Zero Point Seven

The spinning ASI module slowed to a crawl with a barely audible keen, not unlike the echo of a tumbling barrel drum rolling down a grassy hillside—if it weren't for the faintly audible thump-thump-thump of adjusting machinery, it might have passed entirely unnoticed. Reagan felt herself rise almost imperceptibly within her emergency pressure-suit; a flashing yellow icon on the interior of her engineering visor warned her of the sudden loss of artificial gravity, even as a brief, high-pitched alert within her white and orange helmet announced the engagement of her magnetic boots. With a soft k-thhhh and a loud thunk! the mission specialist was once more anchored firmly on the floor, albeit with the momentary sense of vertigo commonly associated with the sudden onset of mag-lock. Body wants to go up; feet pressed to the tops of the boots, not the bottoms... just weird, that's all. Didn't evolve for this. Reagan breathed deeply, forcing herself to relax. It'll pass.