I've been shopping around with this until I learned it's similar to a lesser-known Asimov story. Still, I'm somewhat proud of it, and I'd rather show it off to the world than let it collect dust on my laptop.
Check it!
***
The
nebula between his hands was spinning. Gas clouds danced and grew thicker with
each rotation. Gently, he caressed the glass sphere containing them and turned
it over, inspecting its sides with paternal care. The iron band holding the
globe together had a set of lights on one side. They blinked in a way that
pleased him. The gravity field was stable. He was ready for Phase Two.
He
took the globe across the attic. Slow and deliberate steps kept him from disturbing
old and loose planks of wood or bumping into the rest of his equipment. Tall
grey canisters and a box filled with empty glass balls lined a wall to his left.
The homemade superconductor he used to test his gravity bands filled the space
next to a portable centrifuge on a wooden table. Chests housing personal
effects – mementoes and some clumsily-scribbled schematics from yesteryear – were
pressed together in a corner.
Soon, he was at his desk. Amid the clutter of blueprints and
miscellaneous devices was a metal claw. Each of its digits ended in a wide tube,
and its wrist-like base was a cone covered with switches and dials. It sat
comfortably next to a photograph of his family spread out on a couch, their
faces frozen in practiced joy. "I’ll make you proud," he muttered,
looking briefly into their petrified eyes.
He set the globe in its grasp, lining up the machine’s fingers to the
holes on the sides of the gas-filled sphere. Careful and calm, he held the ball
up with one hand and reached for a button on the claw’s base with the other. A
loud quartet of clicks sounded as the finger-tubes connected with the sphere.
He pulled his hands away, and saw that the orb was in place.
Quickly, he ran to the side. Work clothes sat in a pile by the attic
window. He switched out, pulling his gloves off and slipping on a new pair. He swiftly threw a leather smock over his body. Goggles fastened
to his face, he walked back to the machine. He turned a dial on the base
clockwise and lined another up with a red-coloured symbol on its immediate
right.
Hands on the desk, he leaned forward and waited. Ensuring the balance of
the hydrogen and helium levels was easy, but delicate. Stabilizing the
gravitational field inside the globe was trickier. He remembered how the
gravitational field once expanded outside its globe and upended the room for
twelve seconds. He reflected on his other failures: the shattered glass and the
rogue gas clouds, the burnt table, last month’s black hole scare.
More than that, he remembered the shame. Each time a globe broke or a
gravity field destabilized, sheer overwhelming disdain followed. He knew he
could do better; he had to do better. It was amazing for him
that he got that far to begin with, but knowing what was at stake if he failed
pushed him further.
Forcing the collapse of the cloud was something he only succeeded in doing
twice. Neither time was successful. He was hardly superstitious, but he wrung
his hands together and murmured: “Third time’s the charm.”
There
was a whirr. The claw holding the globe shook and buzzed. The nebula spun in
place faster than before. A pinpoint of light emerged in its centre.
A spark. Gas ignited and the inside of the globe was ablaze. Light
reflected off of his goggles. He stepped back and shielded his face. The fire
rose, pressing against the glass. It glowed red. A gleam enveloped the desk,
rays of primal light stabbing outward. The family picture went missing in its
glare.
He tensed and backed away from the blaze. Seizing the fire extinguisher
he had brought up from the main floor, he undid the pin and gripped the nozzle.
The black tube shook as he aimed it at his creation and prepared to douse the
desk.
The gesture was unnecessary. In seconds, the flame died down. What once
was a struggling fireball forcing against its bonds quickly shrank down to a little
globe. His desk was intact; the photograph, unscathed.
Orange
light danced inside the glass sphere. It was bold and bright and solid.
Spinning slowly in its container, the tiny star flared up. Miniature sunspots
and leaping snakes of fire appeared and disappeared in an instant.
He relaxed and set aside the extinguisher. Excitement brought him back
to his desk again, though caution dictated the speed. Gingerly, he held his
hand up to the sphere and the burning ball inside it. Its warmth was gentle.
A
wry smile crept across his face. Timmy was ready for the Science Fair.
***
See you next time,
RWI