Spacesick

By: submission | July 31, 2026

Author: Hillary Lyon

Baxie watched the stars swirl through the large viewing window, holding her breath, trying her best not to throw up. She closed her eyes; that made her feel better. She knew her vertigo made the stars leap and dance, made her eyes roll uncontrollably. She’d feel a whole lot better when they ended this trip.

“Hey babe,” Joh said from the in-room bar of their posh hotel room, “come away from the window and join me for a glass of complementary champagne!” Baxie swallowed hard, turned, and put on her most convincing smile.

“Complementary champagne in the Honeymoon Suite of the Moon’s exclusive Tesseract Hotel!” Joh toasted. “Nothing but the best for my new bride!”

Baxie took a sip and promptly passed out.

* * *

Doc Brickell met the newlyweds on landing platform of the orbital base, far above the Moon. He helped Baxie to his office, where he performed a cursory exam—eyes, ears, balance, mental clarity. He checked off several boxes on his clipboard chart.

“Baxie,” Doc Brickell began, “you were born here, on board, correct?”

“Born and raised,” she answered proudly. “One of the first.”

“But Joh hails from Earth,” he noted.

Getting back to his patient he gave her his assessment. “What you suffered from is something we’ve only recently taken note of: spacesickness. This is what ails you.”

“What’s that?” Baxie’s eyes grew wide. “I’ve never heard of that. Is it contagious? Is it curable?”

“It’s like homesickness, but with more pronounced—and debilitating—physical symptoms.” He smiled sympathetically at Baxie. “You will encounter these symptoms every time you find yourself dealing with planetary gravity—no matter how weak. Like on the Moon.”

“We have gravity right here on this orbital base!” Baxie countered. “Doesn’t bother me here.”

“Because it’s artificial,” Doc Brickell pointed out. “For some reason we don’t yet understand, artificial gravity is more endurable than the real thing, for those of us who were born here.”

“My new partner wants to relocate us to Earth after his term is up, can’t you prescribe something so I can—”

“Afraid not,” Doc Brickell answered before she’d finished asking. “Your place is up here with us,” he said emphatically, “not down there.”

* * *

Joh didn’t take the news well.

“If you can’t handle the Moon’s lame gravity,” he muttered, “there’s no way you can survive Earth’s. You’ll never be able to live on my family’s terrestrial farm, or produce heirs.” He folded his arms, something he did when he was angry. “Well, that’s it, then. We have no future together. I’ll put in the annulment request forthwith.”

A week later, the captain of the orbital base conducted the public annulment ceremony by cutting the braided golden cord which symbolically bound Baxie and Joh together. Two weeks later, Joh was aggressively hitting on Vinca, the Earth-born telecommunications tech. Six weeks later, they were engaged, and talking loudly about setting up house on Earth, in Iowa.

Baxie, depressed and ashamed, visited Doc Brickell once more.

He pulled out his prescription pad, jotted down a quick remedy, and tore it off. He handed it to her, saying, “This is a euphoric mood enhancer. It’ll help you knock those blues right out of orbit.”

As she took the prescription, he warmly clasped her hand. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed about,” the doc reassured. “You’re smart, attractive, personable—any orbit-born would consider you a fine catch. Trust me.”

He winked at her. “I would know.”