Arrival

“Deceleration in fifteen seconds.”
Captain Zorion’s fingers danced across the control panel, each tiny motion shifting the craft a thousand miles. At each diode’s flicker, a thousand litres of liquid hydrogen cascaded burning across the sky. For a moment, the light from the forward thrusters washed across the lead glass of the ship’s visor, and the stomach of the machine lurched as it began to fall. It had been falling all along, of course, but it was only now that it finally approached the ground—a mere fifty thousand kilometres ahead—that the captain began to feel it.

The planet grew bigger and bigger. At first, it seemed nothing but a blue-grey sphere, but soon details began to emerge. Clouds drifted lazily across its surface: billions of cubic metres of water vapour seeming nothing more than soap scum in a kitchen sink. Within minutes, land had come into view; ochre and green peeking out from beneath a blue haze that grew with the planet. What had started as a tiny shadow against a star, a black pearl in the heavens’ golden crown, now had a horizon: the planet loomed too large to be contained within the titanium frame of the cabin window.  Though its light was a pale reflection of the fierce sun tethering it, the planet shone brightly, throwing dim shadows across the instruments as Zorion adjusted his course.

There was a creaking groan as the ship spun, and the planet itself seemed to move. Its light faded from a porthole to the right, as though eclipsed, and the horizon shifted, coming to rest parallel to the visor. Zorion was reminded of driving on Earth, with the sea or a mirage visible far away, casting light up from a long, flat road. The scene ahead was like this, but uncannily different: the planet’s light shone downwards. The ship hung in a void, suspended from the surface of the blue sphere, and yet, also, hovering miles above it. There was no sensation of falling now that the planet was overhead.

For a moment, there was a fleeting illusion of gravity—Captain Zorion felt himself being pushed back into his seat—but it was only the autopilot adjusting the height of the ship’s orbit. There was a sigh as the computer squeezed the smallest drop of thrust from the starboard engine, executing a manoeuvre too subtle and delicate for human hands and minds. And then the craft was still. Captain Zorion reached for a button on his headset, ready to make the announcement.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he spoke into the microphone. “This is Phomo Four. This stop: Phomo Four. Will passengers for Phomo Four please make their way to the landing pods. Thank you. The local time is ten-forty a.m., taking into account an eight minute gain due to relativity.”

There was a faint lurch as the pods detached and began their ascent down towards the planet’s surface. A few minutes later, there was another lurch as the next set of pods docked with the ship. Zorion waited for the new passengers to reach their seats, then began his next announcement.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said. “This is the service to Irthon, via Zakylon, Panth and Disney Planetoid Twenty-Three. For the comfort of other passengers, please do not smoke. Thank you.”