The Gravity of the Moment
by C. H. Russellson
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Table of Contents, parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 |
part 2
By “a while” I thought the guy meant two, maybe three weeks at least. I had almost forgotten about the trip to Rhea and hoped that it all fell through so I could spend those extra days off hanging out in the recreation dome wasting time and fantasizing that Klaudia would come back to me.
I hadn’t seen much of Grayson over the five days or so since that night until I got off the rail one evening. As I stepped off the platform, I heard hurried footsteps, no trivial feat in the low gravity. “Ian! It’s on, buddy,” Grayson said breathlessly. “We’ve got to get to the terminal, pronto.”
“Neal! I can’t just drop everything and run off to Rhea. What happened to keeping me posted and it was going to take a while?” I started walking toward my apartment.
“Well, things got moved up. The rental craft is loaded, and I need to take possession. Everything’s set. You might want to check your mindeye,” he said, walking behind me.
I blinked my passcode and connected. Sure enough, there was a legit message with Allie Donovan’s imprint telling me I wasn’t due back at work for ten whole days! I stopped quickly and turned on Grayson, livid. “You think of everything, don’t you? What about my stuff? I’ll need to pack.” It was then I noticed the bag in his hand that he held up to me. I grabbed it from him and opened it to find everything for a trip of a few days, down to toiletries and underwear, as if I were a child and he were my mother.
“Uh, the manager let me in,” he said sheepishly. “You won’t need to go back to your place.” He started walking the other way. “I’d like us to catch the next shuttle up to orbit.”
An hour later, we were past the thick clouds and in orbit chasing the sprawling orbital station. Grayson didn’t waste any time getting past the checkpoints as if he’d done this dozens of times. We were both in the system and just pretty much walked, or floated rather, through to the docking mast where the SEA agent met the two of us with stern looks. Everything was in order and, within two hours of my stepping off the rail platform in the residence dome, we were backing out from the mast and awaiting clearance to pull away into free orbit.
Grayson was getting impatient, but we finally got permission to pull out after an incoming freighter from Callisto got clamped to the mast. Once clear from the orbital station, Grayson checked the predetermined route from SEA, which was going to take nearly two and a half days. “Oh, that won’t do!” he yelled and immediately started plotting a retrograde burn that would get us from Titan to Rhea in just under half that time. It wasn’t the most economical course, but Grayson didn’t mind paying for the extra fuel.
One long beautiful burn propelled us on our way, falling toward Saturn at a good clip which would require a similar burn on the other end, at Rhea. Grayson stayed close to the control seat but left me in charge for a few hours while he slipped behind the wall and grabbed some sleep.
There was not much to do or see besides staring at the rings, which were mostly edgewise to us. The bulk of Saturn slowly expanded, and a couple of other moons were visible. The insertion burns left us in a different orbit from our target, but a couple of precise maneuvers brought us nearer to rendezvous. I glanced over at the control screen showing fuel level. We had made it to Rhea with only four percent remaining.
What had started as a bright star above the bright moon resolved into a cubic conglomeration of girders bristling with all sorts of equipment, antennas, and tanks. A couple of small shuttles and a tube-shaped habitat module clung to the outside of the structure like bees on a hive. I guessed the framework to be a hundred meters on a side based on the attached objects that lent some scale to the enterprise. The docking and work area was open to space and would require pressure suits for all work performed on the outside of a docked ship. As we got closer, I spotted some space-suited figures moving about acrobatically among the girders.
As soon as the Pearson clamps were engaged, Grayson quickly shut systems down, released his restraints and started floating toward the rear of the cabin. “Okay, Ian. Let’s get suited up for the ride down. There’s no fancy concourse here.”
I wasn’t used to putting on a pressure suit in zero gravity, so it took me a little longer. He motioned to me and told me over the suit radio to cycle through and grab onto to whatever I could find. So reassuring! But there was a suited figure waiting that guided me over to a glowing rope tied amongst the girders and pointed in the direction of one of the small shuttles.
I had to let go of the rope one hand at a time to move along it when all I wanted to do was grab on with both hands in a death grip. Hey, just because I was born off-Earth doesn’t mean I like being in free fall; don’t laugh if you haven’t tried it.
I looked back to see the space-suited person staring at me. The reflective visor hid what was surely a smirk. As Grayson caught up with me, I steeled my resolve enough to make the last few meters to the open shuttle hatch where a pilot waited.
We unclamped and were on our way, pulling out a kilometer or so from the Cage. It was several minutes before we started the descent to the surface facility just over the horizon. Some weight returned, but only a gentle burn was needed from the two engines, since Rhea’s gravity is only about a fifth of Titan’s.
There was a sudden and sharp increase in thrust and then we touched down gently. Some pilots liked to do it that way while others would apply enough thrust before almost coming to a standstill at a safe height and then lowering the lander to a touchdown. From what I had seen of this operation so far, this crew was going to be made up of the more stoic type.
I stood up and watched as a spindly ladder was rolled up to the opening. There was no fancy concourse here, either. We had landed about a hundred meters from a chaotic scene of various buildings and habitats with passage tubes connecting them. It had a temporary look to it with all sorts of equipment strewn about, some in varied stages of assembly or disassembly. It was hard to tell which.
The three of us got on a four-track, the only piece of automation I had seen so far. It drove us speedily to a large airlock on the side of what looked like a service bay. After we changed into provided coveralls and slippers, we were led through a tube to a habitat module, where we were told to hang out and enjoy some coffee or order something from the chefbot. I poured some coffee and selected a sandwich.
Grayson hadn’t said a word and just sat at one of the tables staring at the wall. I started to ask him if he was okay, but a soft voice beat me to it. “Hello, Neal.” We both turned to a slim brunette, all of one hundred sixty centimeters tall, standing in the mouth of the connector tube.
“Oh, hello, Cherie,” Grayson said and pointed to me. “This is Ian, uh. Ian Brock.”
“Welcome, Ian. You guys make yourselves at home. Blaine will be with you shortly,” Cherie said and was gone. No “How are things?” or “It’s been a while.” Not the normal idle talk of those considered friends.
I sat down across from Grayson with my sandwich and coffee. I tried to eat quickly in case the Blaine person showed up. I could’ve sworn I saw Grayson’s hands shaking a little. It turned out I didn’t need to rush. It must’ve been a half-hour before a tall, disheveled, bearded guy came from the tube and went straight to the coffee dispenser. He doctored his coffee to his satisfaction and turned to our table. “Grayson,” he said flatly and then looked at me.
I jumped up, a little wobbly, and offered a hand. “Ian Brock.” He shook it briefly, uninterested and didn’t bother to introduce himself. I assumed he was Blaine.
“If you’re ready, we can look things over,” he said and started walking toward the tube. We followed him through the tube and past the lockers into a control room with big windows. A door led out into the big service area with a huge green light and message above it: “PRESSURIZED.”
Cherie was standing at a console. She gave me a quick smile but ignored Grayson. I hoped that wasn’t a wink, because things had gotten weird enough around here for one day, thanks. Blaine walked through the door with Grayson following.
“Ian, hold up a minute,” Cherie said. “Let’s give them a few minutes to catch up. So, how’s life on Titan?” I knew it was just idle talk to distract me. I didn’t mind playing along with someone so mesmerizing. She laughed as I tried lamely to describe the awesome life of a mech tech at the Sanders Center on Titan. I wasn’t sure if she was laughing with me or at me, maybe both. No matter.
Suddenly, her quick smile and half-winks fled as she looked past me into the work bay. Cherie slipped around me toward the door. I tried to follow but stumbled, cursing myself for not adapting to changing gravities. She turned and held up her hand in a signal not to follow.
Confused, I stayed in the control room looking out the window. I watched as Cherie approached the two who were in an intense argument in front of some sort of lander. They had been nose-to-nose and near blows, but Cherie easily diffused the situation. Something in how she handled these two in the gravity of the moment and how they looked at her suggested a certain geometry to their relationship other than mere acquaintances or business associates as Grayson had insisted.
The three talked quietly for a while. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but it seemed Cherie was performing referee duties. A peace was brokered, and they just stared at each other for a moment.
Finally, Blaine looked toward me and said something to which I’m sure Grayson said, “No.” I didn’t need audio for that. He stiffened, causing Cherie to step between them again. She spoke directly to Grayson, and he relaxed. He looked through the control room window at me for half a second. I think he said “Okay.” They chatted a moment more before Blaine and Cherie exited the service bay by another route.
Grayson’s face brightened a little, and he waved to me to join him out by the lander contraption. “What is that?” I asked.
“Oh this? I mentioned other opportunities, remember? Well, this is a joint venture between Cherie, Vanderver, and me,” he said.
“Vanderver? I thought that was Blaine.”
“One and the same: Blaine Vanderver, the proprietor of this vaunted establishment.” It was good to hear the old Neal Grayson. I’d thought he was going to throw up a couple times earlier.
“So, I have a feeling you signed me up for something besides delivering groceries. Out with it, Neal.”
“Right! Okay, uh, this is the Cronus.” He led me to the “front” of the lander if that’s indeed what it was. The base was a standard four-legged affair whose basic concept hadn’t evolved much since humans started landing on airless worlds. This was a small platform model that could either be used with a separate ascent module or with an integrated passenger or freight compartment.
Grayson led the way up the folding leg with the ladder. “Let’s have a look.”
Besides some fuel vessels, there was a small, odd structure that looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it immediately. Six custom-made clamps held the structure down onto the flat surface.
There were two small windows cut rather uncarefully or unskillfully, as they were not quite the same size. The edges, however had been treated to eliminate sharp ridges, the bane of pressure suits everywhere. In jet black, the single word CRONUS appeared under the windows in some sort of Gothic script. Several floodlights graced the top of the “cabin.” I opened the simply latched door and had a look inside.
“It’s our idea of a working man’s lander,” Grayson said, having slipped into the cabin quietly behind me. “This is just a prototype. We would build our own cabin structures. Maybe a pressurized upgrade. There’s going to be a wave of operators needing equipment. If we can get the SEA to ease up, we’ll be ready.”
“Okay,” I said, still waiting for what this had to do with me.
“Alright, Ian. Here’s the lowdown: I was going to do a shakedown with Fredo, the guy we rode down with, but Vanderver just got a quick turn deal, and he can’t afford to let any of his crew take the time, even a few hours, to ride this baby up to the depot and back down. It’s passed every simulation but needs a physical round trip for initial validation. SEA is watching, so we must observe the forms.”
“What’s the rush? Can’t they wait until after the contract’s been fulfilled?”
“Yeah, but I’m here now, and I’m responsible for testing. I’ve done a lot of work remotely, but I must be on-site for this. I don’t know when I would be able to return, and we think there’s a market for this and other low-cost craft.” He was forever the pitchman. “Fredo is pissed, because he’s going to miss the thousand solari for being my co-pilot. I guess that would go to you, if you’re interested. All you have to do is watch one reading on that pad right there — yeah, that one — and let me know if it gets out of bounds.”
Wow, a thousand. I could use that, but I decided to press my luck. “Make it twelve hundred deposited in advance. When do we leave?”
“That’s the spirit, Ian! I’ll pay you eleven but don’t tell Fredo. We launch in ten hours.”
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Copyright © 2026 by C. H. Russellson
