Fighting Gravity

by Leah Petersen

  I used to dream about the stars, when they were the closest things I could imagine to the angels and gods of myth and religion. Then I traveled among them, and the experience was as amazing as I’d dreamed it would be. But when I was alone with them—only me, the stars, and an unforgiving amalgam of minerals and ice—they became not just a thing to respect, but a thing to fear. The silence screamed in my ears to the pulse of my heart beating behind my eyes. There was no one. No one to see or hear. I realized what it meant to be completely, utterly alone.

  -

  Four days later, a man shoved me to the floor in the food line and he and several others swore it was in self-defense. I spent four days alone on the surface. I tried to hide how I trembled suiting up each morning, but by the fourth day I was shaking so hard I had trouble getting my things on. Enten helped with a silent, grim pity.

  Three days later, when I turned in the hall just in time to see and duck a punch, again witnesses swore that I’d been the instigator.

  That time, I begged. I could have saved myself the indignity. I served six days of solitary work detail. I cried through the entirety of the fifth day. I tried to distract myself with calculations, but my mind kept going back to calculating the (pitiful) amount of gravity, both natural and artificial, holding me to the asteroid, how far I was likely to drift before I died if I lost contact with the surface (not far, relatively), and the odds of them sending a ship to rescue me (low). The sixth day I kept having hollow, heavy impulses to release the boots and just let it all end, forever.

  For the next two days I didn’t leave my cell except for work. Enten agreed to bring me my meals. I would lie on the bed, trying not to breathe too loudly so I could hear the echoes of voices from the common room, an indistinct assurance that I wasn’t alone.

  The next day after work detail, I was summoned to Captain Saubers’ office. I didn’t allow myself to speculate on what awaited me there. It would be either less or more horrible than what I could imagine. For a strange, confused moment, I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

  He was sitting behind his desk and he nodded to the guard escorting me to leave his office.

  “Not going so well, is it?” he asked.

  “No sir.” I kept my voice as respectful and neutral as possible.

  “Dead End isn’t supposed to be pleasant, but you’re getting the worst of it. And I’m not stupid enough to believe you’re the one doing it.”

  A warm rush of relief made me weak. I met his eyes, wanting to drink in the sight of human compassion, or at least understanding.

  “There’s not much I can do, though, if the other prisoners keep swearing you’re the one breaking the rules. So I’m going to put surveillance on you, and announce that to the general population. I’ll review the data before issuing any punishments and anyone found trying to set you up will get a double sentence. Hopefully that will put an end to it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I breathed.

  “Don’t be so quick with that,” he said. “It’s not a perfect solution and I can’t promise it will stop things. There’s more going on here than a few disgruntled inmates.”

  I shivered. “I figured.”

  He nodded. “Stay out of trouble,” he said.

  I didn’t have an answer sufficient to express how much I wanted to do just that.

  -

  The next evening, I sat alone in the middle of the crowded common room. I was too afraid to talk to anyone, but equally unwilling to be alone. Kafe sauntered up and slid into a seat across from me.

  “Enjoying yourself yet?” she asked. My whole body tensed.

  I didn’t answer her. I was too busy trying to stop the trembling in my hands.

  She grinned and examined me like a shark planning the first bite.

  I just held her eye and said nothing.

  “Ask me, then,” she said. “And I might answer.”

  “I don’t want to know anything. At first I thought you must know something, since you brought up Carrie. But then I realized it’s there in the vid-data for anyone to find. So now I figure you’re just a bully, and I really don’t care.”

  She sat back, tucking her legs up under her, and watched me.

  “It’s not there, actually, information about your sister. Your public file starts with your Selection.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise, but I didn’t want to ask. I wanted her to go away.

  “It’s just you. The other kids in your year have parents and siblings listed, towns and cities, awards won. But you? They pretend that you didn’t exist until they could paint you up to make you look like one of them, and then pretend you’d been there all along.”

  “So you really knew her?” I couldn’t stop myself.

  “I knew her. We weren’t friends, but I knew her.”

  I felt a powerful surge of longing, but I didn’t want to believe her. “Isn’t it a bit of a coincidence, someone who came from my neighborhood at the exact camp I was sent to?”

  “Oh yes,” she rolled her eyes, “what are the odds of two kids from Abenez ending up on Dead End.” She made a noise of disgust. “I knew who you were back then, you know. Before you left. You probably wouldn’t remember me. You always thought you were better than us. I saw you that day, when they took you with them. I felt sorry for you. What could they possibly want with one of us? I knew they were just taking you away to do something awful to you. To use you for whatever they wanted. They did, too. You still haven’t figured that out, have you? You got to be too much trouble, so they threw you away. See?” She gestured around the room.

  “It’s not like that,” I said, with a sick sense of déjà vu and the sound of my own voice yelling at Pete ringing in my head.

  “It’s exactly like that. You’re just an idiot. Did you really think they cared about you? That you’d ever get whatever it was, fame or fortune or a class-up? Did you really think they’d give one of us anything at all?”

  “You don’t know anything,” I said, my pulse pounding in my ears.

  “Do you even remember Abenez? Or were you always so busy trying to get out that you never noticed what you really were?”

  “I remember Abenez,” I snarled. “I remember being cold, and hungry, and frightened all the time. I wasn’t trying to get out. I didn’t even know it was possible. But I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t happy to go. Whatever you think, I wasn’t trying to get out so I could have better things. It’s not…you wouldn’t understand.”

  “’Cause I’m not as smart as you?”

  My palms were sweating. She smirked. A rush of anger made me sit up straight, suddenly steady and strong. I glared at her.

  “You know what I’m afraid of? I’m afraid that when they Settle me somewhere after this, they’ll somehow cut me off from science. That I won’t even be able to pursue it as a hobby. That I won’t have access to research materials, or contact with other scientists. That’s what I’m afraid of. Not you. If you hate me because I knew I didn’t belong in Abenez, and they gave me the chance to do what I was supposed to be doing and I was glad, then hate me. Even if I could go back and change things, I wouldn’t. No matter where I’ve ended up.”

  “You’d give up Carrie again, then?”

  I sighed, deflating in a rush. “They didn’t exactly give me a choice. But, yes, I suppose. She couldn’t have come with me, and it wouldn’t have done either of us any good for me to have stayed.”

  “She might have survived. She might not have suffered what she did. You certainly wouldn’t have been in a position to give her to that man.”

  “What?” My breaths were coming in short, panicked gasps. “How do you know about that?”

  “Oh I know everything about you, Jacob Dawes. I know things even you don’t know.”

  I shook my head feebly.

  She laughed and stood. As she brushed past my chair she leaned down and whispered, her breath hot against my ear.

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  I clenched my fists so hard
my knuckles creaked, but I didn’t feel the urge to hit her. I just felt sick, cold, and empty. I retreated to my cell.

  -

  Four more months I kept my head down, and went mechanically through a daily routine of eating, working, and sleeping.

  While Enten was an easy enough companion, I wouldn’t have called him a friend. I got the idea that friendships weren’t common on Dead End and Enten didn’t try to forge one with me any more than I did with him.

  Then, one day near the end of my six months, Kafe brushed past me in the common room.

  “I’ve got a going away present for you,” she said.

  The next evening I was backed into a corner and a big, bald goon punched me. I tried to pull away, but he grabbed my hand, which I’d curled instinctively in a fist, and slammed it into the wall. Then he punched himself in the nose and I watched in horror as the slow line of blood trickled into his grinning mouth.

  The inmates who “found” us swore we’d been fighting, and my bruised, scraped knuckles, and the fact that we’d been in a corner where the surveillance devices had been disabled, were testimony enough against me.

  I served my last eight days of work detail in solitary.

  I began to think I was really alone, left adrift in a universe void of any life at all, so that mine too was just a fading nothing. I began to think I was going mad. I began to want to.

  The next day, as they processed me for discharge, I couldn’t get it out of my head that they were just going to jettison me into space after all.

  But they returned to me the things I’d brought with me—none of which, I realized, were mine anyway. Even Pete’s ring.

  I boarded the ship, trembling with anxiety, choking, paranoid fears, and relief. And I left Dead End.

  -

  On the cargo ship back to Earth, I was given crew quarters. Apparently I wasn’t a prisoner anymore. But when we docked at the station orbiting Earth, I was escorted to the shuttle by two armed guards. Maybe not a prisoner, but not free either. Not until I got to wherever I was to be Settled. Not ever again, really.

  We boarded a shuttle for Earth. I bit down on hope, reminding myself that it didn’t matter if it was Earth or elsewhere. Wherever I was going, it would be far from anyone or anything I knew, and I wouldn’t be leaving again. There was still a thrill of relief when the greens and blues began to sharpen into the recognizable continents and oceans of my home planet.

  Once we landed I was escorted to yet another transport. While it wasn’t a mobile brig, it was still an ISS vehicle, with nothing but rows of seating in the areas accessible to me. I was the only inmate aboard so I sat beside the window with my forehead against the poly, watching the countryside slip by, trying not to wonder where I was being taken.

  Much of it began to look familiar. It seemed like a particular cruelty to Settle me somewhere that would always make me think of the places I really wanted to be.

  At least we weren’t moving toward the ocean.

  We entered a mountainous area and I closed my eyes, hoping we would pass through quickly. Whatever it was that made me open my eyes just then, I saw the transport crest the last mountain and slide down into a long, level valley.

  A flat, glassy lake sat almost dead center, reflecting from its mirror surface the mountains in reverse. And a cluster of buildings, stark white, with no frill or ostentation. Matter efficiently shaped and defined. I caught my breath.

  We pulled into one of the IIC’s parking hangers. Waiting there was Dr. Okoro, alone. I made it off the transport before my knees gave out. Dr. Okoro pulled me up, pressed my head to his shoulder, and held me tight until the trembling passed.

  fg30

  Are you all right?” he asked, when I finally lifted my head and pulled away.

  “Sure,” I said wryly. He accepted my attempt to deflect the question and led me into the building. When we entered he turned down one of the service hallways.

  “Trying to avoid the welcoming committee?” I asked, with another attempt at sarcasm.

  “No one’s expecting you,” he said, “I just you thought you might want a chance to regroup before you had to see anyone.”

  “No one knows I’m here?”

  “Director Harris received word this morning and he told only me. It was a relief to finally have real news of you.” He started to frown in what I recognized as his preferred method of reproof, but wiped it off his face. The simple familiarity of it made me catch my breath.

  “I wrote to you,” I said. “When I was still at the palace and scheduled for execution. I wasn’t going to send it until the last minute. Once I found out I wasn’t going to be executed, well, it all happened so fast I didn’t think about writing new letters. And then I was taken away and I wasn’t allowed to write. Truly. I would have.”

  “I understand,” he said, mollified. We continued on our way in silence.

  “Don’t you want to ask me?”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything. If you want to talk, you know I will always be here. But you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

  “I can only imagine what you’ve heard. The gossip channels aren’t known for accuracy and even the legitimate news isn’t much better.”

  “Yes, of course. But I know better than to believe everything I hear. I know you; you’re not a bad person. Whatever happened, happened. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

  We didn’t talk any more, mostly because I was too overwhelmed to say anything. Before long he turned into one of the hallways of the junior fellows’ dormitories. I hadn’t thought about it yet, but I realized that was probably what I was now. We didn’t encounter anyone; it was the dinner hour and everyone would be in the dining hall. We came to a room, about midway down a hall somewhat central in the building.

  “So Chuck doesn’t know I’m here?” I asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Or Kirti?”

  “She’s made it clear that she finds news of you unwelcome.”

  I was crushed, even though I should have expected as much.

  “Will you tell her?” I asked. He looked uncomfortable. “I know she probably won’t want to hear, but will you just tell her I’m here? Tell her I asked for her to know?”

  “I will.”

  I looked around me. The room was small and plain by the standards of the palace, and a mansion compared to a cell on Dead End. Dr. Okoro sank into one of the chairs and talked of general nonsense to catch me up with the goings on at the IIC. On the one hand, I’d been gone three years, but on the other, the IIC was a static environment and little ever changed. What he told me was mostly gossip and minutiae. I loathed every word.

  I should have been ecstatic, or at least relieved to be back at the IIC. I’d steeled myself for the worst and instead I was home; with my friends and what I had that resembled family.

  Instead, depression descended on me like a blanket and I clung to it, wrapping it around me and hiding my face in it like a child. As if I could make everything go away. Everyone.

  I tuned out the actual words and just let the sound of his voice lull me into a stupor. I woke a few hours later, still in the chair and alone.

  -

  The sound of a door opening and closing woke me in the morning. I got up and found Chuck in the outer room. I hadn’t seen Chuck in more than two years and I felt guilty about that, considering most of that time I’d had more than the means to keep in touch. Chuck, on the other hand—being Chuck—apparently hadn’t noticed the lapse.

  “Hey!” he exclaimed, “Look at you. I thought those Resettlement places were supposed to be bad news. I was all prepared to find you half dead.”

  I tried to smile. Everything about him and his manner should have lightened my spirits. I tried to pretend, for him. “They’ll just have to try harder next time, I guess.”

  He grinned at me. “Whatever. Here, breakfast.”

  He talked as we ate. I let him carry on. I was less and less inclined to talk a
bout anything at all.

  After breakfast I went to see Director Harris and was admitted to his office. He stood, and met me halfway into the room, holding out his hand to shake mine. I gave it to him, bewildered.

  “Mr. Dawes,” he said, “It’s good to see you again.”

  I very nearly asked him why. It seemed such a ridiculous sentiment, no matter who it was coming from.

  “Are you well?” he continued.

  “Well, enough. But please call me Jacob. If you don’t mind,” I tacked on, suddenly unsure that he’d even want to. But he smiled in response.

  “Thank you. Have a seat. We need to talk about your transition back into the IIC.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You can take as much time as you need, Jacob. There’s no need to rush this.”

  “I’m fine, sir.” I realized I was fiddling with Pete’s ring on my finger and snatched my hand away.

  “Well, I can understand that. I can’t stand being idle, myself. Dr. Bartel will be expecting you when you leave here. He’ll be giving you your assignment and what remains of required education for you. Naturally you’ll be taking direction from him, as your department head, in all such matters. But I want you to know that my door is always open if you ever have any questions or concerns.”

  “Thank you, sir. I do have one question: My status here.”

  He looked puzzled. “Oh,” he said, comprehension dawning. “You mean, the circumstances that have returned you to us, how they affect your standing?”

  I nodded.

  “Ah, well, I do have a list of restrictions, but mostly things I’m to be aware of, not things I need to actively enforce. And I’ll make sure you receive a copy, though I imagine you already have.” I had. “But beyond what you’re aware of, restrictions on your location and on communication outside the IIC, your status here is no different than that of any of your peers. Whatever ignominy brought you here, it does not come within these walls. You face no censure or fallout here. That matter has nothing to do with us.”

  I must have looked skeptical. In truth, I was reeling inside. Part of my mind was still trying to accept as truth the fact that I’d never be alone on the surface of that asteroid again.