A Nudge Toward Infinity
Weightless, the wrench spun. With each rotation, the light through the porthole window flashed off its polished surface.
Flight Engineer Francis “Fleck” Boston watched it spin before him. He had set the wrench in motion. Just the slightest push of his finger had started it and now it would keep rotating endlessly until he put a stop to its perpetual motion. Fleck marveled at that.
That old poem danced about in his head: “Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.” Fleck laughed, fogging up the glass of his helmet. What beautiful words to attach to a wrench. He grabbed it, halting the tool’s immortal dance, and got to work on the porthole.
Fleck had joined the Academy filled with visions of exploring distant worlds, forging a brilliant path across that vast starstrewn frontier. He had been born in the Republic of East California on the cusp of the 22nd century, when man had first leapt from its own rock to the next. By the time he came of age, the Martian population was rivaling that of the Western Confederation of United States and the sights of the Twin Worlds were now set on stars beyond its own galaxy. Fleck would be one of those intrepid pioneers.
The surly bonds of Earth, however, were not so easily slipped. Bureaucracy existed even in places where gravity did not, pulling down dreams that would otherwise float featherlight upon celestial currents. And so, Fleck, who was still the low man in the Union, saw his grand scheme of pushing the boundaries of mankind tabled in favor of general maintenance on the SpaceStation IX-Amaterasu as it drifted in orbit above the blue pearl of his birthland.
He tightened a bolt. Miles below, the glint of the Amazon Delta sparkled with sunlight. Fleck had read in a book that once the river had cut a scar across the upper half of the Southern Annexed Territories, through some old countries he couldn’t remember the name of. There was a beauty to it, still, he supposed, but it was lost on him now. He didn’t care for looking down on where he had come from. He was supposed to be out there.
He gave the wrench another absent-minded twirl, sending it spinning around itself with nothing to slow its momentum. Fleck tilted his head to watch it, wishing he could swim like it could through the stars. He twisted. The Canadarm locked noiselessly as he jolted to a stop before he could even begin. Fleck swore at it, his own voice filling his helmet.
Even here, in the literal vacuum of space, he was tethered. Held in place by the mechanics of the past. Engineers, at least, could exit the SpaceStation, step out into the void where so few of humanity had ever been able to venture before, but they were still rooted at all times to the ship. That wasn’t enough for Fleck. He was no more exploring the stars than a child at a petting zoo was on a safari.
His mind drifted back to a summer he had spent on the shores of Alaska, swimming in the warm waters off the bow of his father’s boat. Fleck was a strong swimmer. He would fill his lungs and dive deep, kicking freely through the fishless waters beneath the boat and up out the other side. That was freedom. He had been happy, floating there on his back and staring up, past the dome of dark sky that capped his limited world to what lay beyond, waiting to be discovered.
The wrench went round and round.
A thought struck Fleck, sudden as a club. It was a devious little thing. He looked around with darting eyes, as if anyone could be out here spying on him. They worked in shifts, one on each side of the IX-Amaterasu’s hulking hull. His cohort could not see him and they generally worked with their mics idle, only clicking on when they encountered an unforeseen problem, which was itself an issue of severe rarity. Only the Canadarm was needed, keeping the engineers tethered to the Station and sounding an internal security alarm should their harness become detached.
Ah, but there was the idea. It was so obvious, so simple, that Fleck was actually ashamed it had only occurred to him just now.
He snatched up the wrench, stopping it mid-rotation, and twisted as far as the inflexible Canadarm would allow. It was enough. Beyond the latching of the device’s harness and the back of his suit — which clicked together in place in four distinct locks, any of which would sound the security alarm if loosened — the arm itself was bolted to a joint. These bolts, unlike the locks of the harness, raised no such alarm. The wiring was placed only in the harness itself.
Fleck set to work on the bolts. A capable engineer, it took him little time. Without a sound, the joint came free and, for the first time, Fleck was really floating.
His smile was as wide and bright as the shimmering oceans beneath him. With the smallest effort, Fleck pushed himself away from the Canadarm and now he was swimming, just as he had been in the waters which lay a thousand miles below. Now he was free. Now he was alive. Now he was —
A beam caught his arm, hard. Fleck spun. The wrench flew free of his grip. It spun, too.
His visor filled with light, blinding, then cool darkness. The Earth swam up below him, then dipped away out of sight, replaced by the twisting wrench and the hull of the IX-Amaterasu behind it. And then the light was back again, brighter than bright.
It took him too long to realize he was spinning. There was no sensation in his head, his gut, only the visual touch points rising and falling across his visor. Panic twisted his stomach into a knot. He scrambled out with grasping fingers, but there was nothing to grab onto. The Station was growing smaller with each rotation.
Fleck vomited, his sick spreading out across the glass. Still, he spun. He felt dizzy now, not because he felt the tug of gravity, but because he didn’t.
And because he knew he never would.
And because he knew he couldn’t stop it.
And because he knew he was, finally, really floating.
Artwork by Matt Tkocz.