The Weight of Staying

The observation deck of Heliodor Station has been drifting in a slow figure-eight for three years, and you are the only person on it. Not by accident — you requested the posting. The deck is a wide, curved room of thick glass and soft hum, furnished with a brass balance scale, a few crates of resupply gear, and the company of stars. Today a resupply pod has docked and left one extra crate: heavier than expected, and the station's trim gyro is complaining about it. You have until the next orbital pass to get things balanced, but — glancing at the crate — you find yourself wondering if balancing is really what you want to do.