and sprinkled with stars like Christmas glitter. So intense. Much more distinct than even on the blackest night back on Earth and no twinkling. I dimmed the instruments further to intensify the star fields and marvelled at the vibrant, glowing centre of the Milky Way. Wonderful.

  While in training I was often asked if I got excited. Astronauts always seem so cool and level-headed. We are trained to keep our emotions, hopes and fears under control as they can impact unfavourably upon the mission and compromise safety – but it doesn’t mean that inside we aren’t bubbling over with excitement.

  At two hundred and sixty miles above the Earth’s surface, only a reinforced window stood between me and the deadly vacuum of space. At any instant, a sufficiently large meteoroid strike could kill me faster than I would be able to shout for help. I’d not even know what had happened, but Mario and my parents would never see me again. Astronauts do think about these things. What would go through your mind in those few seconds before the brain gave up its struggle to make sense of what had happened to its body? That it would be quick, was certain. Would it be painful? Who knew whether the pain receptors would have time to pass their message to the brain before the cold and vacuum destroyed their ability to function?

  It was funny. While I was helping design the Scaffy Wagon, going into space was still a dream. It couldn’t really happen, but when the prospect of being part of the mission was casually mentioned by the ESA, that was it. Nothing else mattered. I had to qualify and threw myself into astronaut training. I mustn’t lose the opportunity now it had become real.

  Only a select few had experienced this privilege of weightlessness and seen the vibrancy of the star fields from orbit. I loved it. I loved the scariness of it. Loved the thrill of having a unique career. Loved knowing I was part of a great adventure – mankind’s exploration of a universe so enormous the light from some of its galaxies of hundreds of thousands of millions of stars took countless millions of years to reach us.