Plein Air by Alex Scott

The central hub definitely had a gorgeous view. The transparent dome offered a clear view of the Earth below: all the swirling and blending in the clouds, the pigments and textures in the terrain, the gentle blue in the seas. Here, Frieda could simply hang in the air and draw on her tablet with a reasonably stable, consistent viewpoint as the rest of the space station Howell rotated around her.

In theory, anyway.

For one thing, it only took forty-five minutes for the station to cross from day to night, so you had to work fast. More importantly, Frieda could never get herself into a good enough position. She’d been looking forward to drawing or painting from orbit ever since she got her ticket, but it turned out every part of the station had its own inconveniences. She could see just fine from her cabin in the rim, but with the station constantly rotating to simulate gravity, the whole world would literally be spinning beneath her. And up here in the hub, if she tried drawing in midair, the slightest motion would send her spinning. There were handles on the wall of the hub to use as a foothold, even to sit down, but that only cramped her leg. She tried hooking her arm through, but that turned out even less comfortable.

Finally Frieda gave up with only a few lines drawn on her screen. She shut off her tablet, rode an elevator back down to the rim, and went to draw the dining hall in Quadrant Three instead. It was fine enough. There were plenty of people here, so she could practice figure drawing. But she could practice figure drawing at a restaurant any time she wanted back in Knoxville. Drawing Earth from life, though? Opportunities like that don’t come every day.

Frieda was sketching an elderly couple about three tables down when a voice beside her said, “Not bad.”

Her back shot straight, her right hand slapped her stylus to the table, and her left hand spread over the screen.

A man with a friendly smile was standing beside her, his head bent over the table. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. But you’re a good artist.”

“Th-thank you. It’s just a hobby.” If a guy with sparkling eyes like him liked it, she supposed she couldn’t complain. “I mean, I’ve sold a few illustrations here and there, but that’s it.”

“Hey, keep it up. I always wished I could draw. My talent was always more on the technical side. How do you do, I’m Edgar Becket.”

“Frieda Moore. Are you on vacation, too?”

“Actually, no, I basically live here. Part of the engineering crew. We keep this big old clockwork running like clockwork.”

“Whoa! You? Wait, I-I mean…” Frieda just tended to think of engineers as a little more… well… not this handsome. “That’s cool that you’re in engineering. It must take something to work on something as complex as… Say. Maybe you could help me with something.”

She explained her predicament to Becket.

“Of course,” Frieda said, “you have important space station stuff to do. You don’t have to go out of your way or anything.”

“Are you kidding?” Becket said. “If you’re not enjoying your stay, we’re not doing our job. And I just might have an idea.”

The idea involved meeting him back at the hub later with her tablet and stylus. On the elevator ride up, she wedged herself into a corner, feeling like she’d get in trouble if anyone saw her. There had to be a rule against what Becket had suggested. But if it meant drawing her own home planet from life…

Becket hung by an open hatch about a quarter of the way to the dome, below a sign that read “Staff Only.” A trio of boys were bouncing off the walls chasing each other, and that same elderly couple was gazing out at the world as night fell and the cities began to scatter their light. Clutching her tablet, Frieda kicked herself off toward Becket.

“Right this way,” he said.

She floated in behind him, past other engineers, who didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the young woman with an art tablet intruding on their workspace. Becket took her through a zig-zagging corridor to a room full of empty spacesuits hanging in transparent lockers. He took one out and helped Frieda put it on, zipping it up and locking her gloves and helmet in place.

“You sure this is okay?” Frieda said, her voice bouncing back at her.

“I already pulled the right strings. Besides, people bring dates out here all the time.”

She grinned at him. “Is this a date?”

He grinned back. “Just follow my directions.”

He handed her tablet back, and it stuck to the magnets in her gloves, as did the stylus. She took it to the airlock. The hatch on the other end slid open. Her pulse echoed inside her helmet. Her spacesuit was now all that separated Frieda from the emptiness of space.

As Becket radioed in with instructions, she used the handholds on the external hull of the Howell to guide herself to a nice spot by the dome. A tether on her belt hooked her up to a slot by her feet, then reeled it in to sit down.

Becket’s voice buzzed in her ear. “How does it look?”

The edge of night swung past, and the glow of the sun brought the whole planet Earth to life. “It’s perfect.” Frieda turned on her tablet, picked her first color, looked up at the landscape, and started drawing.