As the Gravity Flipped

by Herschel K. Stroganoff

  The helmet clicked into place. With trepidation, Janis moved her head from left to right, up and down, testing its range of motion as she moved against its stiffness. She smelled her nervous sweat and the faint scent of ozone as the air pressure pushed against her ears

  She arched her head back to look up. The capsule line gave the illusion of a series of concentric steel rings. Janis gulped.

  Arfo tapped her helmet twice and gave her the thumbs-up. Taking a deep breath, Janis twisted the knob to open the propellant and floated upward and through the first steel ring, trembling at the strange floating sensation.

  The suit gathered speed as she rose into the tunnel. Janis had travelled back and forth along the capsule line thousands of times, but always within the confines of the windowless transport capsules. This was something different.

  She gasped as the gravity reduced the closer she came to the central point between the two platforms and was pleased she had tied her hair up.

  Then she stopped. Turning, she gazed in wonderment out of a window and realised it was the first time she had ever seen outside; the black expanse of space; the dull orange surface of Titan; and Saturn, with its pale yellow surface patterned with vast swathes or white and orange and red, its rings shimmering ghost-like against the distant white sun.

  All she heard were the sounds of her body: her breath, her heartbeat, the grinding of her teeth.

  After drifting past the window, her speed increased. The gravity flipped.

  The suit jerked as Janis went into a spin. Closing her eyes, she tried to re-orientate her body to the pull of gravity. She took a deep breath and reduced her acceleration. She drifted down toward the work side of the station.

  The gravity increased until it reached the station's normal level as she squeezed by the stationary line of spherical capsules.

  Janis made a final twist on the suit's knob. The propellant ceased.

  Landing on the capsule line platform, Janis switched on the suit's internal communicator. With trepidation, she tapped on the side of a capsule. The metallic sound rung out in her ears. She wouldn't be able to switch on the suit's external communicator, but she could hear her surroundings.

  Janis let her body adjust to being on solid ground again. The platform was a mirror image of the one she had left behind, except for the silent line of spherical capsules. The platform creaked and strained with the ubiquitous rumble of idling machinery, the low whine of air ducts, and the metallic clanks of her own footsteps.

  Her place of work was unfamiliar at this time of night. Gone were the crowds of workers racing back and forth. Gone were the bright daylight lamps lining the corridors. And gone was that sense of community, of belonging. All was quiet. all was still. Janis trembled.

  She crept along the main corridor lit by strips of dim blue light, then passed by the drone control rooms and the administration offices, the medical bays and security room with its reinforced doors framed by thick rivets. She passed the stairwell which led down to the farms, the air processing and water treatment levels, then by the elevator up to the reactors and the higher-ups' accommodation. Ahead of her, she saw the large door to the main delivery dock and stopped.

  Behind her she thought she heard the distant sound of footsteps. She hugged her body against a doorway. The pulse in her head became louder as she held her breath. She strained to hear, but the internal communicator's range wasn't as good as her own ears. She unclicked her helmet. Her ears popped. The air was stale.

  Placing the helmet next to her on the floor. She waited and listened. Nothing.

  Shaking, sweating, and taking in sharp breaths, Janis reached down and clicked the helmet back onto the vacuum suit. The pressure returned to her ears. Ambient sounds of the platform faded to little more than a low compressed hiss.

  Janis crossed the corridor then entered the cleaning store. She closed the door behind her and switched on the light. She slumped onto her usual seat, letting out a long breath as she considered the vats of chemicals stacked against the wall to her right. Getting to her feet, she stepped over to a trio of cleaning drones on the far wall, each of them half-a-metre taller than she was, and three times as wide. One by one, Janis keyed in the drone's respective codes, waiting for a few moments as they came online.

  They were the machines she used every day, but Janis had never considered their use for anything other than cleaning. She keyed in each of the drones' manual overrides, knowing what she was about to programme would be rejected and cause a safety alert. She opened the containers of various cleaning chemicals, struggling and wobbling as she poured the first vat into the fluid cavities of each of the drones. Worried, she turned off the suit's internal communicator. Although she hated the silence, she wasn't sure whether the fumes could get through if the communicator was switched on.

  Janis poured the other cleaning fluids into the drones. She couldn't smell the liquids, but she was confident the containers would carry the correct labels. Kneeling before each drone, she keyed in the commands for them to jettison their loads on the higher-ups' accommodation level.

  She held her breath as the three drones moved out with a smooth motion. With slow, cautious steps, she followed as they called the elevator and waited - still, humming, ominous. She hid in a doorway and bit her lip as they entered the elevator and the doors hissed closed behind them.

  # # #

  Chao-xing: The Occulto, Saturn region

  13/11/6,541, 12:38 (IST)

  Chao-xing switched on the Occulto's main terminal and listened to the satisfying hum as it ran through its boot sequences. She had never used a terminal like this one before, cobbled together as it was with mismatched hardware and cascading wires, its innards exposed as it bulged beyond the confines of its steel casing.

  "Do you think this will work?" asked Armand.

  "The chip will work fine," she said. "I'm sure it will."

  "And you cleaned it properly?" Armand grinned.

  "Yes!" Chao-xing struck Armand's shoulder with a playful shove. She took the tiny chip from a leather pouch in her pocket and inserted it into the terminal. Her eyes adjusted to the lines of monochrome code scrolling across the display. The smell of burnt plastic, solder and dust mingled with coffee and sweat as the terminal temperature rose.

  "It's a bit idiosyncratic, but I've got it so it can process coding from United Solar, Yao, Fune, Boeki, Aghoro, Bani, Muedin, and a good few hundred other protocols that probably haven't been used for centuries," Armand said. "It might be clunky, but if you're going to retrieve the information you're looking for, this is the system to use."

  Chao-xing rolled her shoulders. "It will be weird trying to process this raw data. With Yao system's it's just intuitive - it's just there." She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair as the terminal read the chip.

  "This is taking a while. How much is on there?" asked Armand.

  "The entire archive. It dates back thousands of years."

  "We should probably get something to eat then. This is clearly going to take some time."

  Chao-xing shook her head. "I'll wait."

  # # #

  Tshilidzi: Elevator Capsule, L5 Casino Platform, Lunar

  12/06/6,544, 13:22 (IST)

  Tshilidzi stared over the expansive series of domes spread out across the Lunar surface as the elevator capsule pushed vertically, freeing itself beyond the pull of Lunar's gravity. He looked out of the viewing window to his right at the Lunar Band - the asteroid belt that arced across the Lunar sky - shimmering as it caught the light from burning white sun.

  His stomach turned against the reduced gravity. Pulling against his safety straps, he reached beneath his seat and lifted a bag onto his lap, then pulled out a series of hand-written notes he'd been making on the investigation.

  "I hate riding the elevators," a man seated to his right said.

  Tshilidzi chuckled. "I was thinking the same thing," he said. "Every time I go off-surface I feel like I'm going to throw up."

  The
man looked back at him with a concerned expression. He was middle-aged, with bad skin and a large gut.

  "I'll be fine," Tshilidzi said with a reassuring tone. "It hasn't happened yet."

  Tshilidzi smiled as the man reached out a hand. "I'm Hari Maher," he said. "Is this a business trip or are you heading to the casino?"

  "Tshilidzi Dumi," he said squeezing Hari's hand. "My stop's the casino, but unfortunately, it's strictly business." He pushed his notes back into his bag and adjusted his seat.

  Hari raised an eyebrow. "What's your line of work?"

  "I'm an Investigator."

  "Oh," Hari said, dropping his gaze.

  Tshilidzi was familiar with this response. As soon as people found out he was an investigator, things always became awkward.

  "I've always thought the casinos were up to no good," Hari said. "What is it? Tax? Laundering? Are they in with the Purdah?"

  Tshilidzi smiled. "I don't know if you've heard about the Yao deaths?"

  "Terrible business," Hari said.

  "I'm looking into that."

  "Really?" Hari looked forward, wide-eyed. "So, who was it?"

  Tshilidzi shrugged and shook his head. "I'm not sure yet."

  " You must have some inkling, some suspicion. Ozu reckons it was the Purdah."

  Tshilidzi curled his lip. "If you go into investigations with conclusions already formed, then you only notice things that confirm your suspicions."

  "So you do have suspicions?"

  "Not yet," said Tshilidzi.

  Hari turned away again and the pair sat in silence for several moments. Tshilidzi reached back into his bag, retrieving his notes.

  "It's pleasure for me," Hari said, clearing his throat. "I'm meeting a couple of the lads from sales for a bit of a blow-out. We've had some strong numbers recently, so we all deserve it."

  "What do you sell?"

  "I inherited quite a sizable stake in the rubber and cotton licenses - people always need clothing and business's always need rubber."

  Tshilidzi nodded, laying his notes flat on his lap. "This is true," he agreed. "Do you visit the casino often?"

  "Not as regularly as I'd like, but I do love it there."

  "You know the games are always rigged?" Tshilidzi asked.

  "Always," Hari smiled, "but playing isn't always about the winning."

  Tshilidzi smiled as the elevator slowed for docking. "Let's hope you're wrong," he said.

  # # #

  Garrett: Docking Bay, V5 Orbiter, Venus

  10/06/6,544, 09:57 (IST)

  "What do you mean, there's no fuel?" Ifan said, leaning into the Yao fuel booth.

  "There's no fuel," said the woman at the window.

  "Tell her we're Boeki," Garrett said.

  "I've already told her we're Affiliates."

  The woman slammed the window shut.

  "Now what? " Garrett asked.

  Ifan turned and shrugged. "I don't know. we need to get a message to the Boeki. At least we sold our stock before all this started." Ifan gestured to the queues of V5 residents waiting in line with their fine closes and leather bags.

  The docking area was two kilometres long and one kilometre wide. Its ceiling swooped in a long shallow curve crossed with steel beams and punctuated with daylight lamps. Small children ducked and ran between the queuing adults and vendors selling steaming hot food hawked their wares. Garrett breathed in the smells of cooked beef and fried onion. He could just make out the top of their Boeki trading ship Carys, idle at the far end of the dock.

  "Where do you think they're going?" Garrett said.

  "Who knows? Lunar, probably. It'll be the transporters that have bought up all the fuel." Ifan leaned against the bright orange booth as the woman scowled through the window.

  "Can they do that? You told me they had to keep some aside for Affiliates and emergencies."

  Ifan breathed an annoyed sigh. "When all the Yaos are killed and no one knows who did it: that's your emergency."

  "Oh," Garrett said.

  "We're stuck here for the foreseeable, so we may as well enjoy V5. When else are we going to get a chance like this?"

  Garrett smiled. "Sounds good to me."

  # # #

  Hayao: Judiciary holding cells, Insularum 1, Lunar

  12/06/6,544, 02:12 (IST)

  With his head in his hands, Hayao sat hunched over on the edge of his bunk, sleep-deprived and sore. Trembling, he thought about how would never see Riko again, how he would never hold Natsuki, how he would never see their unborn child.

  He blinked a tear from his bloodshot eyes as the cell door swung open. Two guards entered wearing plain black uniforms. They stood to attention at either side of the door as Takeshi entered. Hayao recognised the elaborately cut dark blue suit and crisp white shirt as one of Takeshi's regular outfits and looked down at his ill-fitting yellow overalls with shame.

  Hayao slid from the bunk and stood as a third guard entered the room behind Takeshi. The guard gestured for his arms to be shackled.

  "That won't be necessary," said Takeshi. "Mister Kurosawa, please sit down."

  Hayao sat on the bunk, glowering with narrowed eyes at Takeshi. Why was he speaking with such coldness, such formality? They had won an election together, travelled to the cities and towns across Lunar, worked together for more than a decade. One punch - one simple, stupid mistake - and everything was ruined.

  "You can't even call me by my name?" Hayao said, his voice hoarse and bitter.

  "Hayao, friend," Takeshi said with a soft, amiable tone. "Nobody is sorrier than I for your imminent death."

  "Friend?" Hayao snarled as he glared up at Takeshi, his fists and jaw clenching.

  "You must understand that nobody - not even the Secretary - is above the Judiciary," said Takeshi.

  Hayao gave a weak nod as Takeshi removed his jacket and lay it over the chair. A pulse echoed in his ears as blood rushed to his head. The thought crossed his mind to grab Takeshi around the throat - to take him down with him. Instead, he remained still and took a deep breath through his nose.

  "Please, remove your clothes," Takeshi said, loosening the clasp of his collar.

  Hayao blinked with shock. "Excuse me?"

  "Please. Your death is imminent. Your family will not be allowed to see you again. I am your friend, and I wish to keep the tradition."

  Hayao froze. He was too tired to fight, too exhausted to feel angry. He was beaten.

  "Please, remove your clothes and I will purify you," Takeshi said, his tone insistent.

  Hayao shook his head. "I will not let you do this," he whispered.

  "Guards." Takeshi gestured towards Hayao. All at once, the three men grabbed Hayao's wrists and ankles and pushed him back onto the bed as he struggled against their grasp.

  "No," Hayao growled as the guards tore away his clothing. Takeshi loomed over him.

  Hayao stiffened as, slowly and methodically, Takeshi washed his naked body with a wet sponge, wringing and wetting it at regular intervals. He shivered as Takeshi washed each of his feet, working his way up each leg with detached care. Hayao winced as the ice-cold water stung his genitals. He cringed at those desolate eyes.

  Trying to create separation from his mind and body, Hayao stared up at a scuff on the ceiling while Takeshi scrubbed his stomach and chest, and continued down his arms and between his fingers. Up and down. Prolonged, meticulous.

  After almost an hour, the final dabs of the sponge brushed against his forehead. Takeshi was soaked through with water and sweat.

  "Death is a natural process," Takeshi began, almost breathless. "It is part of the cycle of life and one you must accept and be at peace with. You will be collected shortly before your sentence is carried out, and I would suggest that you reflect on your deeds - both good and bad - and think about your life and legacy. Reflect on how your deeds will affect you in the next life, how they will affect your next incarnation. Only you can know if you have lived a good life."

  Takeshi placed a han
d on Hayao's forehead and muttered a quiet prayer under his breath.

  "You are a wicked man, Takeshi Ozu," Hayao said with calm resignation. "I have nothing to fear in death."

  "Your death, Miser Kurosawa, is a mere technicality now," Takeshi said, picking up his jacket and folding it over his arm.

  The guards release their grip and followed Takeshi as he left the cell, the door slamming closed behind him.

  Hayao looked down at the bruises circling his wrists and ankles. Cold, damp, naked and alone, Hayao wept.

  # # #

  Information sought following L17 data theft

  Originally published by Lunar Chronicle, 12/6/6,539

  A thief who carried out a data theft on Muedin's Lunar L17 platform is being sought by United Solar officials.

  Privileged data relating to the Muedin's viral research was stolen by a presumed Purdah agent posing as an independent trader.

  Officials are seeking a man believed to be in his mid-thirties (Lunar) with dark skin and long black hair. He is described as being around two metres in height with a light Jovian accent.

  The thief is believed to have given a false name and was travelling on an unregistered ship.

  A Muedin spokesperson said: "We want to assure citizens that in light of this data breach the Muedin will be reviewing its storage and access protocols.

  "Citizens are reminded to only ever use official Muedin drugs and treatments and reiterate that all unofficial medicines present a cocktail of threats.

  "The possession and consumption of any medicines and treatments not procured through the Muedin is a serious crime.

  "Any citizens with information about the data breach or any other trade in illegal medicines should report to their local Muedin centre or speak to any United Solar Affiliate."

  # # #

  Chapter Five

  Meer: Docking Bay, V5 Orbiter, Venus

  13/06/6,544, 18:07 (IST)

  "This is completely abysmal," said Meer. She stood in line with Maggerty, waiting to buy tickets for a shuttle to Lunar. "Why are they taking so long?"