The vessel was once again plunging ahead, its bow directed squarely towards their objective. Entering the realm of Saturnia, Theseus transitioned into a zero-gravity environment once more. Lhari and Vadym had relished one last exhilarating run through the outer rings, and now their physical activities were limited to elastic bands and resistance exercises until their anticipated return home in about a month. Yoga had proven to be quite adaptable in zero gravity; Lhari devised an intricate setup that secured elastic bands to various bulkheads, transforming the exercise space into a vibrant jungle of colorful bands.

On the command deck, Vadym gazed through the curved glass at the vast expanse of stars, his athletic form anchored in the slim metal frame of the captain's chair. His hands hovered over the glowing green-blue holographic controls, azure eyes scanning the cosmos under a furrowed brow, searching for a minuscule satellite of Saturn — an asteroid that had temporarily fallen under the gas giant's gravitational spell as it orbited the faint, distant Sun. Minutes slipped by. There! A flicker of light moving ever so slightly against the backdrop of distant stars. This apparent motion was a result of Theseus's significant velocity combined with the asteroid’s slow rotation around the regal planet.

“Phaedra, display the data,” he commanded. The holographic interface lit up with faint figures, graphs, and spectral readings that required keen focus to discern, as the primary view remained outside — a breathtaking panorama. In the relative stillness of space, where vast distances rendered motion almost imperceptible, Vadym committed the view to memory, closed his eyes for a moment, and then reopened them. Through training, he had learned to perceive the subtle movements of celestial bodies.

Sixty years prior, the ship would have operated autonomously, managed entirely by AI, without any need for human pilots. The Wasting had fundamentally altered that reality, imposing strict limitations on AIs that now functioned only in non-cognitive roles, devoid of initiative. This decision, primarily enforced by the Earthers and largely respected by the colony worlds of Luna, Ceres, Mars, and various scientific outposts throughout the Solar system, had become evident after three years and three billion lives, demonstrating that humanity had to depend on itself. Vadym, however, held differing views; beyond the Asteroid Belt, he believed the laws of the Earth did not apply.

He preferred to compartmentalize his thoughts about AI and the ship's systems, ensuring that discussions about ship functions wouldn’t inadvertently reflect on Phaedra. After all, she was incapable of feeling anything.

“Phaedra,” he spoke distinctly, summoning the ship’s consciousness. “Adjust the display to normal brightness.” The transparent viewport gradually filled with a spectrum of lines, readouts, graphs, and trajectory arcs. It provided him with a 220-degree view, a bubble of transparent lead-lined diamond through which he orchestrated his cosmic endeavors. A faint yellow arrow in the upper left pointed towards Saturn, marked by an ancient alchemical symbol. Now, as he analyzed the data, the universe became merely a backdrop, with the numbers painting a picture as vivid as the reality beyond the glass — akin to a mechanic examining an engine and referring to a technical manual.

At the center of the visual field, the label “Target” appeared. Although the asteroid bore a name, it was a meaningless identifier generated by a database full of random letters and numbers, impossible for anyone to remember. “Target” was far simpler.

Vadym had an intuitive connection with Theseus — he knew the ship by its essence: its smells, textures, sounds, and even instincts. If he focused, he could hear the subtle sounds of the ship's functions, its heartbeat, its respiration, its digestive processes, resembling those of a living entity. The gentle whoosh of air cycling through the system, the muffled hum of the central fan regulating CO2 and O2 levels, the soft hiss of hydraulics operating valves, and the distant clank of metal as hatches released, all contributed to the symphony of sounds. The newer sounds were more conscious: the faint push of Lhari as she maneuvered through the space, the soft rush of air as she entered a compartment, and the sound of water flowing to her shower… that thought diverted his attention.

His hand reached toward the diamond window before him, feeling the subsonic vibrations of the fusion reactor's coolant pumps, and inhaling the faint scent of amine — which kept CO2 levels significantly lower than those breathed by flatlanders, at around 20 to 40 ppm, while maintaining a slightly elevated O2 concentration, albeit at a pressure akin to that at the summit of Mount Everest. No ship is completely airtight; some leaks are inevitable, and with lower internal pressure, less air escapes into the void.

He was aware of everything, both consciously and subconsciously; it was home.

He grasped the small brackets surrounding “Target,” drawing them closer as the image magnified to fill the limits of the ship’s telescopes. It resembled an irregular potato, slightly skewed on one side and spinning erratically. He observed it for a moment before shutting his eyes, but when he reopened them, the movement appeared anomalous. He made a mental note.

The asteroid's surface was a blend of brown and grey tones, interspersed with patches of white — possibly water ice or dry ice. The surface was smooth, flecked with tiny craters, and notably devoid of larger rocks or outcroppings. Judging size from this distance proved challenging; there’s no scale in space, but the craters appeared unusually small.

The potato-like rock spun seemingly at random, and Vadym scrutinized it closely. Its rotation was slow, completing no more than one turn per day, which would simplify landing since objects on the surface would tend to remain in place.

Meanwhile, Lhari was deeply engaged in her own routine, suspended like the Vitruvian Man in a web of elastic bands affixed to the bulkheads. She inhaled deeply, stretching her arms inward and bending at the waist to grasp her feet, counting her breaths with each exhale.

Perspiration evaporated swiftly through her exercise attire into the cool air of the gravity ring. Outside her window, the starfield blurred as the crew quarters rotated, showcasing Saturn, the Milky Way, and the vast emptiness of space. Each rotation lasted twenty-seven seconds.

Her long black hair floated around her head, rustling gently in the airflow from the air system. Body bent at the waist, she gradually relaxed, extending her arms outward while maintaining the tension in her limbs. Each breath, each count, was a meditative process.

The new routine varied each time, as she discovered fresh techniques for traditional movements. The ancient Indian gurus could never have anticipated zero gravity in their teachings. Lhari never paused, never allowed herself respite, pushing her fatigued muscles into challenging poses. The warrior pose, with her body being stretched by rubber bands, engaged different muscle groups, and she embraced the discomfort. With every breath, the intensity of the pain lessened.

To relax meant to release, allowing the bands to pull at her wrists and ankles.

Sweat now flowed faster than it could evaporate, a glimmer of moisture above her upper lip shining against her umber skin. Deep brown eyes focused on the unseen infinity as her mind concentrated on the seamless flow of movement.

In her thoughts, she visualized the physics of her surroundings. She pictured the cold, vacuum just inches away and the tube before her leading to the ship's core. Closing her eyes, she heard an airlock open somewhere in the back — the sensor pod. Vadym was already hard at work.

Lhari lingered for five more minutes, allowing her metabolism to stabilize and her muscles to relax, her breathing descending into a calm rhythm. Releasing the bands, she grasped the forward ladder and propelled herself effortlessly into the cylinder above, entering her sleeping quarters.

Her spacious shower, situated on the forward bulkhead of her quarters, could be used in zero gravity, though it lacked comfort. The fusion reactor enabled unlimited water recycling, making long showers one of the few indulgences of life aboard the ship. She shed her clothing, grabbed a white cotton towel, and stepped into the shower, sealing the clear door behind her. A touch panel activated the rain, which sprayed against her body from countless tiny openings, with larger droplets forming and being drawn downward into more holes on the opposite wall, where air and water were reclaimed for recycling. She began with hot water, and steam enveloped the shower, fogging the glass and transforming the air into a soft gray.

Ten minutes later, she emerged, water still cascading from her hair as she dried herself with the oversized towel that could double as a blanket. Droplets floated in the air, merging into larger drops that were then drawn into vents. The humidity escaping from the shower was swiftly absorbed by the ventilation system, recycling it back into the water reserves. Hovering in front of a full-length mirror, she assessed her reflection. Her hair had grown too long — it was time for a trim. Long hair was a luxury, and she frequently found strands floating around the ship in unexpected places. Her skin had lightened, now an even latte brown rather than the deep charcoal black she bore closer to the Sun.

The ship’s cool air felt refreshing against her heated skin. She carefully folded the towel and secured it over a rung on the ladder. Across the chamber, she opened a drawer, retrieving grooming essentials — a toothbrush, nail clippers, and a CRISPY pill. The next drawer revealed a small wash basin; she took a sip of water from a transparent tube and swallowed the pill, visualizing the tiny viral bots within it dispersing throughout her body, repairing DNA damaged by cosmic rays, regulating cellular reproduction to eliminate harmful cancers, and combating harmful bacteria. She brushed her teeth and sat on the floor to trim her nails.

After one last look in the mirror, turning to see herself from all angles, she smiled. At twenty-seven, she was in peak physical condition.

She then returned to her sleeping compartment, lifting the bed to retrieve a bright green, long-sleeved flight suit adorned with a deep orange racing stripe running down to her ankles. A pair of matching socks with magnetic soles completed her outfit. She donned the flight suit, zipping it up the front, slipped on the socks, and ascended to the ship's center, gliding effortlessly into her lab, pushing lightly off handholds and bulkheads in zero gravity. Her black hair floated around her face like a smoky halo.

In the adjoining chamber, she spotted Vadym examining a brown rock on his holodisplay. Diverting her attention to her own lab, she noticed the windows were covered with holodisplays depicting flatlander landscapes — a desolate moonscape, a picturesque mountain lake in Europe, the African savannah, and a lush rainforest.

A large holographic display dominated nearly a quarter of the outer wall, ten meters wide and six high, gently curving to match the ship's contours. As she floated to the center of the room, the display illuminated, revealing a multitude of variables concerning the Target. Dimensions, spin rates, apparent mass, albedo, and reflectivity were displayed. It was currently positioned outward from their location, but once they drew nearer, she could obtain readings on frequency transparency across the radio spectrum. At this distance, the radar offered limited information, merely a rough outline.

Lhari observed the asteroid’s projection for a moment, something piquing her curiosity, though she couldn't pinpoint what it was. Using her hands, she manipulated the hologram, pulling it closer and holding the tiny photonic model of the asteroid at arm’s length. She rewound the image to when the ship began capturing footage forty minutes earlier. The slow spin, barely moving a few degrees in that time, was unusual for such a small object but not unprecedented.

“Phaedra, simulate the rotation of Target and display at sixty times normal speed,” she instructed.

The image before her began to spin more rapidly. Yes, something felt off.

“Phaedra, adjust the rotation so that one day equals ten seconds.”

The image spun faster and appeared more chaotic. Observing the fast-forwarded rotation revealed a complex motion across three axes. One revolution every six seconds on X, every four on Y, and something resembling a full minute on Z. The Z-axis, which ran along the length of the five-kilometer rock, was stable. The other axes exhibited erratic tumbling, suggesting that the center of gravity did not lie between the two bulbous ends of the asteroid but rather deep within the slightly larger end.

“Phaedra, simulate the center of mass for Target,” she commanded.

A blue and black sphere materialized within the image of the brown-grey asteroid, positioned along the Z-axis, offset to one side within the larger bulge. Despite their similar sizes, with less than a ten percent variance, the larger half held nearly eighty percent of the mass.

A rotation anomaly. Vadym would need to be informed of this.

With a flick of her right hand, she pushed the three rotating bodies into a corner of the display and summoned another set of instruments with her left, bringing them into her reach. A real-time image of the slowly rotating Target hovered before Lhari, accompanied by a long white sine wave that increased in frequency from left to right — representing the entire electromagnetic spectrum from radio to gamma rays. Extending her pinky and thumb, she extracted the radio spectrum, causing the asteroid’s image to vanish. Using her finger, she gradually pulled the lower frequencies from the left towards the microwave band on the right. The image turned a ghostly gray, albeit with poor resolution and blockiness, revealing incomplete information. She reintegrated the radio band into the spectrum and extracted infrared through ultraviolet. Starting from deep red, she noticed the larger bulge of the asteroid emitted a faint orange glow near its center of gravity. Curious. Was that an albedo artifact? Perhaps that area was darker, coated with carbon dust that absorbed more sunlight.

Surface temperatures ranged from 60K to 84K — a significant variance for a free-floating rock one and a half billion kilometers from the Sun. The expected range was 60-68K, with the warmest section being the larger bulge. So, that lump was both heavier and warmer.

Not that 84K was warm by any standard. Nitrogen would boil on that rock, but only in the tropical zone.

She slid the spectrum further, skipping visible light — Vadym could see what it looked like. The ultraviolet spectrum revealed little. As she expanded the coverage to include ultraviolet, x-rays, and gamma rays, the asteroid glimmered with scintillating white and neon blue — a haze of cosmic rays bombarding its surface.

In one corner of the display, she enlarged a periodic table, sorting the columns by color. Beginning at the upper left, she slowly navigated through the elements, from hydrogen to gold, noting their concentrations. While this wouldn’t disclose the internal composition, it provided insight into the surface makeup — no surprises here, primarily silicon, carbon, and trace metals. The combination suggested the presence of water ice and some dry ice, or frozen carbon dioxide.

Something must have disturbed the center of mass. It was likely that this rock had once been two separate asteroids that merged, probably at low velocity, forming one entity. The denser one must have been rich in iron and heavier elements, shifting the center of mass. Yet, until they could ascertain the total mass more accurately, it remained a matter of speculation. Lhari was not one to guess when data could provide answers soon enough.

Vadym continued to observe Target as it spun in space, light glinting off the glass hemisphere. Turning his head, he spotted Lhari in her green and orange jumpsuit, floating in the center of her lab, surrounded by the flickering lights and colors of her scientific endeavors. Her hands moved rapidly, eyes darting between charts, graphs, and false-color images of the space rock. Vadym could follow her analysis if she slowed down to a tenth of her usual pace, but watching her work in isolation was a joy — a graceful genius.

Her body swayed slightly as her breath drew her forward, inhaling, then pushing back harder as she exhaled. Occasionally, she made swimming motions with her arms, a breaststroke, to maintain her position at the center of the chamber. The holograms trailed her movements, creating a vibrant arc of knowledge that filled much of the compartment. Her hair billowed behind her like a dark storm cloud, reflecting the electrical impulses racing through her mind, mirrored in fleeting expressions on her face — confusion, confirmation, satisfaction, a grin, and impatience as the next data set appeared. She was captivating.

Vadym floated in the airlock space between the chambers, savoring the sight of her engrossed in her work, a stark contrast to the impression she had left him with during their initial meeting.

She turned to acknowledge him momentarily before returning to her tasks. A few seconds later, she began to speak, her words quickly passing Vadym by as he assumed she addressed Phaedra.

“Pardon? I’m sorry, I was…”

“I said, I’ve finished all I can do from here.” She pushed the holograms away and, with a powerful stroke, glided towards the overhead, grasping a handhold. “There are some very intriguing properties.”

“Oh… It resembles many other space rocks... except for one detail, of course.” Vadym grinned slyly, “It’s ours!” He raised his hand in a mock toast.

“Other than that,” she dismissed his jest, neglecting his excitement. “The center of mass is skewed. It’s all off to one side. That could complicate landing.”

“Not too much. The rotation is quite slow. I’ve dealt with worse,” Vadym replied, feeling slightly hurt by her curt response. It was a time for celebration: they had reached the halfway mark.

“Well, that’s not the only issue. Did you observe its shape? Like two lumps of clay fused together, with a small bridge between them? The larger lump is warmer than it should be. It might even be radioactive.”

“Really? We can take more precise measurements when we get closer and deploy a Geiger counter with a drone.” Vadym attempted once more. “I’ve saved a bottle of champagne. Would you care to share a toast?”

“Why?” She regarded him quizzically, pushing away from him towards the opposite passage.

Vadym pondered the question. “To celebrate! We’ve arrived!”

“Let’s assess what we’ve arrived at first.” She moved as if to push off toward the back but hesitated. “Shall we celebrate after breakfast?”

Vadym smiled slightly and nodded, watching as Lhari vanished into the ship, heading toward the garden chamber.

He returned to the command console, clearing the screen once more.

“Display tracking data, motion relative to Theseus.” The display brightened again, dimming the distant stars while overlaying little yellow and green trails on every nearby object, highlighting their motion relative to Theseus. Target’s trail remained invisible, hidden on the opposite side — Theseus was directly approaching the small rock. Vadym extended a finger to touch the track, surrounded by numerical data indicating it was closing in at four meters per second. Theseus maintained a pull of one centimeter per second squared, capable of sustaining that pace for years with the fuel on board. It felt slow when trying to break free of Earth’s orbit, often taking days to escape the gravity well. But space travel required patience.

He processed the figures through Phaedra, calculating an approach vector. The suicide burn would commence in three hours and last about an hour and a half. At that point, they would align on a parallel path with Target — not quite an orbit, as the gravity well was too shallow — resting approximately one thousand meters retrograde to its languid orbit around Saturn.

Synchronizing orbits was tricky. They first needed to match Saturn’s orbit around the Sun, then align with Target’s orbit around Saturn, all while maintaining proximity to the errant moonlet without colliding or drifting away. He adjusted the course correction to decelerate the ship, and the reaction wheels hummed just behind the hydroponics bay, exerting force against… what exactly? What does a gyroscope push against? Space itself? The ship began a leisurely 180-degree turn.

Vadym floated aft to the garden, where Lhari was already foraging for breakfast among the various genetically engineered plants surrounding her. She gathered food for both of them, an act of friendship that stirred deep memories for Vadym, a reflection of humanity's historical bond. The offering of food, however symbolic, was sacred.

“We should give it a name,” Vadym suggested. “Something other than Target, now that we can see it.”

Lhari delved deep into a broad-leafed plant and retrieved a potato, tossing it to him. He shot her a puzzled look. “Raw potato for breakfast?”

“No, silly, Aaloo,” she replied with a smile. “It means potato in Hindi.”

“It’s a lovely word for such a commonplace thing.”

“That’s what we should name it.”

“Aaloo.” Vadym articulated it aloud, testing its feel on his tongue. “It breaks tradition, but I have no objections.”

“If you’d like to name it after a cartoon character…” Lhari teased, leaving the idea open-ended.

“No, no. Aaloo it is. I like it.”