Callisto 2.0: A Novel of the Future

By Susan English

She had to travel beyond the planet to discover her true self. Will she find the courage to walk through the doorway to a new future?

Shambhala Space Station, 2097. Solitary physicist Callisto (physics, after all, is a jealous mistress) never accepted conventional wisdom. So when she’s recruited to work on faster-than-light technology by a beautiful and mysterious older woman, she eagerly accepts the career opportunity at the women-only research station orbiting Earth’s moon. But her enthusiasm suffers when her first discovery is unexpected heartbreak.

Throwing herself into work on a problematic warp drive prototype, Calli blossoms in the utopian female community that shows her love and acceptance for the first time in her life. But when a twisted conspiracy, a disingenuous affair, and a disastrous betrayal test her place in this unique environment, the brilliant scientist must dig deep to find her moment of truth.

Will Calli embrace her destiny in an unexplored cosmos?

Callisto 2.0 is the transformative first book in the Shambhala Saga feminist science fiction series. If you like compassionate characters, deep-space intrigue, and hopeful visions of the future, then you’ll adore Susan English’s cosmic adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan English
• Release date: Jul 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781735837000

Susan English

Susan English is a born adventurer, a world traveler with an insatiable intellectual curiosity. She holds a master’s degree in physics, once lived on a sailboat in the San Francisco bay, was a Peace Corps volunteer in Namibia, and spent five years on the Big Island of Hawaii, where she owned an off-grid, completely self-sufficient farm in the jungle. Now she is happy to be living with her wife in beautiful Medellin, Colombia, the city of eternal spring.Contact Susan here: [e-mail]

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Callisto 2.0 - A Novel of the Future

Book 1 of the Shambhala Saga

Susan English

Copyright © 2020 Susan English

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

ISBN-13: 978-1-7358370-0-0

Cover design by: Susan English and Fathima Raseed

I dedicate this work to you, Ximena. If it weren’t for you, I could never have imagined a world so full of hope, beauty, joy, and love.

Prologue

My body trembled as I waited for the connection to sync up, stomach queasy. When my father answered the holochat, I was stunned. He avoided holochatting like the plague—claiming it was like talking to an avatar and not an actual person. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year, not since the last time I visited my parents.

Hi Dad. My voice was barely more than a whisper.

Hi Sweet Pea. How are you?

Good, I lied, forcing myself to speak louder.

Your mother is worried about you. She’s been watching the news and wants you to come home.

I know. We talked earlier today… I almost added before I knew what was happening, but stopped myself. I took a ragged breath. What they’re saying in the newsfeeds about us, it’s not true. Gritting my teeth, I braced myself for his retort.

If you say so, then I believe you.

My jaw went slack—this was not the barbed response I’d come to expect from a man who usually took every opportunity to berate me for putting my selfish interests above those of the family. I peered closely at his image, searching for the gruff, sullen man whose greatest disappointment was a daughter who had abandoned him, had chosen her studies over her own father. Instead, the person looking back at me was a frail old man, his face trusting, almost childlike. I remembered when I was younger, when he was younger; when he taught me to ride a bike, how he held me in his arms after a bad fall, knees bloody and tears streaking my face. He had loved me. I was loved.

I couldn’t tell him, couldn’t say what needed to be said. There was so much, too much. I had been angry with my parents for many years, I realized then, and had buried that anger deep inside me. No, not angry—hurt. Hurt that they didn’t understand me, that they couldn’t accept me for who I was. But then again, I hadn’t accepted them, either. Now that it was too late, all those years of pain washed away, replaced by a profound sadness. I desperately wanted to change the subject.

How’s the kitchen remodel going? I managed, keeping my expression neutral. It was the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life.

It’s going beautifully. Your mother convinced me to hire a few young men to help. You know my back’s not so good.

I know, Dad. Is Mom there?

No, Sweet Pea, she’s taking a walk with her friends.

Eyes burning, I knew it was only a matter of seconds before I broke down, and didn’t want him to see. I wanted this, our very last conversation, to be easy. I would send them a holomessage, explain everything. There was still a little time left. I have to go, Dad. I love you so much. Tell Mom I love her.

We love you, too, Sweet Pea.

I ended the connection and burst into heaving sobs.

CHAPTER ONE

Eleven months earlier

The phone app on my holographic wrist computer chirped. I hesitated before answering, because the caller hadn’t been automatically identified, just a seemingly random string of letters and symbols. Brow furrowed, I stared at the tiny screen. An encryption protocol? Why would anyone calling me need to use encryption?Probably a glitch in the server.

Hello? I answered tentatively.

Is this Callisto Collins? the voice said.

Yes. Who’s calling, please?

My name is Diana. I’m from the foundation Portal al Porvenir. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?

I had a vague recollection of reading something about the Foundation—a privately funded scientific organization—in a journal, but couldn’t call up any details. No, not really. Sorry.

Do you have a few minutes to talk? Diana’s lilting voice was intriguing.

I shrugged, though since this was a voice-only communication, it was an empty gesture. Okay.

The Foundation has an opening for a physicist with your specialty.

My chair groaned in protest as I sat up straighter. My specialty? Had I heard her correctly? It was surprising that any private research facility would be interested in me. My area of expertise, faster-than-light (ftl) space travel, was, at that time, a rather esoteric field. There had been a flurry of interest seventy-five or so years earlier, but not much progress had been made since then, and there weren’t many of us willing to dedicate our careers to the pursuit, considered by most to be a dead end. But I had never been much for conventional wisdom.

According to our research, you are an ideal candidate for the position.

An ideal candidate? My brain was having a difficult time following what Diana was saying. I finished my postdoc back in November of the previous year, and since then had been putting out feelers, exploring my future prospects, but Portal al Porvenir hadn’t even appeared on my radar. At the beginning of January, I received one job offer—the solitary fruit of all my labor—to work for my government at the National Physics Laboratory. Having completed the interview process the week before, I just needed to let them know my decision. The deadline was fast approaching, with only a couple more days to make up my mind. The government lab was very good, there were no other offers on the table, and my field was so specialized that my only reasonable choice was to accept… until the phone call.

Yes, said Diana, bringing me back from my mental digressions. We’re prepared to offer you the job, based on your prior research and publications.

This time, my chair squeaked its objection as I shifted, torso ramrod straight. I stared at the wall, a dirty pink color, paint peeling in great patches like a bad sunburn, with several cracks near the ceiling, a parting gift from the most recent earthquake. What type of company did you say this is?

We’re a small scientific organization. Our twin goals are to advance pure scientific research and to support Earth-friendly technologies.

Small? I smirked. Probably a startup with no money. And pure research? Yeah, right.

As if she could see my expression through cyberspace, Diana added, I can assure you that the Foundation’s laboratory has state-of-the-art equipment and the funding to pursue any line of research.

My eyes widened. This had to be some kind of practical joke.

Apparently sensing my hesitation, she said, Why don’t we meet tomorrow to discuss the details? We can have lunch. Do you know the restaurant VegeNation? It’s in the middle of downtown L.A.

I had heard of it—a small but well-known organic restaurant, unusual in that the waitstaff were actual humans instead of robots. I can find it.

Excellent! Shall we say one p.m.?

Okay, why not? It all sounded too good to be true, but I had nothing to lose, and, even though the possibility seemed remote, everything to gain.

That night, I did an internet search on Portal al Porvenir, but couldn’t find much. In fact, it was strange how little information there was. The Foundation did have a website, though with few details—more propaganda than substance. From what I could glean, they indeed supported pure scientific research, as well as the development of green technologies. A team page was conspicuously absent on the site, as was any listing of people associated with the organization anywhere on the world wide web. So, although Diana seemed to know plenty about me, or at least about my career, she hadn’t mentioned her surname, and with nothing more than a first name, I couldn’t do any research on her.

***

On the day of our meeting, I caught the metro to the city center, then walked the few blocks to the restaurant. By noon, I was sitting at a table near a window overlooking a small, surprisingly lush garden, an uncommon but welcome feature in the inner city. I had my notebook, as always, and attempted to do some work while waiting, but, restless and distracted, it was impossible to concentrate. The organization’s interest in my specialization was a glimmer of light at the end of a dark tunnel. I tried my best to tamp down my growing excitement, and to keep my expectations low, because at that moment I still didn’t know much about the Foundation or the position, and had my doubts that it was real, but hope springs eternal. Outside, in the serenity of the garden, bees flitted from flower to flower, moving with such purpose and clarity, at ease with their role in the Universe.

The soft tinkling of the bell attached to the front door of the restaurant pulled my gaze away from the window, and I glanced at my wrist computer: one o’clock on the dot. The chatter and clinking of dishes and silverware faded, replaced by silence. A woman stood at the entrance; all eyes were on her. I, too, stared. It wasn’t her looks that caught my attention, even though she was stunning, with dark eyebrows framing her luminous eyes, made all the more striking thanks to her astonishingly long, dark lashes, visible from where I was sitting. No, not her beauty, it was her presence. With her arms hanging loosely at her sides, she exuded confidence and power. As conversations picked back up, the woman met my eyes, and, smiling broadly, made her way toward my table. I rose quickly, almost knocking over my chair in my haste, clumsy and awkward. She didn’t seem to notice my discomfiture and offered me her hand. I took it, thankful that she couldn’t hear my heart beating rapidly in my chest. Her handshake was firm yet gentle.

Hello, Callisto, she said. I’m Diana.

Her accent, as I had surmised during our phone call, was Latino—Colombian, most likely. After years of weekly physics colloquia given by scientists from all over the globe, I was adept at pegging peoples’ nationalities—it would be a fun skill at parties if I ever attended one. In reality, it was just something that came naturally, almost automatically, a personal quirk.

Nice to meet you. My voice was not as strong as I would have liked. I cleared my throat. Please, call me Calli.

Calli, she repeated, pulling out the chair on the other side of the table.

I sat back down, slightly disoriented and lightheaded. The day before, I had been comfortable speaking with Diana on the phone, but seeing her in person, I felt out of my league.

Diana settled into her chair and glanced down at my open notebook. I resisted the instinctive urge to close it, not wanting her, or anyone else, for that matter, to see my work until it was perfectly polished.

I haven’t seen someone use a pen and paper in years, she said, eyebrows raised.

It’s old-fashioned, but holding a pen in my hand helps me think. I picked up the pen and held it out to her, not quite meeting her eyes. I’ve attached a stylus sensor so that my writings are automatically uploaded to my wrist computer.

She took the pen from my outstretched hand, inspecting the little device with interest. Then she set it on the table and looked at me. Undoubtedly, you’re curious to learn more about the Foundation. But first, are you hungry?

Even though the last thing on my mind was food, I responded with a slight nod of my head.

Good. Me too. You’re vegetarian, correct?

It wasn’t uncommon to be a vegetarian, but it made me apprehensive that she knew. I nodded again, suddenly aware of the medley of savory aromas emanating from the kitchen, and my stomach growled in response. As a student, and later as a postdoc, I never had a lot of money, and eating out at a real restaurant, even a modest one, was generally outside of my budget. Did Diana know this, too?

I suggest the quesadillas made with tofu. They are excellent.

Sounds good, thanks.

Diana was wearing a perfectly tailored suit made from an exquisite, sky-blue material, and her fitted blouse accentuated her curvaceous body, its brilliant white a lovely contrast to her hazel skin tone.

Sitting across from this spectacular woman, I felt very unsophisticated. I had put on my best clothes: worn jeans, a little big for my petite, slim body, a gently used sweater purchased in a second-hand shop a few months back, and high-top sneakers. And my hair, well, I always cut it when it bothered me, using scissors from my desk, without a mirror. As a result, my red hair was a hodgepodge of different lengths, and usually there were some errant tufts sticking out here and there. Ordinarily, I never thought twice about my appearance, but being there with Diana, I was painfully conscious of my looks.

Diana signaled to the server, who hurried over, two menus in one hand, computer tablet in the other, lips pursed, face haggard. I watched Diana, narrowing my eyes. Coming from a working-class family, it was important for me that people employed in the service industry, such as waitstaff and hovercar mechanics like my father, were treated with respect. It was almost unconscious, my scrutiny of these interactions—a habit when meeting someone new, especially if that person was affluent.

Hi, my dear, said Diana softly, smiling as if she and the server shared a delightful secret.

The server laid the menus down on the table and was about to walk away when Diana touched her forearm.

You look busy. Are you the only waitstaff today?

The woman took a deep breath and let it out, blowing her bangs off her forehead. Her eyes flicked toward the kitchen. Yeah, the other server called in sick.

That puts a lot of pressure on you.

It’s the third time this week. She cut her eyes toward the kitchen again, then lowered her voice. I like Bev, she’s nice, and it’s not her fault, but…

Even so, you have to pick up the slack, said Diana.

Exactly. The woman’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

Diana scanned the room—almost all the tables were occupied. From what I can see, everyone seems satisfied. You’re doing a marvelous job.

The woman puffed out her chest ever so slightly, and she stood a little straighter. Her lips twitched—a hint of a smile. Thanks.

We’ll make it easy for you. Diana looked at me as if she were including me in a grand conspiracy. Two orders of the vegan quesadillas, she gathered the two menus and held them out, and, she cocked her head, eyes meeting mine, two glasses of your delicious lemonade. It was simultaneously a request to the server and a question for me.

I nodded.

Thank you… Diana leaned toward the woman, reading her name tag, Lynette.

Lynette took the menus from Diana’s outstretched hand and Diana smiled, the skin around her eyes crinkling. It was a beautiful smile, disarming, and, with that twinkle in her eyes, I had the impression that we were all in this, whatever it was, together. We were a team, the three of us against the world.

I’ll be right back with your drinks. Lynette’s mouth curved upward, a genuine smile this time, one that reached her eyes. She turned and walked briskly to the kitchen, a spring in her step.

I watched the server’s departure. She had felt it, too: the instant camaraderie, the intimacy, and, could it be, the love? How had Diana done it? She was magical.

Diana turned her smile to me, and I smiled in return. Let’s get started, she said.

I leaned forward in my chair, forearms resting on the table, waiting.

We’re a small, private foundation, and our financial backers are quite wealthy, with a very progressive vision of the future. Money is not an issue—there is plenty of funding for research. As I mentioned during our call, we have the latest equipment and industrial-grade 3D printers for anything that needs to be fabricated.

I nodded, already imagining what it would mean to have access to a 3D printer of the caliber necessary for scientific investigation, and tried to curb my growing enthusiasm.

We’re hoping you can join the team in our space-based lab, which orbits the Moon, Diana said.

The Moon? That was unexpected. I tilted my head and leaned closer.

Now I see that I’ve piqued your curiosity, said Diana, laughing softly. But clearly, she already knew this—I was literally on the edge of my seat.

Lynette silently placed our drinks on the table, and Diana acknowledged her with a tip of her head, then turned her attention back to me. My eyes were glued to her face as she continued.

Undoubtedly you are aware that the Moon is, by international treaty, a free territory. Everyone, or more precisely, anyone who can afford to go to the Moon, can build there and use its natural resources, as long as they comply with the rules and regulations dictated by the Collective.

Yes, of course. I knew a little bit about the loosely structured governing body on the Moon, the Collective, consisting of the handful of owners/colonizers, who got together whenever a decision needed to be made regarding topics which impacted the Moon colony as a whole.

I rested my chin on my hand.

And since it takes less energy to escape from the lunar surface than the Earth’s, because of its weaker gravitational field, it was easier to transport the materials into orbit for construction, although we fabricated most of the parts on the Moon using 3D printers—the whole ship is modular—and we assembled it in space, using bots.

Really? They were using bots to construct entire space stations now? I opened my mouth to speak, but she seemed to read my mind.

The good thing about having the lab on a spacecraft, rather than on the Earth or the Moon, is that if we ever want to relocate, it will be a simple task. Relatively speaking, naturally. She glanced up at the server, who had returned with our lunch.

Enjoy your meal, said Lynette, placing two plates loaded with steaming food on the table.

I ate mechanically, not even registering the taste, hanging on Diana’s every word. And how does the team manage in microgravity? I asked between bites.

The crew takes medication to protect against the harmful physiological effects of micro-g, and everyone is expected to spend at least an hour a day exercising in the gym, to avoid losing muscle mass and bone density.

Sure.

And, if there are any experiment that requires a gravitational field, we have a lunar colony and several labs here on Earth, in different locations. The focus of our Earth-based facilities is on developing technologies to help heal the planet, so the work here is more along the lines of practical applications. Our fundamental research laboratory is in space.

I sat, mesmerized, as Diana expounded on the Foundation’s basic principles, and their vision for the future was like a breath of fresh air. Hope welled up inside of me, for the planet and for myself. Please let this be real!

We stood together at the counter as she passed her wrist computer under the scanner to pay the bill, including, as I saw on the scanner’s display screen, a generous tip. She turned to me. We would like for you to visit the orbital lab next week, if you’re interested.

I would love that. My heart hammered in my chest—I was ready to go rightthen.

Excellent! She gave me a dazzling smile. I’ll send you the details later tonight.

As we walked to the door, something niggled at the back of my mind. When we got outside, I turned to Diana. Why me? I mean, why me, in particular? Even though my field was unconventional, I wasn’t the only scientist in the world studying ftl travel.

Diana’s eyes sparkled. I can assure you, my dear, it was not idle chance. She entered a hovercar waiting for her at the curb, leaving me in front of the restaurant, watching her departure, utterly bewildered.

CHAPTER TWO

The week went by quickly. At first, I wasn’t sure how I was going to endure the wait, but, as always, there was my work. My dank workspace, the only furnishings a wobbly desk and a chair whose cracked leg was held together with duct tape and a prayer, the single window in my tiny apartment which opened onto an air shaft, its walls covered in pigeon dung, my lumpy mattress—all my surroundings faded away into oblivion once I focused on my theories. I had the sensation that I was close to realizing my goal—to understand how to overcome the fundamental speed limit of the Universe: the speed of light. I had been struggling with the theory for years, and had some working hypotheses not yet tested, but at the Foundation’s space station, perhaps I could continue my research. And if what Diana had said about unlimited funding was true, that would be like hitting the scientific jackpot. Hard to believe it could be real.

The day of my trip finally arrived. I had packed my backpack with just a few personal items—passengers weren’t allowed to carry a lot of weight on space flights. In any case, I didn’t have much. Clothes never interested me and, except for my notebook, all my books, notes from my classes, scientific articles, and my own work were in electronic format, easily accessible from my wrist computer or computer tablet.

Taking the monorail train to the airport, my eyes were drawn to the crush of high-rises in the city center, gradually thinning out and giving way to smaller buildings, their boarded-up windows like soiled bandages on a vast, rotting corpse. This was not the scenic route, which lay on the opposite side of the city where the wealthier citizens lived—their tidy, colorful houses arranged in perfect grids, with xeriscape yards boasting hardy cacti and other heat-resistant succulents, absorbing the scant morning dew like thirsty sponges, in preparation for the long, brutal days under a merciless sun.

I arrived at the airport in plenty of time for my flight to Cuba, where I would catch the shuttle to Earth Central, the commercial transport station in orbit around the Earth. The next stop would be the Lunar Orbital Station—nicknamed Tako, Japanese for octopus, because of its configuration: eight arms, each terminating in a docking station—then take a shuttle to the surface of the Moon, and, finally, a private shuttle from the lunar surface to the Foundation’s orbital laboratory. Diana had, as promised, sent me a detailed itinerary, along with the confirmation number of the flight, paid for by the Foundation, and she had even sent a courier—an actual human being instead of a machine—to my apartment to transfer a generous sum into my paltry bank account via my wrist computer, for the metro ticket and any incidental expenses.

The flight by hypersonic jet took nearly an hour. The interior of the jet had a distinct odor, part metallic, part earthy—the latter most likely due to the mycelium fiber in the seat cushions. For some reason, the smell triggered a memory of the first time I had traveled by plane, to Vancouver with my father. Only ten years old, I had begged him for months to take me to the celebration of the thirty-year anniversary of Stargazers Aeronautics, the company responsible for almost single-handedly removing the decades-long accumulation of space debris orbiting the planet.

My father, who hated any type of travel, eventually relented, albeit reluctantly. He spent the better part of the voyage complaining, in a grumbling monotone, about everything: the high-pitched whine of the jet engine, the stifling Vancouver heat, and the celebration itself, which was, according to him, all pomp and circumstance with the cheering crowds and the organization’s ostentatious self-aggrandizement. He repeatedly pointed out how much more pleasant the experience would have been had we watched the holographic video feed of the event from our living-room couch.

My father’s censorious words fell on deaf ears—my enthusiasm was indestructible. The thrill of flying above the clouds and the excitement of being in a new city were exhilarating, and the lectures on Stargazers’ history and technology left me hungry for more. A memento of that day, a perfect replica of Stargazer Alpha, the company’s first space-faring vessel, sat on a shelf in my old room in my parents’ house. It was both the first and the last time my father and I had taken a trip together.

Arriving at the Havana International Airport, Diana was waiting for me right outside the terminal exit. She was dressed like before, not the same suit, but one very similar, of equally high quality. Once again, my stomach gave a twinge at the thought of my appearance. But when she looked at me with genuine warmth and affection, without a hint of judgment in her eyes, my discomposure faded, and a little of her confidence spilled over onto me.

Calli, she said, taking my hand, how nice to see you again. Do you have luggage?

Just this. With a nod of my head, I indicated the pack on my back.

Ah, you’re traveling light. An experienced space traveler.

Well, yes… I mean, no, not so much. I’ve been in space a couple times, because of my studies, I said as we headed toward a waiting hovercar.

She touched the computer panel and input our destination coordinates, then smiled at me. I’m so pleased you agreed to meet with me last week.

Actually, I was surprised that you’re the one in charge of hiring, being the chief scientist.

She turned to me as the hovercraft lifted off the ground, and the vehicle accelerated slightly as it began its forward motion. Oh? she said, eyebrows raised.

I fingered the strap of my backpack resting on the floor between my legs. It seems like you would have more important things to do.

Diana pinned me with her eyes. There’s nothing more important than choosing the right team.

The hovercar came to a stop and gently lowered to the ground. Catching a glimpse of our shuttle, a thrill of anticipation shot through my body. Although I had visited the Moon twice and had also worked for several months on the World Government’s space station in orbit around the Earth, my enthusiasm was undiminished. If anything, my experiences made me appreciate space travel even more.

Diana started walking toward the launchpad, a small suitcase in one hand. I shouldered my backpack and followed her to the bottom of the passenger stairs, where two women were waiting with our spacesuits. Let’s put our suits on out here. The shuttle’s cabin is a bit cramped.

Setting my pack on the ground, I took the suit from one of the women’s outstretched hands, and she helped me put my feet and legs in first, and then my arms and torso.

The helmets are on the shuttle, Diana said. We can put them on after we settle into our seats. She had also donned her suit with the help of the worker. They will take care of our bags. She gave the two women a warm smile.

Thanks. My mouth was dry, pulse pounding in my ears.

I followed Diana as she climbed the staircase and entered the craft. The shuttle was small but cozy, with six seats, all unoccupied. Two of the seats had helmets sitting on them.

Diana pointed to the seat adjacent to the window. Sit here. It’s worth looking outside.

Okay. I picked up the helmet and sat down, stomach quivering from pure excitement.

Diana sat next to me, placing her helmet on her lap, and we fastened our seat belts. She nodded toward my helmet, and I put it on. She did the same.

Can you hear me? Diana’s voice sounded metallic inside my helmet.

Yes, loud and clear.

Excellent. She pushed a button on her armrest and spoke with the pilots.

Even though the spacesuit was climate controlled, I broke into a sweat. I wasn’t claustrophobic, but never liked being enclosed in a spacesuit. They were nothing like the original spacesuits, so bulky and cumbersome, but still. It was a safety precaution, so I accepted my discomfort. A small price to pay.

At last, everything was ready, and the countdown began. A chill raced down my spine, and I grabbed my armrests, hands sweaty inside the gloves. Diana’s features were shadowed but visible through the face shield of her helmet. She was looking straight ahead. I closed my eyes.

The engines rumbled beneath my feet, but the helmet must have been equipped with noise-cancellation technology, because the noise level was tolerable. In my previous off-world trips, the sound at takeoff had been deafening. A moment later, we were hurtling toward the heavens. I gritted my teeth at the sensation—triple the gravitational force on Earth. The feeling lasted about ten minutes, then it was over, and my body relaxed. The pilots fired their rockets parallel to the Earth’s surface, and we were in orbit.

My eyes flew open. Diana’s were still closed, and she was a little pale. Looking out the window, my breath caught in my throat. Suspended in the vastness of space was the Earth, with its gossamer clouds and deep blue seas, the distant Sun a silent witness. In a matter of seconds, the brilliant light of the Sun disappeared behind the graceful curve of our planet—an ethereal sunset—throwing into sharp relief the achingly thin blue atmosphere hugging the Earth’s surface, tenuous and infinitely delicate. Our biosphere: this fragile firmament acted as a precious and precarious shield, dividing the abundance and splendor of the only known life in the Universe and the brutal indifference of space.

I looked at Diana again. She seemed more relaxed, and she returned my gaze, her eyes warm and expressive. That feeling is the worst part of space travel, she said.

That’s for sure.

At least the unpleasant part is over. And now the acrobatics to escape these suits!

She put her gloved hands on her helmet, released the hermetic seal, then took it off and leaned over to place it on the seat across the aisle. I handed her my own helmet and pushed my sweaty bangs off my forehead with my gloved fingers. We unbuckled our seat belts and stood. Or rather, we floated.

Let me help you first, said Diana, who had hooked her foot under the rail attached to the floor of the shuttle to keep herself from floating away. I’ve had a lot of experience removing spacesuits in microgravity.

I was grateful for her offer, not sure how well I could handle all the closures on Diana’s suit with my gloves. Diana worked quickly, and soon I was stepping out of my spacesuit. I placed it on the back of the seat with my helmet and then turned to help Diana.

Much better, she said as she draped her suit on a seat and secured it with the seat belt. She took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her long, dark hair floating around her face, then wrapped it in a bun using a hair tie.

Sitting back down, I re-buckled my seat belt. Diana sat next to me and did the same. My eyes were again drawn to the scene outside our window, the Earth now in deep shadow, lights from the cities scattered across the continents twinkling like precious jewels.

Beautiful, isn’t it? she said.

There were no words suitable for my emotions, and I didn’t dare look at her to find out if she had seen my nod—my eyes were full of tears.

It will take about two hours to get to the transfer station and dock, so we have plenty of time to enjoy the view.

We spent the next few hours in silence, watching as the Earth turned under us. When we arrived at Earth Central, the pilots maneuvered the spacecraft perfectly, and in a few minutes, we had docked.

When the airlock opened, we unbuckled our seat belts and floated out of our seats. Diana put her head inside the cockpit to thank the pilots. Our bags were in a cabinet near the door. After putting on my backpack, I reached for Diana’s suitcase.

Thank you, she said, eyes flicking to the suitcase in my hand, and I followed her through the space station. We’ll have to wait for the Terra-Luna Express, which boards in an hour. We can spend the time in the observation deck.

It was something else, floating down the hallway. Some people didn’t like it, because they felt like their stomachs were in their