Chapter 1: World’s Best Job

Space. Agoraphobia. I’m a sufferer. The second word is often defined as fear of the first word. Actually, agoraphobia is a fear of being helpless. That’s the real definition, look it up, don’t take my word for it. The fear of helplessness in uncontrollable situations can sometimes manifest as a fear of public places or open spaces. Open Space? Sounds nice. Wide open spaces. I wish I could have some. My ambition is to earn it. To earn it, I have to suffer for it. I’m pretty damn good at suffering, but not in silence. I scream while I suffer!

My name is Mark Hest but it’s not my real name. Found it on the Internet, and adopted it as my name. It means dark horse in Norwegian. Not one drop of Scandinavian blood flows in my veins. Nearly every other kind of racial gene makes up my genome though.

You haven’t the foggiest notion of what I’m talking about. That’s a statement not a question.

First, consider I do suffer from agoraphobia and I’m a space pilot. Not in outer space, only in near earth space. Think of me as an orbital taxidriver. People need ferrying from orbiting spacecraft to the planet surface and some need to be transported up to orbiting spacecraft. That’s my job. A self propelled elevator pilot. My spacecopter flies folks up and falls down, fly up and fall down, thousands of times each year. Half a dozen times each day.

Reentry, free fall, and autorotation is totally out of my control, and I’m completely helpless until I reach a lower enough altitude with air dense enough my rotors can get a grip on the air, and I can begin flying. It terrifies me and I scream hysterically all the way down. Every-time. As soon as I land and my passengers disembark, I refuel and take off with new passengers going up. Then I fall out of the sky again. Cool job, huh? Especially for someone with agoraphobia.

Why do I do it? You have to start somewhere, and this is a stepping stone to becoming an asteroid-tug pilot. That’s inner space from Jupiter to the sun.

Outer space begins at Jupiter’s orbit and goes out to the cloud.

You know, the Oort cloud? Beyond the Kuiper Belt where the short-period comets originate,, the ones that need less than 200 years to complete an orbit around the Sun. The longer period comets come from the Oort cloud, named after a Dutch astronomer, Jan Oort.

Beyond the Oort cloud is interstellar space. That’s the wide open space I eventually want to pilot in. The asteroid-tugs are a stepping stone to the star ships. But first, I have to work my way up to an asteroid tug by flying this vomit comet spacecopter. I’m paying my dues and suffering for it. I’m always grateful when my shift is done for the day, and this is my last drop until tomorrow. Endure!

“Okay, ladies. Buckle up, take a anti-nausea pill, then take a deep breath. Here we go. Going DOWN ... YI-AYE-EEE-yi-EEEEEE!”

Grabbing my joystick and oggling my passenger’s bodies in their skin tight body suits that outline every curve and crevasse, I stroke myself furiously. Masturbation is the only way to distract myself from having serious heebiejeebies during re-entry.

Okay, the rotors are deployed and I can feel the hard deceleration easing up. Airspeed is slow enough to fire jets. Ignition. The jets on the rotor tips begin spinning the rotors at flying speed and the fuel centrifugally slung through the hollow rotor blades out to the jets is rapidly diminishing in my tanks. There’s the spaceport. Adjusting glide path so descent and lateral movement carry me directly to my landing pad.

“Control. Holy Cow on approach, eta three minutes.”

“Hold altitude, Holy Cow, two copters launching. Okay, Holy Cow you can bring her on in, air space is clear.”

‘Hope you enjoyed the flight ladies.”

“Not nearly as much as you did, Mark!”

Silly orbit whores. They have no idea of how I suffer.

“Okay, Joe, the bird is yours. See you tomorrow.”

“Hey, Mark! How about cleaning up your mess?”

“Get one of the yardys to clean the cockpit will you Joe? I desperately need a drink. I feel sick.”

“Whose paying for the yardy, Mark?”

“I’ll make it right with you tomorrow Joe, thanks pal.”