The ticking of the clock stood stark in the silence of the waiting room, as Connie did her best not to stare at it. Always a busy body with time, she was. She was working on that. She was working a lot of things.
Like the nervous pit in her stomach, for example. Her mother always told her not to concentrate on it, lest your nerves get the best of you. Well, as Connie was thinking now, better her nerves than her panic.
Taking a deep breath, Connie reached into the breast pocket of her flight suit, pulling out a stack of photos and looking over them one more time. Her nerves calmed as she did, memories of excitement and wonder replaying in her mind. She was ready.
"Ms. Maheswaran?" a voice from the door called out, pulling Connie's attention and forcing her to stuff the photos away again in a blind panic.
"Here!" she called out, like she was back in high school again. With a hop and a skip, Connie was on her feet, walking to the door and nodding once to the attendant who called her name. Then, she went in.
Just before the outside world slipped away, Connie caught a glimpse of the sigil hanging on the door: National Aeronautics and Space Administration.
NASA.
Connie went straight for the only chair in the room, across from a panel of people dressed in varying levels of professional attire. It was an odd sight, seeing a woman in a suit and tie next to a man in khakis and a pocket protector.
There was no time to dwell on that, however, as Connie took a seat, took a breath, and went to take the panel on next. She put on a smile.
"Connie Maheswaran?" A man in the center of the panel said after a moment of looking over some papers in front of him— her files.
"Yes sir," she confirmed, nodding. The man looked over to his colleagues who shrugged and deferred back to him.
"I will admit," he began. "This is rather unconventional. If you were admitted, you'd be the youngest astronaut NASA has ever sent up by nearly four years. The only reason you're in this room today is because of the numerous recommendations we've received from your professors at the University of Jayhawk."
"I'm a motivated girl, sir. I like to think that's why I'm in this room today," Connie interlocked her fingers as she said that, daring to put one foot over another as she broke her disciplined posture.
Snorting, the man looked down at the papers again.
"Good answer," he muttered. After that, another person in the panel spoke up, taking Connie's attention.
"Tell us about yourself then," they asked, leaning forward. "What have you done that you think makes you suited to become an astronaut?"
Connie opened her mouth to answer, a long memorized and practiced response coming to mind. Yet, before she could say anything, an idea came to mind. A stupid, bad, risky-as-all-get-out idea. And before she could possibly stop herself, she had already begun, standing up and walking forward.
The panel gave her a round of incredulous looks as she approached, reaching into her flight suit and pulling out a stack of photos. In silence, she laid them out on the table before them, before stepping back and inviting the panel to take a look. As they did, their faces went blank with disbelief.
It was a series of photos of Connie, on the moon.
All at once, the panelists looked to Connie, who crossed her arms and smiled.
"My answer is, prior experience."
"3… 2… 1… Go!" A starting pistol fired at the word, a group of two dozen applicants sprinting forward at the sound of it. And at the front of the pack and quickly making headway was Connie.
"Helluva runner that one. Wowser," a voice said, approaching the starting line and attracting the attention of the race attendant. "Tiny though— Must be trying to make an impression while she's ahead of the pack. Doubt she's standing out anywhere else."
The race attendant turned, finding the trainees' coach having finally made an appearance.
"You'd think—" he said with a chuckle as he pulled up a clipboard. "But check out the results from the last few tests."
The coach cocked a look as she took the clipboard and flipped through the pages. After a moment, her eyes widened.
"That girl—?"
"Uh-huh," the attendant said with a nod, as he spotted Connie reach the half point whilst the rest had made it at most quarter way.
"She's broken every record by a mile!"
"Yeeeep."
The coach flipped to the last page, before putting it down and looking up to watch Connie run.
"How many more tests do they have after this?" she asked, thoughts pinging in her brain.
"Just the deadlift," the attendant answered, checking his watch. "Jeeze, she's about to—"
Before he could finish, Connie zipped past the two, easily coming in first and slowing to a stop after another 10 meters. Taking a mere second to pant, Connie quickly recovered and jogged back to the starting line.
"How did I do?" she asked, a hint of worry to her voice. The coach and the attendant looked at one another before looking back at the crowd of applicants who still had a good quarter of the track to go. Pouting, Connie took a step forward. "Well?"
The attendant turned.
"Ms. Maheswaran, you just broke the world record for the 400-meter dash by a solid ten seconds."
"Remind me again why we have a deadlift test? These recruits aren't exactly going to lift much weight in zero gravity." The race attendant from before jeered from his uncomfortable bleacher seat, looking down at the sight before him. All the applicants had been brought into a gymnasium for the final test, and now they were lined up in tidy rows in front of a set of weights.
"Cause there's a lot of 400-meter runs on the ISS, right, Frank?" the coach from earlier heckled back, reaching down from her spot behind him and giving him a shove.
"There's at least some running compared to the literally none weight they gotta carry, Kathy."
The two shared a friendly grumble, a hint of 'touche' underlying it as they returned their focus to the sight before them. The test was about to begin.
The first applicant went, asking loudly and proudly for an extra hundred pounds to be added over the usual amount. Nodding, their test applicant complied, setting the total weight to 450 pounds and stepping back. After a moment, the applicant got into position and showed they could just about deadlift the weights.
"So, what do you think she's gonna hit?" Frank asked then, as they watched the applicant step away and allow the next to step forward. The coach, Kathy, hummed in thought.
"Hm, at her height and weight class, you can usually expect about 180% of her weight," she began. "But this girl is anything but expected, so she's probably gonna go for a clean 200%. About 300 pounds."
"Hmph, well, at least it'll be something one of these boys can finally beat her at," Frank said with a shake of his head. "I can't imagine they're having a particularly good day for their self-confidence."
"They're top candidates to become astronauts. If they get self-confidence issues at this stage, they've got more to worry about then being outmatched by a girl."
A few silent moments passed as they watched another applicant go, this one hitting 400 pounds.
"There she is," Kathy said, smiling as Connie finally became visible at the head of the line. She was dressed in a very peculiar outfit, not the standard deadlifting uniform but instead some kind of martial arts gi. Must have been a personal choice. "You think it'd be inappropriate to cheer for her?"
"Nah, so as long as you're okay with NASA sending you to train puppies for the next mission afterwards," Frank replied with a smirk, earning a punch in the arm from his co-worker. "Alright, she's up."
Connie stepped forward and took a deep breath, watching as the test administrator began to reset the weights to their default amounts.
"Oh you don't need to do that," she said aloud, drawing a moment of pause from the administrator. "I'll be going higher."
"Jeeze, over 350?" Frank muttered in the distance. "Looks like she's going over your guesstimate."
"Please don't call it that."
"What will be then, Ma'am?" the administrator asked, reaching for one of the smaller weights. Connie thought for a moment before nodding.
"700 please."
Silence took the whole gymnasium as every ear who heard that request brought a head turning. The attendant stared at Connie for a moment before shaking their head.
"Are, uh, you sure you can—
"700, please," Connie pressed, taking a step forward and threatening to rack the weights herself. The administrator quickly complied, setting up the absurd weight count and stepping back a few more meters than usual.
The whole room had their eyes on Connie then, the other applicants holding looks that were halfway between irreverence and dread. There was no way she could do this, right? Absolutely—
Doubt was blown away in the next moment as Connie stepped forward and lifted the bar straight off the ground in a single smooth motion. Silence stood firm in the room as she held the lift, even smiling as it came to end and she lowered the weights to the ground. With a sigh of relief, she wiped the sweat of her brow.
"Phew, that was too close. I haven't had a chance to practice in a few months now!"
"Alright ladies and gentleman, I know the name of this trip in your little circles is the Vomit Comet. But if you get a single stain on any corner of my ship, I will personally add a red one to match it. Are we clear?"
Connie gulped, nerves running through her as she stared at the ceiling. Excitement and anxiety and some third emotion she couldn't bother to identify stirred in her chest, barely keeping her rumbling stomach in line. Maybe skipping breakfast wasn't the best idea, she thought. Then again, you can't vomit if you've got nothing in there.
"Okay, get ready, everyone! We hit our first peak in 3, 2, 1—!"
The gravity shifted as Connie's stomach did a twirl, a strange, alien feeling going through her. Before she had a moment to dwell on it though, Connie began to float.
"Whoa, whoa!" Connie threw an arm back to grab the floor, but missed, sending herself spinning through the air. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!"
Slamming into a wall, Connie came to a stop, gaining a moment to center herself and take a deep breath. She was prepared for a lot, but not this. Zero gravity compared to moon gravity? It was out of this world.
"Come on, Connie you can do this," she said, pulling herself down and planting her feet against what could be called the floor. "You trained for this."
"Feet down, feet down!" The attendant from before shouted into the chamber, prompting Connie and the other trainees to make for the ground as fast as possible. After a moment, gravity shifted again, becoming normal. And then, it became stronger.
Connie had a few moments to dwell until the next round of zero gravity. And she needed it, psyching herself up for what would be a difficult second attempt.
"And, peak two, in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—!"
Connie took the initiative now, throwing her head forward and bringing her whole body up with it. Unfortunately for her, a Connie in motion stays in motion, so instead of standing straight like she intended, Connie was sent spinning forward through a cloud of her fellow trainees.
"Waaaaatch out!" she barely managed to shout.
"Whoa, I gotcha!" Finally, Connie's stint through the air was brought to an end as the attendant caught her and slowed her to a stop. However, she had barely a moment to collect herself before said attendant shoved her to the ground.
"Feet down, feet down!"
As the gravity switched once more, Connie let out a sigh of frustration, dwelling in the bit of time she had. Come on, she thought. This wasn't anything. She could do this.
"Next peak, ladies and gentlemen! In 3, 2, 1—!"
Weight went away again, but this time Connie didn't make a move. Instead, she glanced up towards the others, getting a good look at them for the first time since they boarded. All around her, they were floating in states of awe and panic, fear and captivation. And underlying it all was… fun
Maybe, this was something.
Not too fast and not too slow, Connie pushed herself off the ground, rising into the air in a steady jaunt. After a moment, her head touched the ceiling as she came to a stop. And as Connie floated there, her head to the ceiling and her feet dangling and weightless, a feeling and a realization all in one hit her.
This wasn't just something. This was fun.
"Heh, hehe." Connie pushed herself off from the ceiling, sending herself flying through the chamber. No more super serious Connie, no more apprehension. It was time to have fun. "Woooohoooo!"
"So, you're going up tomorrow, huh?" Steven's voice crackled through the speakers of Connie's phone, its warmth shining through the darkness of the room as it strengthened the smile on her face.
"Yep, T-minus eight hours till launch." Connie's eyes flicked to the alarm clock by her bed, as she pulled her covers up over herself. "Make that, T-minus seven."
The two shared a round of laughter at that, Connie's laugh a bit more embarrassed than anything. It was nice, getting this chance to talk with Steven. She was always so busy, doing what she was doing.
"Nervous, huh?" Steven asked then, out of the blue.
"Yeah, heh." She couldn't even begin to play it cool. This was an eternity of human progress conspiring to attach her to a metal hull and launch her into the sky at thirty thousand kilometers an hour. And she volunteered for it. Honestly, who let her make her own decisions?
"Well, don't be," Steven assured, his voice as steady and stable as she needed it to be. "If anything goes wrong, me and Pearl will be up there before you know it."
Connie blew through her nose at the suggestion, a smile crossing her lips as she looked onto the screen. She could use a few more lines like that.
Maybe tomorrow.
"I think I'm going to turn in," Connie finally said, drawing a nod from Steven at the other end of the line. "Call you when I can, okay?"
"Of course. And good luck tomorrow!" Steven added again. A calm moment passed. "Night Jambud. Love you."
Connie's smile returned.
"Love you too."
"Welcome aboard the space shuttle, Determination, folks. This is its first mission, so let's be gentle with it. We all know how we were with our first times."
The voice on the intercom spoke with a surprisingly relaxed mood, one Connie wasn't used to. She was far more familiar with strict tones and robotic commands. Seems the staff at ground control she trained with just had sticks up their butts.
As Connie pulled herself into her assigned seat, the person at ground control continued.
"But, hey. It's not just the shuttle's first run," they said, making Connie immediately aware of where this was going. She glanced over to the rest of her team on the shuttle before sighing. "We've got a new cosmonaut reaching for the stars today~"
"Cosmonauts are the Russians," Connie quipped, as she began checking up on the status of the shuttle before launch. A chuckle made its way over the intercom then.
"I just get ya off the little blue marble, ma'am. Don't care much for where you start on it," the voice said with a laugh. That made Connie pause for a moment, as she thought over what was said.
"Well, as long as you get us off it in one piece, ground control, I don't mind," Connie answered, a smile creeping up her lips as she pulled down a panel to her left and fiddled with some dials.
"Ah, don't you worry about that. We've sent up dozens of people, and they've all come back fine— both eyes, ten fingers, and everything." The voice at mission control laughed through the intercom. "Well, except for that one guy—"
Connie's nerves flashed at that before another round of laughter from the intercom leveled them off again.
"Course, we sent them up with nine fingers to start with, pfahaha." After taking a moment to laugh at their own joke, the person over the intercom continued. "Oh man, you should've seen how your vitals just spiked on our end. It's not just training records she's breaking—"
That joke managed to make Connie crack a smirk. As unorthodox as this all was, she had to admit it was better than stewing in her own stress.
"Oh hey, a little tradition we here at ground control have," the voice said then. "First-timers get to choose a little tune to play at launch. Just something to keep their mind off the g-forces."
Processing what was just said, Connie pulled away from her last-minute duties and looked up to where the speaker of the shuttle's intercom laid.
"Anything?"
"So as long as the kids at home watching this can listen, yep," they confirmed, leaving Connie to dwell on her choice. After a few moments of careful thought, a clear answer came to mind.
The rhythmic strumming of acoustic guitar stood stark in the rumbling of the space shuttle. Connie expected to hear a lot today, but not that. Not the strumming. Yet, despite that, she was glad it was there. It reminded her of home. It reminded her of Steven.
"Determination crew ready for launch, ground control," she said, looking up to the intercom and nodding.
"Ground Control to Major Tom," the music answered, as Connie leaned back and took a deep breath. "Ground Control to Major Tom."
The rumbling increased then, another layer following it as Connie heard the support structures outside pulling away.
"Take your protein pills and put your helmet on."
Following in time, Connie and her crew pulled the visors of their suits down, tightening up as what was about to happen approached.
"Ground Control to Major Tom." The countdown began, t-minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six—
"Commencing countdown, engines on." It was coming, in five, four, three, two, one— "Check ignition and may our love be with you—"
"Liftoff, we have liftoff!"
G-forces, pure g-forces pressed Connie into her seat as the rockets fired. She'd trained for this moment, but this was nothing like the tests. It was stupendous, it was overwhelming, it was—
Exhilarating.
She felt the rocket rise underneath her, carrying her and her crew up and away to the stars above.