Saved by the Belt

By Pamela Love

Gravity is merciless. My brittle-boned body—courtesy of decades in the Space Force—hurtled toward what could be a disastrous collision with the floor.

But I was wearing a Belt. Once its sensors registered my loss of balance, its anti-grav went into action, halting my descent and raising me gently until I was again upright. After I hovered for a few seconds, I landed, bending my knees as Major Roman had instructed me. My “test flight” was a success.

My daughter, Hazel, waved her arms and cheered. Major Roman—my doctor as well as the Belt’s inventor—joined in. Both gave me a thumbs up moments later when their phones alerted them to the Belt’s activation.

I tossed off a heartfelt salute to Dr. Roman. “No more fall risk. This will change my life.”

Hazel nodded. “A lot of people’s lives. I’m an EMT. How soon before the Belt goes into general use, Major?”

Doctor Roman rubbed the back of his neck. “The Belt will go into production next month, but it won’t be cheap. It will be years before any insurance even partially covers it.” He sighed. “To be frank, General McAndrew here can be an early adopter of this tech only because of his wealth and connections.”

“Of course, I’ll help wherever I can,” I promised, picking up my cane, which was now no longer so vital. I was under no illusions that my status as a war hero, not to mention donations I’d made from my private fortune, were what allowed me to claim one of the first fully-functional prototypes. But I’d earned both.

Most of this VA hospital’s patients were ex-Space Force. Its lobby’s Christmas tree was decorated with rocket and satellite ornaments. I pointed out the silver-winged angel in a miniature space helmet at the top to my daughter. “We had one just like that when you were little, remember?”

Beneath the tree were gift-wrapped boxes, presumably empty decorations. The snug, reassuring presence of the Belt against my torso made me feel safer and more independent than I had since I’d started using my cane the year before. I couldn’t imagine a better Christmas present.

As we were exiting, I waited so Hazel could hold the door open for a woman shuffling inside, clinging to a walker. She smiled gratefully. Pinned to her shabby coat was a Lunar War II service medal, the kind given to enlisted who’d been stuck on the Moon for six years before they could be evacuated. Judging by her hunched posture, her osteoporosis was far more advanced than mine. Microgravity’s toll on the skeleton’s strength is one of the Space Force’s greatest hazards.

She stumbled at the doorway. Hazel grabbed her just before she fell. “Thanks, I’m okay,” the veteran muttered.

A nurse hurried to her side to assist. “Ms. Barkley, can I get you a wheelchair?”

“Nice reflexes.” I gave my daughter a quick side hug.

She shrugged. “I get plenty of practice at work.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the woman she’d just rescued. People like her will give you plenty more. “Yeah.”

Suddenly my Belt didn’t feel nearly as comfortable.

“Are you certain, General?” Dr. Roman asked, folding his arms. “If you give yours to Ms. Barkley, it could be over a year before you get another Belt. There’s a lengthy waiting list.”

When I nodded, Hazel kissed my cheek. “Proud of you, Dad.” Huh. Maybe there is such a thing as a better present than a Belt.

On the way out for the second time, my daughter said, “Stay here while I get the car. It’s starting to rain—I don’t want you to slip.” I sat on a sheltered bench to wait.

When I reached into my pocket for my phone, I remembered leaving it in Dr. Roman’s office. Wonderful. Oh, well, I had at least five minutes before Hazel returned.

I headed indoors with extra care. Falling now would be so ironic. But I made it to the front desk’s Lost and Found and retrieved my phone without any problem.

Only then did someone who was texting instead of watching where they were going accidentally knock me over. My head sped toward the floor. Yup, ironic all right.

The irony ended when I didn’t crash. I just hovered there, about a meter off the floor. Nobody rushed to help. They ooh-ed and ahh-ed, probably figuring it had to be because of a Belt. There had been plenty of publicity about its development here.

Major Roman helped me regain my footing… eventually. He’d seen the whole thing. After I’d been swooped off my feet, he filmed me for close to a minute. “My jaw came closer to hitting the floor than your skull did, General.”

Theories are flying everywhere now. The Belt’s technology is transferable by contact. My extended time in microgravity means I can levitate. It’s aliens somehow. One guess is as good as another.

However, there is one data point I haven’t given anyone else yet. While I was getting ready for bed that evening, in my shirt pocket I found a silver feather, just like the ones on the Christmas tree’s astronaut angel.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pamela Love was born in New Jersey, and worked as a teacher and in marketing before becoming a writer. Her work has appeared in Havok, Page & Spine, and Luna Station Quarterly. She is the 2020 winner of the Magazine Merit Fiction Award for her story “The Fog Test”, which appeared in Cricket. She and her family live in Maryland.

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