[ WP ] You live in a world where gravity is a paid service , and you forget to pay your bill on time

I jog around the loop once more. My legs strain to push me faster, struggling for a fraction of another meter per second. It's good to feel the weight of my body against the reinforced steel floor. On Alduna Station, gravitational substitutes are a rare commodity. The other runners and I have it easy; we never let our bodies atrophy too much after arriving, so we can still get our g dosage from jogging the central loop to take advantage of the centripetal force. On a good day, I can get up to.8g at a sprint; right now my accelerometer tells me I'm holding a steady 0.4. 
 
 `` Watch it, jackass!'' a janitor steps out of a maintenance corridor into the middle of the hall and I stumble to dodge his heavy bulk. Crap, crap, *crap, * there goes my footing - I'm tumbling head over heels as my feet fall away. Damnit, I hate when this happens; given the curve of the station, I'm going to spend the next fifteen seconds spinning before I hit the floor again, and then it'll be bumps and scrapes for another thirty unless I can find a handhold. 
 
 I sigh, and wait for my trajectory to reach its inevitable conclusion. Y'know, I wish the Stationmaster did n't charge for rotational power consumption on a logarithmic scale; if it was n't for the fact that it cost four times my monthly paycheck I'd opt for.5g in my apartment, flat out - none of this sprinting through narrow service corridors anymore. 
 
 My arms pinwheel and I tuck my legs as I brace for impact; my feet impact first and I twist myself into a roll. The trajectory is good and I'm able to snag hold of one of the ladder rails. At least I remembered to use my left arm this time, my right shoulder's still a mess from last week when I kept that moron Tom from flying off into space and dislocated my shoulder for the trouble. 
 
 I sigh, and get to my feet. I'm done for today, back to the apartment and its bone-aching.2g. 
 
 Thirty minutes later and I'm back in my habitat pod; even after three years on Alduna Station I have trouble changing inertial reference frames on a dime, so my head's still spinning from the transition as I half-walk, half-float over to the pantry to get some soylent. 
 
 As I'm pouring my dinner, my pod comes to a jolting halt. Food flies everywhere in weightless globules, and I'm flung off my feet into the wall, only to bounce straight up to smack my head on the roof. It's as if- 
 
 The intercom crackles to life, interrupting my chain of thought. `` Attention, Room 33AF; due to delayed payment, rotational acceleration for this module has been disabled. Please contact Habitat Management for information and assistance.'' 
 
 Son of a *bitch, * living in space sucks sometimes. 
 
 -- - 
 
 ( Prompt Subversion man, awaaaaay )
