A few weeks ago I attended a conference in Vancouver on virtual reality. The show was mostly aimed at consumers but did include a ‘trade day’ at which industry folk would speak, share and connect. One of the keynotes was a trainer from NASA who explained how that agency invented and/or improvised many VR type technologies in their search for solutions in how to train astronauts. As part of that effort, they had created a digital simulation of the International Space Station consisting of some six million polygons. (As one with some background in CGI, I was mildly surprised that a structure as complex as the ISS could be faithfully rendered in so few objects …)
Later, someone at the show randomly mentioned that I should not miss the NASA demo. NASA wasn’t actually exhibiting, but I assumed he referred to Earthlight, a game that simulated the experience of a novice astronaut on her first mission to the ISS and which had been developed in association with the space agency. I found the booth, took the demo, and, in a few short minutes, had my world completely rocked. I was blown away. Totally. Blown. Away.
The realism of the simulation was simply amazing. The ISS itself was meticulously rendered (I was given to understand that after seeing Earthlight, NASA took to using their virtual ISS over their own, so superior was the Earthlight model.)
The action of the demo was simple: you exit the airlock and use a series of rungs to traverse a section of the ISS to check a fitting on some external device. Duly, I followed the cues and climbed out of the airlock into virtual space, and began hand-over-handing it across the shell of the ISS. Somewhere along the way, I stopped, and looked around.
The colossal structure of the ISS arrayed out into space in all directions. Beyond, only stars. But with a simple turn of my head, the magnificence of earth – that magic blue marble floating in space – was visible, rotating majestically below me. I let go one hand, and semi-floated to better admire the view. It was a perfect example of what they call in the trade ‘presence’: I was utterly, completely there. And I was awestruck.
After removing my headset, I mentioned to one of the attendant staff (who turned out to be no less than the lead designer on the project) how much the experience put me in mind of Chris Hadfield’s book An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth. She and her team were unfamiliar with the book. Given their mission, I thought it would provide valuable insight as they developed the project. I filed this away.
In the weeks following the conference, I remained in thrall to my experience of Earthlight, and thought it might be an appropriate act of gratitude to send the team a copy of Colonel Hadfield’s book. I just had to get my hands on a copy. (And sure, I could have resolved the issue with a few clicks on Amazon, but that seemed kind of impersonal.)
About that time, I was attending my weekly tai chi practice when I heard one of my classmates expressing a need for ‘a truck’; “I have a truck,” I replied. “What do you need it for?”
They were engaged in an annual fund raising effort in which books were donated by the public and sold in a weekend market, with all proceeds benefiting the local library. This year’s event was nigh; donations were looking good, but they were lacking transport for the goods. I volunteered my truck and my time, was given a day and location to show up at, and was advised: as a volunteer, you get to take three free books.
Actually, I said, there is one particular book I’d like to get a copy of …. Can you ask people to look out for a copy of you-know-what?
On the day of the book collection, I was quickly overwhelmed with the volume of donated books. Literally, thousands and thousands of books were being picked up from various collection points around the community and trucked to the sales venue, where they were sorted and classified by another small army of volunteers. As I witnessed first hand the volume of goods and the frantic efforts of the sorters, I realised how ridiculous my request was. No-one there had the time or bandwidth to look out for a particular volume in response to a single volunteer’s request. What a foolish notion that was.
Chastened by my presumption, I carried on working, until one of the organizers approached me and said ”We’ve just had a call from a lady with 30 boxes of books for us – can you possibly go and pick them up?” Of course, I replied, and – stopping briefly to collect an able bodied young helper – sped off to the appointed address.
Wherein we found not thirty boxes, but thirty books. The vacating occupant was doing her best to jettison as many possessions as possible before handing over the property to its new owner. Among the small stash of books she had to donate was – yes – a mint copy of An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth.
Needless to say, I claimed that item as my one and only volunteer freebie, and a few days later it was on its way to a certain VR company in Australia. A week or so later, they posted a lovely acknowledgment of receipt (see above).
What is the point of recounting all this? Not really sure, to be honest. But there was something in the way the various elements of this tale all tumbled together – an idea, a path, a solution – that makes me realise that sometimes you do have to trust your instincts and follow a notion. Because however unlikely the outcome, it may still surprise and delight you.
It just so happens that Colonel Hadfield has a speaking engagement in Melbourne this fall, the very city where Earthlight’s creators are based. They’ve invited him to drop by the studio and try out the game. I sincerely hope he has time to do so. That would be so win win.
In the meantime, I hope some of the Earthlight crew read and appreciate my small gift.
And a recommendation: if you ever get the chance to experience Earthlight in true VR space, do take it; it will change your life. For a milder taste of its wonders, go here.