Gravity Never Suited Me

Disclaimer: Everyone in this story is aged 18 or older. 23 or older in fact.

Author's Note: as some of the terminology is uncommon, a glossary of terms is provided at the end of the document. The glossary was planned to be a separate page, but Literotica may not space it that way. Scroll quickly to avoid spoilers.

[You have failed to meet your minimum fitness goal. You have not met your minimum fitness goal this week.] Ryan, her shipboard A.I., Calls out. His voice is clear in the cabin of the ship. The sun begins to rise again for the third time in 24 hours. Zoe has one foot kicked up on the glass, keeping her pushed into her seat. Next to her, a bag of warm soup bumps her gently, and begins to float away. She ignores it as it drifts off, still focused on the final touches of her drawing. The pencil sketch consists of the torso and legs of a nude model, with a picture of herself as reference. Zoe is frustrated as she draws. The numerous tattoos on her body are details she just can't seem to get right. Glancing out through the cupola, She watches the sun creep up over Saturn. Another dull day, she thinks.

Satisfied with her finished piece, she tapes the paper to the window, next to a picture of an old man on an asteroid and another of a bowl of fruit. Zoe sees her own reflection mirrored in the glass, her neon orange hair tossed messily around her head and down her shoulders. She runs a hand through her hair, reminding herself to brush it, eventually.

She pushes off from the back of her chair, floating up towards her escaping bag of soup. Well, not up, she remembers, but laterally across the ship. There is no up in microgravity.

"Ryan, what day is today?" She asks.

[Today is the 23rd of september, 2100, Boss Lady.] replies her A.I. companion.

"Oh Jesus. How long have I been out here?" She doesn't mean it as a specific question, but Ryan doesn't know better.

[Today marks 87 days on the current voyage, Boss Lady.]

"Thanks," She says sarcastically, catching the soup and slurping down the rest of the package. Gripping lightly on the chassis, she redirects herself, and gently glides through the air back to her chair in the viewing port. She once again pushes herself against the chair with a single leg, easily the most comfortable way she'd found to keep from drifting. From this position, with the window in front of her, She could and had spent hours staring out into space. Depression has a way of making that seem like the best thing to do.

"Three pictures in 87 days..." She is sad when she speaks, and discouraged. She's come out to Saturn mainly to get away, but also to teach herself to draw. She hasn't achieved her goals with drawing, her grandiose vision of a ship filled with progressively more impressive sketches has faded from her mind into despair. She reaches into the velcro pouch beside her chair, pulling out her copy of Keys To Drawing. She holds it for a second, contemplating flipping through the pages for the thirteenth time. But she can't muster the will. Just like she never musters the will to do anything. Frustrated, she tosses the book angrily. It bangs against some part of the ship behind her, set loose to drift through her living space. Zoe cups her face in her hands, trying not to cry. She is drifting aimlessly in space, no drive, tired constantly, looking for some kind of inspiration. Looking down through the cupola, she has in front of her one of the most gorgeous views ever gifted to mankind, an alien sunrise over the gorgeous planet of Saturn. She still feels unmotivated. Unmotivated to draw, to explore, to do anything but drift, much like her idle ship.

[Incoming Priority message. Emergency] says Ryan.

She considered her current state. It had cost a lot to get out here. Getting back would take another huge period of time, and by then she'd be out of fuel. She scolds herself. What a waste of time this had been. A trip to 'find herself' she had thought.

[Incoming priority message. Emergency.]

"What the hell are you saying, Ryan?" She turns angrily to Ryan's U.I. panel, catching sight of a flashing red light. Her ship is shaped like an inverted letter T. The horizontal line at the bottom of the ship contains storage, sleeping quarters, Ryan's User Interface, and the one entrance to the ship, the airlock. The long central pole of the T leads to the cockpit/control room.

Hurriedly, she shoves off the chair, floating across the midsection of her ship to the opposite side, catching a handle by the U.I. display. She bumps the play button on the emergency transmission. It's text based, and the words flash on the screen.

'S.O.S, adrift in orbit of Saturn, struck by debris, civilians aboard, S.O.S'

"What's the... the source, Ryan, where is it coming from?"

[Transmission received from Galileo's Guide', a Mercury's Wings class luxury cruiser, owned and operated by-,]

"Stop. Are there any other ships nearby? Government maybe?

[I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to answer th-,]

"Is anyone responding to the call, talking on the radio?" She releases her hold on the handrail by the screen, wiping a now sweaty palm on her T-shirt. She begins to lick her lips, a nervous twitch.

[There is one transmission being received, Priority mail, from Galileo's Guide.]

"...Damn." She shakes her head. "I'm the only one here. Fuck. What do I do?"

[I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to answer that.] Replies Ryan.

"I wasn't... shut the fuck up." Panic begins to rise. She knows this is a real situation, with real people in danger. " Do I go check on them?" She asks. "What's protocol?"

[There are no legal requirements to help. However, Good Samaritan laws offer legal protection to people who give reasonable assista-,]

"Stop. Okay. Can we find them?"

[The Galileo's Guide Is transmitting planetary imaging from the orbit of Saturn. I can plot a course to them. Two RCS burns and two main engine burns may be required.] Ryan speaks evenly, his voice unconcerned.

"Okay," Zoe says, sweat now building on her brow and hands. "Okay, let me buckle in."

[Understood, Boss Lady. Powering main thruster.]

She jumps a bit too quickly, rocketing across the ship, catching the ladder in the mid section. Her sweaty hands mean it almost slips through her fingers. She climbs weightlessly, leaving patches of sweat on each rung as she hurtles into the cockpit.

"Okay, I'm ready," She lies, buckling herself in. "Let's get going."

[To insure your safety, a pre-flight checklist has been prepared.]

"Override."

[Are all articles secure in the cabin, either in storage or otherwise fastened down?]

"Override, damn it, Ryan!"

[Understood, Boss Lady.] He says in a monotone voice. [Standby for RCS firing.] Hurriedly, she wads up her hair and jams it down the back of her shirt. She waits for a few seconds, butterflies in her stomach.

[RCS firing.]

Her head swims as she feels acceleration for the first time in a month. She practices her breathing exercises, forcing blood to her brain. The ship pivots, spinning to face a new direction in its orbit.

[Main engine firing.]

Her breath is knocked out as the acceleration begins. For just over a minute, she is pinned to her seat by 6Gs of force.

[Intercept velocity achieved. Please remain in your safety harness until deceleration.]

"Okay..." She whispers, nervous to the point of nausea. "Okay."

24 minutes pass.

[RCS firing.]

The ship pivots again, now with the main engine, on the rear of the ship, facing the destination. Keys to Drawing sails past her head, landing on the front viewport with a papery slap.

[Main engine firing.]

The engine is used as a brake, bleeding off all momentum as she arrives at the destination.

Zoe is slammed into her seat. She looks through the viewport, sighting the Galileo's Guide.

"Holy shit," She says, now seeing the destroyed state of the cruise ship. With the ship's sudden shifts in momentum, her copy of Keys to Drawing clips her ear, flung by inertia into the back of the ship. She feels blood trickle down her neck as the deceleration continues for nearly a minute.

"Shit," She repeats, unbuckling as the deceleration finishes. She flips around in her chair, sliding down the ladder head first.

[Deceleration is complete. You may remove your harness safely.]

She floats to her first aid kit, ripping out a wad of gauze, and then jumps back to the cockpit. As she looks out the viewport again, she presses the gauze to her bloody ear.

"That's so fucked." In front of her, the massive cruise ship has been torn to bits. The circular sections of the ship, once used to create artificial gravity, are now missing, leaving only the long slender midsection of the ship. Massive steel arms that once held the rotating rings of the ship now spin freely. Debris fills the gulf between the ships, scattered and destroyed.

"Is anyone even alive on that thing?" She asks.

[I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to answer that.] Replies Ryan.

"Right. Uh... ping them on the radio."

[Transmitting on emergency channels.]

Zoe sits in silence, unsure of how to proceed. She checks her gauze, and finds the bleeding has slowed. She drifts forward, pressing her face into the glass.

"I just don't know, Ryan. what are the odds that anyone survived that?"

[A 2096 study showed that in incidents where 'lifeboat' style emergency pods were utilized, a decrease in fatalities of 47% occurred, compared t-]

"Do they have lifeboats?" She asks, eyes wide with worry.

[The Galileo's Guide is not equipped with lifeboats.] She continues to sit silently, staring out of the viewport. Pieces of debris idly bump against each other. The debris field expands outward from the ship for several kilometers. It continues to expand, and even the slower pieces of debris will soon be out of visual range.

"Is there a wireless network?" Asks Zoe. "Maybe there's something there."

[I detect two wireless networks in the area.]

Zoe floats down the ladder, pushing off towards Ryan's UI panel. The display shows two networks, admin_galileo and Galileo Complimentary Wifi. She quickly selects Galileo Complimentary wifi and attempts to connect, but it requires a password. Frustrated, she tries admin_galileo. She connects, with a display informing her that emergency responder mode has been activated. A new display section appears, and she has access to the entire ship's controls and status. She shakes her head. The displays for main engine, navigation, radiation shielding, power units, and fire suppression all indicate non functional. Fuel levels are shown as 'sufficient'.

"This is hopeless, Ryan." She sighs, a shaky breath leaving her lungs. She is coming down from the adrenaline kick. She prepares to close the panel, but stops herself.

Instead of reading 'non functional' the life support indicator reads 'critical'. She selects the tab, and a virtual render of the ship appears. It's a diagram, and the majority of the ship is blacked out, and labeled 'no contact'. The main stem of the ship is red, 'Life support failure', from the bridge down through the maintenance shaft, all save the emergency airlock. One tiny room at the bottom of the central column. A single yellow blip with the word 'Critical danger'. The temperature in the airlock reads -4C and the carbon dioxide is 21,000ppm. But the room is sealed, and has not been exposed to the vacuum of space.

"Ryan..." She says, hesitating. "What's the most carbon dioxide a human can survive?"

[According to the OSHA, 5,000ppm is the maximum acceptable in a working environment, and death or permanent brain damage can occur with as little as 30,000 parts per million.]

Zoe's heart flip flops. It is possible, but not likely, that someone is alive in that tiny capsule. She hesitates, licking her lips and rubbing her sweaty hands on her shirt.

"I gotta check on it." She says. "I can't just leave them." She mashes the back button on the display, navigating the menu to airlock configuration. She points to the screen.

"Ryan can we dock with a... 1.2 meter Durning model 4 airlock?"

[We are compatible with all 1.2 meter Durning models, including-]

"Good enough." Moving quickly, she glides back to the cockpit, once again glimpsing the destroyed ship through the viewport. She buckles in hurriedly, flicking the ship's thruster control to manual. "Sorry buddy. You can't see the debris that well." She says.

[Manual control transferred.] Ryan confirms, uncaring. She breathes in, eyes closed, preparing to light the thrusters again. Her eyes open, and she unbuckles. Moving quickly, she grabs the loose copy of Keys to Drawing from where it floats nearby, and shoves the blood stained book down the front of her shirt before strapping into her harness.

"Okay, here we go." She exhales, lighting the thrusters and pushing slowly towards the other ship.

"Ryan, watch our velocity. Keep it steady."

[Holding velocity at 37,000 kilometer per hour.]

With her knuckles white, she gently pushes the yoke, firing directional thrusters at her command. She dips the nose below a twisted chunk of metal, careful to give it a wide berth. She knows that even a minor collision can be fatal. Her adrenaline is pumping. She pauses, wiping her hands on her knees. The yoke is slippery. Zoe repeatedly checks the external cameras, ensuring her entire craft is safe from collision. It takes less than twenty minutes, and she is within half a kilometer of the Galileo's Guide. She is breathing heavily, and Ryan alerts her that her heart rate is dangerously high.

"No shit. I'm about to let you finish us up." She says. There is one final piece of debris, a destroyed and ruined porthole with the glass still intact. She urges her ship wide and to the right, but her hand slips on the sweaty yoke. The thrusters instantly adjust back to the left, and a metal on metal groaning echoes through the ship.

"Damn! Damn damn damn." She curses. A red light flashes on her console, and Ryan alerts her.

[There has been contact with a foreign body. Our main thruster's fuel tank has been severely ruptured.]

"Switch to auxiliary." She orders.

[Warning: Auxiliary fuel low.]

"Understood, Ryan! I'm trying to focus." Ryan is quiet, and she continues to steer toward the destroyed ship. The last 100 meters are now almost clear of debris, and she stops short.

[Boss Lady, your heart rate is increasing to dangerous levels. Lie down, and seek medical care immediately.]

"Mute all verbal notifications," She orders. "Okay, take us in. You do the docking." Ryan replies only with a green light on the autopilot function. Directional thrusters fire, reorienting the ship. A display on the console shows the alignment of her ship and the Galileo's Guide. Several gut wrenching thrusts later, and a low clunk notifies her the ship is in position. Through the viewport, the massive luxury liner towers over her, a monolith compared to her small vessel. She continues to watch the console, and a green light indicates a successful lock. She unbuckles, flying down the ladder. She moves quickly to her storage locker and pops the handle, opening the container.

"Ryan, are we safe to cycle over to them?" Across the ship, text flicks up on the UI.

"Oh, uh, unmute verbal notifications." Zoe pulls a tight bundle from the locker, unrolling it to reveal a one piece thermal suit. She quickly pulls it on over her sweatpants and t-shirt, stopping to pull out the copy of Keys to Drawing.

[Cycling is deemed safe. Warning, docking with foreign ships can lead to decom-]

"Mute verbal notifications." She stops by her first aid station, tucked into a tight compartment by the cockpit ladder. Retrieving the O2 tank and non-rebreathing mask, she floats towards the far end of the ship, where the airlock is located. She shoves the O2 tank down her thermal suit, checking the lines to make sure the mask is supplied. With the mask pulled on, she steadies herself at the door. She enters the airlock, sweating profusely in the thermal suit, and closes the door on her side.

The opposite door opens with an electric whirr, and she sees the airlock of the damaged ship. Easily quadruple the size of the airlock on her ship, the room is large enough to accommodate a group of people. She glances around in the darkness. The only source of light is a small red emergency caution sign. Carefully, Zoe moves into the airlock.

"Hello? Anyone alive?" She calls, her breath is clearly visible. There is no response. The stale air smells like human breath. Remembering the level of carbon dioxide, she flicks her O2 canister on low, 15 liters per minute. She creeps fully into the foreign airlock, her eyes beginning to adjust to the low light.

"Should have brought a fucking flashlight." She curses. She moves around in the dark room, finding the control panel for the door and the light switch, the latter of which is non-functioning. The cold begins to seep into her thermal suit, and she shivers. Slowly, Zoe works her away around the wall of the tiny room, and her hand comes in contact with cold fabric. She runs both hands over it, finding a sack made of nylon. A sleeping bag. She shakes it.

"Hello? You awake?" There is no answer, so she cautiously peers into the top of the bag. The face of a young woman comes into view, eyes closed.

"Okay, okay. High carbon dioxide levels can lead to drowsiness." Zoe reassures herself as she reaches into the bag, feeling for the woman's neck. The interior of the bag is quite cold. She presses two fingers against the woman's icy carotid artery. Zoe feels no pulse.

"Damn," She says out loud. "I'm so sorry." she shakes her head, fighting the repulsion she feels at having touched a dead body. Along the wall, she sees two more bags. Hurriedly, she moves to the next bag. Pulling down the top of the sleeping bag, she peers in, seeing the top of another person's head. As she pushes her hand in to check the pulse, she finds the inside of the sleeping bag just as cold as the outside. There is no pulse, and the woman inside is clearly frozen solid. Zoe quickly pulls her hand out, wiping it against her pants frantically as if to clean it.

She pauses in front the final bag, demoralized. She steadies herself, and pulls open the top of the bag. Inside, a mess of dark brown hair shifts slightly as a young woman looks back up at her, eyes barely open.

"Holy shit!" Yells Zoe. "Are you okay?" There's no answer from the woman. Fighting panic, Zoe scrambles. With a stout tug, she unhooks the bag from the wall where it's velcroed, towing it with her towards the air lock. Once they are both inside the airlock, Zoe pounds the cycle button, her heart drumming and palms sweaty.

"Can you hear me?" she asks, peering awkwardly into the bag. The woman inside does not respond, and her eyes have closed. Panicking, Zoe pulls the non-rebreathing mask from her own face and shoves it roughly onto the young woman's mouth.

"Breath." She orders. "Breath!" Zoe listens quietly, and to her relief hears a very faint, raspy breathing from the bag.

"You're okay now." She says as the airlock cycles back to her ship.

"I've got you." The warm air hits Zoe as she drags the woman in the bag with her through the airlock. Once inside, Zoe calls out.

"Ryan, what's the treatment for, uh, CO2 overdose and hypothermia?" Text appears nearby on the UI screen, and Zoe screams in frustration.

"Unmute verbal notifications, dickhead!"

[Hypercapnia can be treated by one of several methods, including ventilation, oxygen therapy,-]

"I'm already doing that, skip to hypothermia!"

[From the Mayo Clinic: Cover the person completely with foil or a space blanket, or use your own body heat to help warm him/her. Use warm compresses on the neck, chest, and groin. Give warm, sweet fluid-]