I take a rapid, strained breath. The pressure forces my body against my seat. I can't move, but every muscle in my body is flexed almost to its point of breaking. Quick breath. I am sure, that if I had a mirror right now, it would look like I had just had the most effective face lift, but even if I had a mirror, I would not be able to hold it up in front of me. I squeeze my legs tight, then my butt, then my stomach, to push the flow of blood up towards my head – quick breath. My breaths get less and less efficient, the black spots before my eyes begin to grow, quick breath, I am barely taking in any oxygen, and I recognize the feeling creeping up on me; the tickling numbness in the back of my head. Lights are flickering all around me, and I hear the beeps of the controls without registering them. In my last breath, no air moves across my lips, and I know I have failed. In a matter of seconds, my eyes go completely dark and I am not capable of screaming, much less breathing.
I am trapped in a maze-like jungle. Strange plants surround me, and a strong smell of cardamom, roasted caramel, and strawberries fills the air. Particles of what might be pollen or small, feathered seeds flow softly around me. Some appear to be faintly bioluminescent when they enter the deep shadows underneath the large, thick leaves of a large, indistinguishable palm tree. Above me are treetops of bright orange crowns; around me, vividly purple bushes; and below me, between the green blades of grass, curiously pale pink flowers that almost look like soft feathers are peeking up at me. I had just concluded a curious lack of insects, when a winged creature buzzes right by my ear. I flinch but am quickly dazzled by the moth. It is unlike anything I have ever seen. It is about the size of my fist, its wings iridescent dark blue, shifting from neon green to purple as it flies.
The mesmerizing animal settles on the petals of a pure white blossoming flower with serrated edges. I move closer in order to get a better look at the insect and the beautiful patterns on its back. My face is only about a foot away, when the flower starts spiraling, gripping into the air, before it retracts with its petals closed tight. It nearly hits my face, its motion surprisingly powerful. I fall back to avoid the chainsaw-like flower, and it settles back in, now closed like a secretive rose bud. Sticking out between two petals is a part of the iridescent wing. Twisted and broken, it flickers a little, before it gets completely still. Either the flower is carnivorous, or the moth got really unlucky. From one of the sharp ends of the petals, a red drop is making its way down the curved figure of the flower bud. The deep cherry red kind of looks like blood against the innocent white velvet petal. I reach for my cheek, and when I hold my finger up to my face, a twin drop is hanging off the tip. The drop loses the battle against gravity, and it disappears into the grass, before it is absorbed by the ground. Within a second, the pale pink feathers between the grass turns scarlet within a short radius of my blood. This place is a little unnerving. I am definitely not in Texas anymore.
It looks like multiple plants, but for some reason I perceive them all as one. It is all around me, and all its branches, stems, and leaves are moving in unison. It could just be the wind pulling at the vegetation, but it seems to be reaching towards something. It is trying to reach me; to grab me; capture me, so I start running. I am pushing big, dark leaves out of my face, I hurdle wild snake-like stalks, until finally, a hole opens up in the ground beneath me, and this strange place swallows me whole, consumes me.
"Fuck," is the first word to leave my lips, when Moon persistently slaps her hand against the glass in front of my face. I hate the dreams I have during G-LOC. They are too real; it is almost like my consciousness travels to another world. A real one, that is. What is most weird is, they are always the same. It's this unearthly Garden of Eden landscape, which then turns into a hostile environment that tries to kill me and sometimes succeeds. Every time I am unaware of the danger, because my dream-self does not remember the last time I was there. It is almost as if that is what I my brain wants Proxima d to look like. G-induced loss of consciousness can be a real bitch.
"P, are you good?" she asks me with a concerned look on her friendly face. She is in the simulator with me – they all are, except for Commander Sánchez. Which only makes this even more embarrassing. This is the fourth time I pass out during the atmospheric entry simulation. I passed the G-tolerance test in the training program, but for this mission we have to pull nine times gravity instead of the six G they exposed us to a year ago. It is crucial that we manage to maintain consciousness in case of any surprises in the atmosphere of Proxima d.
"Let's go again," I demand, reentering the settings on the console in front of me.
"Are you sure?" the smooth voice of Mahanya reaches me, and with him I want to be honest, but I keep flipping the switches in the order that I have learned with a determined look on my face. My stubbornness fights off any doubts with my team, and they settle themselves back in their seats, Smugface and Heidi Klum 2.0 in the front row with their calm and confident presences, Mahanya and Nadeau seated right behind them. Nadeau sure looks more nervous and tense than me, but I'm pretty sure I've got him beat. My hands are sweaty inside the gloves of the pressure suit, and I try to hide the shakes when I secure the harness across my torso. I take a deep, silent breath, before hitting the button on the screen in front of me, changing my status to ready. When Moon is the last one not lighting up, I look towards her and immediately meet her scrutinizing gaze.
I hold out my hand, and when her palm rests against mine, I squeeze her hand and give her a nod. She seems to accept my plea, as she lets go of me and signals her readiness.
"Initiating," the computer announces, and the simulation begins. Zero gravity kicks in, but I feel my harness preventing me from floating aimlessly around the room. Digital panorama displays descend from the ceiling, isolating every astronaut behind their own semi-circular screen, exhibiting a rendering of Proxima d viewed from space. It is not an ingenious visualization, really, the blue-and-green planet with its cloudy atmosphere could have convinced me that it, too, was Earth. Except, when you look long enough, you realize that the oceans are more like really large lakes, and that the real secrets of this planet seem to be hiding out of the water. Proxima d has very harsh environments, some we won't be able to access and explore, while some are very mild, with a strong resemblance to natural environments on Earth. Or so we've been told.
As we proceed along the curve of the spherical planet, a signal shows up indicating that our designated landing site is approaching from behind the crescent horizon. A red light on my panel instructs me to drag a slider downwards, and I obey, pulling my finger slowly across the panel while keeping my eyes fixed at the LANDING SITE-marking as it emerges.
"Here we go," Nadeau uneasily states. Every time, he seems to be the most nervous one, but every time, he scores amongst the top participants when it comes to maintaining control. The engines shut down temporarily as we are hauled in by the gravitational pull of the planet. My heart rate picks up as I watch the diagrammatic route of the shuttle descending towards the surface on the console screen. We are approaching the planetary atmosphere, the blue radiation belt lighting up before our eyes. Another light calls for my attention, and I press the button that it asks me to. In reality, I am not controlling anything, and the simulated entry would not play out any differently, if – when – I fail to push the buttons. It is merely a tool to measure and evaluate our performances. Or in my case, lack thereof.
This is the point where my heartrate skyrockets: I flip a couple of switches on the console, while I purposefully hyperventilate to over-oxygenate the air sacs of my lungs. We are still floating at near zero-G for another couple of seconds, but I am already feeling lightheaded, as my blood is rushing through my ears, seemingly too fast to deliver any oxygen, although I know that's not the case. I am not ready, when we start to drop in altitude, while the engines reengage to push us towards our target. At two times the force of gravity I take my first quick breath. We start picking up speed, accelerating against the rotation of the planet, our ultra-light weight shuttle needing the extra force to push through the denser layers of atmosphere surrounding Proxima d.
Three G. Quick breath. To begin with, it just feels like riding a rollercoaster going down a steep section. I get a rush, a thrilling sensation which is also quite discouraging. Squeezing my lower body does not keep my intestines in place, and they all seem to want to exit through my throat while I struggle to take in another portion of air. I push a button, and the heat shield is activated.
Five G; a strained, quick breath. We are plummeting through the atmospheric layers of Proxima d so fast now that the shuttle begins to vibrate, and soon everything – me included – is trembling so violently that it is getting more difficult to breathe.
Seven G, I can no longer make out the image on the panoramic screen in front of my face, my primary focus is to breathe and secondly to react to the signals of the console. I am failing at both, it seems, my hands struggling to keep up with the red lights. I can no longer satisfy the accumulating lights, and soon, my whole dashboard is glowing red.
Eight. Holy Mother, I might actually make it this time. Squeeze, quick breath – my lunch probably won't, though. I squeeze continuously, even though the lactic acid is slowly burning its way through the fibers of my aching muscles. A tiny bit of air makes its way down my throat, and I shut my lips tight to keep it there for another three-to-four seconds.
Nine, I have to close my eyes as I force my lungs to make room for yet another insufficient breath. My nails dig into the strong fabric of my suit as I clench my fists tightly, repeatedly ordering myself to stay wake.
Eventually, the engines switch off, and I immediately feel the velocity decreasing, as the mass of the atmosphere acts as a natural break for the shuttle. I open my eyes, breathe a little less constrained, and try to enjoy the show. I never actually stayed awake long enough to see the clear blue sky above the clouds. It does not last long, and we are soon making our way through the cloud cover, the resistance causing some serious turbulence, which is seriously messing with my gut at this point.
The curtains are drawn, revealing the most beautiful part of the ride. A vast, blue ocean swiftly replaced by a flat, green carpet, which then transforms into a theatrical mountainscape, at first moderate and green, but then dramatically rocky and covered in snow. The best images of Earth, before the invasion of man, have been used for the reproduction of the surface of Proxima d, and I wish we could float slowly above it all instead of flashing by at a speed of five hundred miles per hour. I almost forget to breathe.
The captivating images unfold to reveal dry desert hills, and we are getting so close now, that I can make out our shadow against the sand backdrop. The parachute unleashes, leading us to a smooth landing on a field of flowers not far from a primeval forest. Scientists have not been able to determine the surface of Proxima d due to the dense atmosphere, but an evaluation of the climate and seasons of the exoplanet has caused the belief that it consists of a wide variety of natural sceneries. I am finally gasping for air, my suit struggling to neutralize the humidity levels, as condensation begins to form on the inside of my helmet.
I want to let out a loud howl of pure excitement, but it is going to have to wait. As soon as I hear the click indicating the end of the simulation, I throw myself out of the hatch door, and struggle to free my head from my helmet before things get ugly. I steer towards the end of the room, trying not to drop my helmet to the floor too fast. My suit gloves quickly slide off, and I am struggling to pull down the metal collar. The bottom of the empty polished aluminum bin ruthlessly reflects my face as I vomit. At least I pulled through this time, I tell myself as I wipe snot, tears, and partially digested lunch off of my chin with the back of my hand.
"Give up, Gray. We all know that you're only here because of your father," Smugface says.
"And you're not?" I ask him spitefully, my face still in the bin as I spit the sour mixture. At first, I thought he was the mechanic, rendering him irrelevant to the mission, but it turns out, he is our astronomer; crucial in evaluating our environment when we are up there. Our mechanic, however, might actually be the most likeable person on our whole team. I am even considering accepting her as an actual real-life friend. Regarding everyone else; highly unlikely.
"Well, yes, but I'm actually a good astronaut. I worked the Moon transfer, remember?" out of the corner of my eye I see him leaning against the centrifuge.
"How could I forget," I mumble with apathy. He literally would not let me forget that he was crew on the space craft that regularly transported super-rich tourists to-and-from the moon.
"You'll only be in our way up there. Why don't you just stay here and talk to your animals."
"That's not what I do," I object, even though he is mostly right. Studying ways to communicate with foreign life does sometimes include trying to understand and be understood by animals. His eyebrows are challengingly raised at me when I make my way across the room, passing him without removing my gaze from the open door to the machine. I don't want to start anything with him. I only want to succeed.
"Again," I direct at the simulation supervisor behind the protective glass, as I make my way to insert myself back into the simulator.
"Good job, everyone," I hear the voice of my commander in my earpiece. I seize my march towards the simulator and turn slowly to face the decisionmaker, who apparently has decided to join us in the simulative training facility.
"Let's call it a day," commander Sanchez casually orders, avoiding my determined gaze.
"Commander," I object, but he cuts me off, when he looks to me.
"Gray, you maintained consciousness. Let's leave it at that and pick it back up tomorrow. What you are experiencing in there is the ideal entry scenario. Make sure you get some sleep tonight. We have to be prepared for anything."