Jalen stood in the prep bay, staring at the suit like it was a mythical beast. It gleamed under the fluorescent lights—white panels, graphite joints, a visor that looked like it could swallow stars. The American flag stitched on the arm felt heavier than it looked. This wasn’t just gear. It was history, responsibility, and a whole lot of Velcro.
Jalen prepares for his journey as an astronaut, donning a sleek spacesuit that symbolizes the blend of history and innovation.
“Ready?” asked Chief Engineer Morales, clipboard in hand and eyebrows raised.
“As I’ll ever be,” Jalen replied, voice cracking slightly.
The first challenge was the legs. They were stiff, like trying to slide into a frozen sleeping bag. Jalen wiggled, hopped, cursed softly. Morales chuckled. “You’re not dancing salsa, rookie. One leg at a time.”
Next came the torso. It clamped around him like a mechanical hug. The cooling tubes slithered across his chest, and the life-support pack clicked into place with a sound that felt final. Jalen’s breath slowed. The suit was starting to feel… real.
Then came the gloves. Each finger had its own attitude. He flexed them, trying to imagine gripping tools in orbit. They felt like armored marshmallows.
Finally, the helmet. Morales lowered it gently, locking it with a hiss. The world outside muffled. Jalen’s own breath echoed in his ears. The heads-up display flickered to life—oxygen levels, suit pressure, heart rate. His heart was racing.
“You’re sealed,” Morales said through the comm. “How do you feel?”
Jalen looked down at his gloved hands, then up at the reflection in the prep bay window. He didn’t see himself anymore. He saw an astronaut.
“Like I’m about to meet the universe,” he said.
Morales smiled. “Then let’s go knocking the heavens door.”
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