S Morden - One Way

He was handed a pair of gray long johns, top and bottom. They were a tight fit. Not too tight, because they knew exactly how big he was from all the previous measurements they’d taken from him. But tight enough that he had to sit on the cold floor and smooth the material up his legs until he could say he was wearing them, rather than the other way around.

He put on the thin, almost sheer, socks and gloves. He put on the bathing-cap beanie. They walked him over to the hanging sculpture. There was a hole in the back, a doorway, complete with a door, and it was open, and there was nothing but darkness inside.

He hesitated, and felt the firm pressure of a hand in the small of his back, pushing him on. Someone had placed a low step at the base of the mannequin, though now he could see that it was no mannequin.

He climbed up on the step, and peered over the top of the thing’s shoulder. He was looking down at a clear perspex bubble, and when he looked along the arm, he saw it terminated in a complex glove. It was a spacesuit.

He pointed at the hole in the back of the suit. “In here?”

The technician’s eyes—that was all Frank could see—moved in that direction.

Frank used the hard rim of the hatch to steady himself, and he eased his feet into the interior. He had to point his toes and push hard to get his feet into the boots. Left arm, right arm, then duck down and put his head through the neck ring.

He worked his fingers into the outer gloves. Behind him, the technician hooked something heavy to his back. He could feel the weight settle on him.

“ Breathe normally ,” said his ear. He hadn’t realized that he wasn’t. He took a breath, held it, and took another. The faceplate inches from his nose misted. It was like wearing a goldfish bowl.

“ Look down .”

He could see the broad curve of his suit’s front. But not his feet.

“ There’s a control unit on your chest. Open it .”

He found that his arms could move against the complex system of pulleys suspending him from the ceiling. He didn’t have to hold them rigidly in the outstretched position he’d first put them in. He reached down to the box hung just below his ribs. It was attached to a flap of material by the top, so that when he lifted it up, he could prop it in position with one hand. With the other, he flipped open the cover. His gloves were surprisingly dexterous, better than his usual rigger’s gloves.

Inside was a small screen, with a series of read-outs. The numbers didn’t mean anything to him, but all the telltales were green. That was a good sign. The three buttons let him scroll through each menu: up, down, select.

“Go to the top menu .”

He navigated to it, tapping the buttons with the very tip of his gloved finger. There were two options: Open, and Close.

“ Select Close .”

A motor whirred, and the weight on his back shifted position. Something made a substantial, positive click behind him, and outside sounds became muffled and indistinct.

A faint breeze passed his face, blowing against the faceplate, clearing it.

He was in a spacesuit. An actual goddamn spacesuit.

“ Close the controls, and walk slowly to the end of the room .”

He stood upright, testing his center of gravity, working out where his balance now was, and when he thought he was ready, he tentatively put his foot out. He felt his weight shift in unfamiliar ways, and he staggered slightly, locking his leg to brace himself. His upper body was enclosed in what was essentially inflexible armor, a breastplate and a backplate, with his helmet integrated into it as part of a seamless whole. If he wanted to look at something off to one side, he’d have to either turn at his hips, or just point his feet in that direction. That was going to take getting used to.

He walked slowly as instructed, and the pulleys and their cables followed him across the room. The fabric of his suit was stiff, despite the loose outer layer. It was OK, but going any distance would be tiring. Suddenly, running up and down the Mountain made a whole lot more sense.

He reached the wall.

“ Turn around. Touch your head, your shoulders, your waist, your knees, your toes .”

He faced the white, bright room of technicians and equipment and lifted his arms. He tapped the top of his helmet, the shoulder joints, his armored waist, and then started to bend forward to touch his knees. The weight shifted again. It was high up on his back, and he realized he could easily tip over and face-plant on the floor. He couldn’t even be certain of getting his hands out in time to break his fall. As to whether he could get up again without help, that was unknown.

He bent from his knees instead, squatting down. He dabbed his kneecaps, then reached below his coiled legs and poked the toes of his boots. He straightened up, slowly, with difficulty, but he didn’t topple.

“ Return to your starting position .”

Again, he took measured paces across the floor. There were cameras on stands around the room. He thought he was performing well, and he glanced at the nearest lens. He caught his reflection, and saw a strange, hunchbacked creature, more monster than human, staring eyelessly back.

He stopped and looked more closely, fascinated and repelled.

“ Return to your starting position .”

The spell broke, and he remembered how to walk again. He parked himself once more with his heels against the short step.

“ Open your control unit and select Open .”

He checked his chest-screen, and dabbed the lit-up command. The rear hatch opened, and the heavy thing behind him was taken away. He could feel the air in the lab as a different quality to that in the suit.

“ Climb out and get dressed. That concludes the test .”

He complied. He stripped off the long johns and the gloves and the beanie and the socks. A technician bagged them in a labeled sack and shelved them, while Frank climbed back into his day clothes and knelt on the floor to lace up his boots. He was otherwise ignored. Not that the techs weren’t talking, they just weren’t talking to him, as if he was merely incidental to the rest of their work.

But this event, surely, was significant. They’d have had to have made the spacesuit to fit him, more or less exactly, unless they had a wide array of off-the-peg solutions, and he’d not seen these types of suits before, either in the movies or on the small screen. This was bespoke. That meant they were spending serious money on him.

It also meant that if he screwed up now, they’d be seriously pissed at him.

“ Report to Building Ten .”

Goddammit, couldn’t they leave him alone, just for five minutes?

“ Report to Building Ten. Acknowledge .”

Where the hell was Building Ten? If he asked nicely enough, he’d get the instructions in his ear. Don’t screw up. Say it. Say it now.

“Acknowledged.”

He navigated the paths around the mountain, and was directed to what looked like an aircraft hangar. Deep. Tall. Broad. Certainly as big as the area he was practicing driving on, and probably bigger. Xenosystems didn’t lack for green.

The usual trail of electric carts rattled along on the road behind him, but he ignored them. There was a little door set in the big doors, and the usual print lock glowing with one red light next to the handle. He walked across the concrete apron and fell into the cold shadow of the overhanging roof.

His thumb cracked the door, and he pushed the handle down and away. It was dark inside, and it smelled strange. Almost a new car smell. There was sand underfoot, deep enough and dry enough to sink into. The door snicked shut behind him, and the little daylight that had crept in with him was snuffed out.