Emma Mae hadn’t always been an astronaut. Just like everyone else, she’d once worn regular boots instead of magnetic moon-boots, and just like everyone else she’d once survived on a gaseous mixture of about 70% nitrogen and 26% oxygen instead of 80% Xenon gas and 20% oxygen. But then NASA had come recruiting.
“We need smart people like you,” they said, and they gave her boatloads of money to agree to be strapped to the top of a big firework and shot two miles straight up into space. She’d adapted quickly, finding her place among the engineers and rocket-calculus mathematicians. She learned to love the bright but mysterious moon, and she learned to love the hiss the airlock made just before it finally opened.
Emma Mae made her home in space, and as an astronaut she learned to be fearless.
Written on 4/16/16 at ArtAwake for a women I got the impression would have made a good astronaut.