The Gravity Problem

Chapter 1

On Wednesday morning, Albert Figgins woke up and discovered that gravity had disappeared. Not all gravity at once—that would have been too dramatic for a Wednesday. Only his personal gravity had vanished, which was far more inconvenient.

"Darling," he called to his wife Maggie, who was preparing breakfast downstairs as usual, "I seem to have a problem with gravity!"

"What are you mumbling about?" she shouted back. "Come down for breakfast, you'll be late for work!"

Albert tried to come down, but instead gently pushed off from the bed and began slowly floating toward the ceiling. He attempted to paddle with his arms as if swimming, but this only made him rotate around his own axis, which was rather nauseating.

"Maggie!" he shouted louder. "I'm serious! I'm stuck under the ceiling!"

The sound of footsteps on the stairs, then the bedroom door burst open. Maggie entered, still holding an omelet spatula, saw her husband floating by the ceiling in duck-patterned pajamas, and said:

"Albert, this isn't funny. We have an important day today—my mother is coming to visit."

"I'm not joking!" Albert tried to push off from the ceiling, but only pressed himself closer to it. "Gravity has stopped working on me!"

Maggie looked at him carefully, then picked up the spatula and dropped it. The spatula fell to the floor with the usual metallic clang.

"Gravity is working fine," she stated. "The problem is clearly with you."

At that moment, someone knocked on the bedroom window. Albert and Maggie turned and saw their neighbor Mr. Gregson, who was floating outside at the second-floor level, holding onto a drainpipe.

"Sorry to bother you," Mr. Gregson said politely, "but do you happen to have a phone? Mine is downstairs, and I need to call work to say I'll be late due to gravity problems."

"You too?" Albert was delighted.

"I'm afraid so. Woke up half an hour ago, and gravity just... stopped noticing me. Very inconvenient. Had to get out through the bathroom window."

Maggie sat on the bed and thoughtfully twirled the spatula.

"So it's not just Albert," she murmured. "Interesting..."

At that moment the phone rang downstairs. Maggie went down to answer it, while Albert and Mr. Gregson remained to discuss their situation through the window.

"Have you tried eating something?" Gregson suggested. "Maybe it's because of a diet?"

"What diet? I've never been on a diet!"

"Then maybe, on the contrary, you need to go on a diet? Perhaps gravity is offended by our lifestyle."

From downstairs came Maggie's voice:

"Albert! That was your sister from Birmingham! She says her husband has been floating over the garage since morning and can't get down from the roof!"

"It's spreading," Gregson grimly observed. "Soon, probably, people all over the country will be hanging in the air. Good thing it's not everyone at once, or imagine what would happen to public transport."

Albert tried to imagine a bus full of floating passengers, and it made him uneasy.

"Mr. Gregson," he said, "what if this isn't an accident? What if someone deliberately turned off gravity for us?"

"Who would do that and why?"

"I don't know... Maybe we got on some list? Or it's an experiment? Or we were chosen to participate in a space program, only they forgot to warn us?"

Gregson thought about it.

"You know, last month someone from some company called me and asked if I wanted to participate in a 'revolutionary study of physical laws.' I thought it was another advertisement and hung up."

"They called me too!" Albert exclaimed. "They said something about 'personalizing physical constants.' I also thought they were scammers!"

The phone rang downstairs again. Then again. And again. Obviously, the problem was indeed spreading.

"Gentlemen!" Maggie called from the kitchen window. "I have news for you. Good and bad. The good: the radio reported that the government is already aware of the problem and working on a solution. The bad: there are already more than a thousand victims, and they all apparently answered calls from a company called 'GravitCorp.'"

"GravitCorp?" Albert asked. "What kind of company is that?"

"No idea. But the Science Minister held a press conference and said the situation is under control."

Albert and Gregson exchanged glances. When the government says the situation is under control, it usually means there's no control at all.

"And what did the minister say about how we can get down?" Gregson asked.

"He said 'don't panic and wait for further instructions.' He also advised tying yourselves to heavy objects."

"Excellent advice," Albert muttered. "I wonder if he's tried floating under the ceiling himself?"

The sound of a helicopter was heard in the sky. Then another. And another. Albert turned his head and saw a strange sight: military helicopters were flying over the city with long cables, at the ends of which people in pajamas and robes were dangling.

"Evacuation has begun," Gregson announced. "Do you think we should wait for our turn?"

"Do we have a choice?" Albert tried to push off from the ceiling with his feet, but this only made him slowly rotate. "Maggie! What about breakfast?"

"What breakfast, Albert? You're hanging under the ceiling!"

"So what? I haven't stopped being hungry!"

And then Albert realized this was going to be a very long day. And possibly a very long life.

Chapter 2

An hour later, Albert discovered that hanging under the ceiling wasn't so bad if you adapted to it. The main thing was to find a comfortable position and not think about what would happen if gravity suddenly returned.

Maggie brought him breakfast on a tray tied to a mop.

"Scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee," she announced, raising the improvised contraption to the ceiling. "And don't spill coffee on the carpet."

"Thank you, darling. What's happening in the world?"

"The news says there are already fifteen thousand victims. Mostly middle-aged men who watch science programs and read science fiction."

"Discrimination," Albert muttered, carefully sipping his coffee. "What about women?"

"Almost no women. But there's one Defense Minister, two physics professors, and the entire editorial staff of 'Quantum Mechanics for Dummies' magazine."

Mr. Gregson, still holding onto the drainpipe, looked through the window:

"Albert, I have news! My neighbor works for a television company. He says 'GravitCorp' is a subsidiary of 'Intergalactic Corporation of Household Conveniences.'"

"Never heard of it," Albert said.

"Me neither. But apparently they deal with personalizing physical laws. Their slogan is: 'Why should everyone live by the same rules?'"

At that moment, a van with the inscription "GravitCorp—Emergency Gravity Repair Service" pulled up to the house. Two men in coveralls and helmets got out.

"Mr. Figgins?" one of them shouted, looking at Albert through the window. "We're here about your gravity!"

"Finally!" Albert was delighted. "Can you fix me?"

"First we need to run diagnostics," the technician replied, taking out a tablet. "Tell me, did you sign an agreement to participate in beta testing of personal physical parameters?"

"What? No! I only answered your phone call!"

"Ah, I see. Classic marketing department error. They recorded verbal consent as written consent. That happens often."

The second technician set up a ladder and began climbing to the window.

"Don't worry," he told Albert. "Now we'll reconnect you to the global gravitational network. Though there might be side effects."

"What side effects?" Albert became alarmed.

"Well, for example, for some time you might attract small metallic objects to yourself. Or levitate on Mondays. Nothing serious."

"Can't you just return everything as it was?"

"Technically possible, but it would take about six months. Meanwhile, we can offer a temporary solution."

The technician pulled out a device that looked like a large TV remote from his bag.

"Personal gravitational controller," he explained. "Red button—turn gravity on, green button—turn off, yellow button—low gravity mode for doing household chores at height."

"What about the blue one?" Albert asked, looking at the fourth button.

"Blue? Oh, that's reverse gravity. Don't press it unless you want to stick to the ceiling permanently."

"But I'm already stuck to the ceiling!"

"Yes, but that's ordinary sticking. That would be serious sticking."

The technician handed the remote to Albert.

"Press the red button."

Albert pressed it. Nothing happened.

"Strange," the technician muttered, checking the device. "Batteries are there, signal is going... Ah, I see! You have an old gravity model. Need an adapter."

"Gravity has models?" Mr. Gregson was amazed.

"Of course! Did you think gravity was the same for everyone? That would violate antitrust laws! We have classic Newtonian, improved Einsteinian, economical quantum, and premium version with additional dimensions."

"Which one do I have?" Albert asked.

The technician looked at his tablet:

"You have... hmm... very old. Archimedean, I think. Surprising how it even worked until now."

The phone rang downstairs. Maggie ran to answer and returned looking puzzled.

"Albert, it's your sister again. She says her husband learned to control his flight and is now delivering mail to neighbors. He wants to start an air delivery service."

"Enterprising," the first technician nodded approvingly. "By the way, if your brother-in-law is interested, we can offer him a franchise. 'GravitCorp Express'—delivery without borders or obstacles!"

"When will I be fixed?" Albert asked impatiently.

"We'll call a specialist in antique gravity now. It's a rare specialty, so you'll have to wait."

"How long?"

"Well... considering it's Wednesday, and we have a rush due to mass gravity failures... Two weeks."

"TWO WEEKS?!" Albert shrieked, which made him start spinning rapidly around his own axis.

"Don't worry so much," the technician reassured him. "We'll leave you the remote. Meanwhile, you can enjoy all the advantages of life without gravity. For example, you can now reach any book from the highest shelf!"

"But I don't want to live without gravity!" Albert continued spinning.

"Nobody wants to," Mr. Gregson observed philosophically. "But since it happened, maybe we should look at it as an adventure?"

"Right!" the technician supported. "And we'll deal with your neighbor meanwhile. He has, I see, a very simple breakdown—classic Newtonian model, fixing those is a matter of minutes."

And indeed, five minutes later Mr. Gregson was already standing on the ground and disbelievingly stomping his feet.

"It works!" he rejoiced. "Thank you so much!"

Albert watched his neighbor from above with envy and realized that the next two weeks would be very interesting. In the bad sense of that word.

Chapter 3

By the fifth day, Albert had mastered the art of moving along the ceiling. It turned out that if you pushed off correctly from the chandelier, you could reach the bookshelf in the corner, and from there—to the window in the hallway. Maggie even strung special ropes under the ceiling so he could move around the house like a monkey.

"You know, darling," Albert said, hanging upside down over the kitchen table, "there are some advantages to this. For example, I finally fixed that light bulb in the hallway that I couldn't reach for two years."

"And broke three plates trying to turn around," Maggie reminded him. "And yesterday you almost fell into the soup."

"Technically, I didn't fall, I swam."

Maggie sighed. In these five days she had managed to get used to her husband living on the ceiling, but still found it inconvenient, especially when she needed to pass him something heavier than a cup of tea.

The doorbell rang. Maggie opened it and saw an elegant woman in a business suit with a tablet in her hands on the threshold.

"Hello! My name is Susan Cranfield, I'm a representative of GravitCorp. May I come in to see Mr. Figgins?"

"He's upstairs," Maggie automatically replied, then corrected herself: "That is, downstairs, but at the ceiling."

"I understand," Susan nodded. "Classic inverse gravitational situation."

They went into the living room, where Albert was slowly floating between the chandelier and bookshelf, reading a Pratchett novel.

"Mr. Figgins!" Susan greeted him. "How are things? Have you gotten used to the new lifestyle?"

"Generally yes," Albert replied. "Though sleeping upside down is still strange. Are you here about the repair?"

"Not exactly. You see, we have a proposition for you. GravitCorp is launching a new advertising campaign, and we need satisfied customers to film commercials."

"Satisfied?" Albert repeated. "But I'm not satisfied! I want to get back to the ground!"

"Well, it's just a matter of getting used to it," Susan smiled. "Look at the advantages! You're saving on the gym—constant weightlessness is great training for the vestibular apparatus. You can work from home without getting up from... er... without leaving the ceiling. And think of how many new angles open up for photographs!"

"What do I get for participating in the advertisement?" Albert inquired.

"Five hundred pounds, a t-shirt with the company logo, and accelerated gravity restoration."

"How accelerated?"

"Instead of two weeks—one week."

Albert thought. On one hand, the idea of filming an advertisement for his own misfortune seemed morally questionable. On the other hand, returning to normal life a week earlier was very tempting.

"What would I have to say in the advertisement?"

"Something positive about life without gravity. For example: 'GravitCorp changed my life! Now I see the world from a new side!'"

"Technically, that's true," Albert admitted, looking at the upside-down living room. "Alright, I agree."

"Excellent!" Susan took out a contract. "Filming tomorrow morning."

The next day an entire film crew arrived at the Figgins house. Director, cameraman, sound engineer, stylist, and a person responsible for special effects, who, as it turned out, was supposed to create the illusion that Albert was floating in the air by his own choice, not because of a technical malfunction.

"So, Mr. Figgins," the director explained, "you're playing a happy GravitCorp client who ordered gravity disconnection and is now enjoying life. We start with you elegantly floating above breakfast."

"But I can't float elegantly," Albert objected. "At most—dangle awkwardly."

"That's fine, we'll fix it in editing."

The filming began. Albert tried to portray satisfaction while hanging over a bowl of oatmeal, but it looked more like he was nauseous.

"Cut!" the director shouted. "Mr. Figgins, you must look happy! Imagine you've dreamed of flying your whole life!"

"I did dream of it," Albert replied, "but not like this!"

Meanwhile, Mr. Gregson approached the house, now working as a courier and delivering mail to neighbors on foot.

"Albert," he called, "they're saying something interesting about your company on the news!"

"What news?" Maggie asked, turning on the television.

A news anchor appeared on screen:

"...investigation has shown that 'GravitCorp' is a subsidiary of 'Intergalactic Corporation of Practical Jokes,' which specializes in planetary-scale pranks. According to a company representative, the gravity disconnection was conceived as a 'social experiment to study the adaptability of human psychology to changes in physical constants.' About fifty thousand people participated in the experiment..."

Silence fell.

"A prank?" Albert slowly repeated.

"A social experiment," Susan clarified, having gone pale. "A very important experiment for science."

"Fifty thousand people have been hanging under ceilings for two weeks for the sake of an EXPERIMENT?" Albert began turning red, which looked especially dramatic in his inverted state.

"Well... if you look at it from another side..." Susan began, but Albert interrupted her:

"I'M ALREADY looking from another side! I've been looking at the world upside down for two weeks!"

"Technically, you're the one hanging upside down," the cameraman tried to correct, "and the world is actually right-side..."

"SHUT UP!" Albert roared so loudly that from the vibration he began rotating around the chandelier.

At that moment the news added:

"...The company promises to restore normal gravity for all experiment participants within the next twenty-four hours and pay compensation for the inconvenience caused..."

"Next twenty-four hours?" Albert repeated, stopping his rotation. "You mean tomorrow I'll be walking on the ground?"

"Looks like it," Maggie nodded.

Albert thought. On one hand, he was outraged that he had been used as a guinea pig. On the other hand, tomorrow it would all be over, and he had already received five hundred pounds for the advertisement.

"You know what," he finally said, "let's still film this advertisement. Only now I'll play not a satisfied customer, but a person who wants to warn others about what happens when you sign up for services without reading the fine print."

"That's... not quite what we planned," the director said uncertainly.

"Either you film it this way," Albert replied, "or I'll tell journalists how you tried to force me to advertise my own misfortune."

At that moment he realized that sometimes looking at things from another side really does help.

Chapter 4

On Thursday morning, Albert woke up on the ceiling for the last time. At least, he very much hoped so.

At half past six in the morning, the same GravitCorp van pulled up to the house, but this time an entire brigade of technicians with serious equipment got out.

"Mr. Figgins!" the head technician shouted. "Ready for gravity restoration?"

"Are you sure it'll work this time?" Albert asked distrustfully. "I don't want to spend another two weeks hanging on the wall or sticking to the refrigerator."

"Everything will be perfect! We now have new equipment—an industrial gravitational restorer model Newton-3000. One hundred percent guarantee of return to factory settings!"

The technicians brought into the house a device the size of a microwave, covered with blinking lights and making important humming sounds.

"What do I need to do?" Albert asked.

"Nothing. Just hang quietly and think about heavy objects. It helps with calibration."

Albert tried to think about heavy objects, but for some reason only light ones came to mind—bubbles, feathers, his former boss Mr. Thompson...

"Starting up!" the technician announced and pressed a large red button.

The machine hummed even louder. Albert felt a slight tingling in his toes.

"Something's happening!" he exclaimed.

"Excellent! Now you'll begin to slowly descend. The main thing is—don't panic if during the restoration process you temporarily lose the ability to levitate on Tuesdays or start attracting socks."

"Is that permanent?"

"Side effects disappear in a couple of months. Maybe a year. In rare cases they remain forever, but that only makes life more interesting!"

Albert really did begin to slowly descend. First he moved away from the ceiling by five centimeters, then ten, then half a meter...

"Maggie!" he called to his wife. "I'm descending! It's working!"

"Wonderful, dear! Just don't fall on the cat!"

The cat named Houston, who for the past two weeks had been suspiciously eyeing his floating owner, was now sitting directly beneath him washing himself, apparently having decided that a falling human was interesting entertainment.

Fifteen minutes later Albert's feet touched the floor. He carefully transferred his body weight to his feet, took several trial steps, and broke into a smile.

"I'm walking! I'm walking on the floor! Maggie, look—I'm walking!"

"Yes, dear, you always knew how to walk."

"But now it seems like a miracle!"

Albert walked around the room, touched the walls, sat on the sofa and stood up. Everything worked as it should.

"Excellent!" said the head technician, packing up the equipment. "Gravity restored one hundred percent. Compensation for inconvenience will be transferred to your account within the business week."

"What compensation?" Maggie inquired.

"Five thousand pounds, a free gym membership for a year, and a fifty percent discount on all future GravitCorp services."

"Why would I need a discount on your services?" Albert was surprised. "After what happened, I wouldn't use them even if you paid me!"

"Well, you never know," the technician shrugged. "We also offer services for personalizing air temperature, local alteration of time of day, and individual friction adjustment."

"Personalizing what?" Albert repeated.

"Air temperature. Imagine—your home always has exactly the temperature you like, regardless of the weather outside!"

"What about my wife? She has different temperature preferences."

"Well... then each of you will feel your own temperature. Very convenient!"

"And if I go outside?"

"Your personal temperature zone will move with you!"

Albert imagined himself walking down the street in his personal climate while people around him suffered from heat or cold, and shook his head.

"No, thank you. Regular temperature is enough for me."

After the technicians left, Albert and Maggie sat drinking tea in the kitchen. For the first time in two weeks he was sitting at the table normally—not hanging over it upside down, not clinging to the chandelier, not afraid of drowning in soup.

"You know, darling," he said, stirring sugar in his tea, "these two weeks taught me something important."

"What? That you shouldn't answer calls from unknown numbers?"

"Not only that. I realized that sometimes it's useful to look at the world from another side. Literally. While I was hanging on the ceiling, I saw our living room completely differently. And you know what? Up there, there's a lot of dust. We'll need to do some cleaning."

"Albert, you're not planning to turn off gravity again for cleaning, are you?"

"Of course not! I'll buy a mop with a long handle."

At that moment the phone rang. Albert and Maggie exchanged glances.

"Don't answer it," Maggie warned.

"But what if it's important?"

"Albert Figgins, if you pick up that receiver, I'll divorce you and take half the compensation!"

Albert thought for a second and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello! This is TempoCorp calling. Wouldn't you like to participate in beta testing of personal time? Imagine—your day could last thirty hours, and weekends could last a week!"

Albert looked at Maggie, who was frowning threateningly, then at the phone, then at his wife again.

"You know what," he finally said, "thanks, but I already participated in one such experiment. That's enough for the rest of my life!"

He hung up and smiled at Maggie.

"I told you these two weeks taught me a lot."

"What exactly?"

"That happiness is when gravity works, time flows evenly, and temperature depends on weather, not on corporate experiments."

"And that you'll never answer suspicious calls again?"

"And that I'll never answer suspicious calls again," Albert solemnly promised.

They finished their tea, and Albert went to the store for a mop with a long handle, walking firmly on the pavement, rejoicing in each step.

And somewhere in the GravitCorp office, a customer service manager put a checkmark next to the surname "Figgins" and moved to the next item on the list: "Offer services for personalizing sky color."

Because there will always be someone in the world who agrees to participate in an experiment. Especially if you call during dinner and speak very convincingly.

THE END... or not yet?