It was decided, everything needed to be just like at home, there down below as it once was. High above, the Terran—-heavy, looked sadly at the brown ball rising above the horizon. He didn’t notice the Lunarians, who two centimeters above the tiled floor, gamboled by. He clenched his Underworlder pass and heard a friendly monotone voice ask, “Welcome to the Lunarsphere. May I see your pass?”

He nodded at the hologram in the shape of an angel. The Lunarians liked to think of themselves living in heaven, the home of their ancestors down below—-a hell. Which Davin realized was mostly true. The UN had long tried to hold the alliances together until it all ended in raining fire. Those who lived among the Spheres—-which is what those on the other planets called their worlds—-watched with an uninterested dismay as the last remnants of Earth were mostly gone in a ten minute conflagration. A world wiped clean in what far away looked like fireworks, a celebration of light. Then, it all went dark. Some cities and islands tattered and torn like their citizens remained. The old life of the homeworld limped along. Almost forgotten by those in a higher realm.

But then, there was a new fad. A retro hunger for what had once been. Solar System’s Services Inc. began to build on some of the moons of the gas giants and within the inner orbits upon the rocks of the Moon and Mars, amusement parks. It was billed as ‘The World We Once Knew’ and the reservations soared, the waiting lists lengthened until many of those living among the Spheres had to wait a standard solar year or more. Though their lives in their perfectly controlled environments were without dolor and filled only with pleasure, the longing for the antiquated feel of striving and suffering stimulated their minds. Each amusement park strived to be better than the other. The stockholders crypto-accounts were overflowing.

Then came the most brilliant idea of all. The androids worked well at playing the roles of the Terrans’ tumult and tyranny, but what if they brought live specimens to perform. The Digiposters went up. The pre-ticket sales were a rage. Contracts were made with any of the Underworlders left who could perform in some way. That was how Davin was found performing for thin pennies in the ruins of what once had been a rich city.

They spared no expense. He was scanned and placed in a Revito-tank. His cells were scrubbed of every microbe, every wildly splitting cell that could only lead to his death. His hair was cleaned and cut. His skin soothed and smoothed with a thin laser lotion. His eyes cleared of their imperfections, his teeth brightly whitened and brought into perfectly exact rows. The directors and acting coaches tried to teach him how to smile. It only made his face ache. After all their endeavors, the shuttle had been sent for him. And now he found himself with that pass back in his hand and a quick laser cut on his forehead identifying him as Busker 232 / Juggler.

After being well fed and allowed to sleep an earthly cycle, he was taken to the amusement park: Six Flags Over the Moon. They really did like to keep everything quaint. Davin wasn’t so sure about his clothes, he had never seen anything like it on the Earth. The red tights made his thin muscles bulge, especially in his crotch. It was uncomfortable both for his body and mind. His shirt was so thin, a clear lace gauze that tickled his skin every time he moved. He didn’t want to complain, not even in his thoughts. He was happy to have made it above.

He was brought to the stage by a howdy-do cowboy android. He climbed the steps, each pull of his knees took extra concentration so that he wouldn’t bounce too high. A crowd began to form around him, their eyes and mouths expectantly open. He untied his sack and took out three balls. He whistled a tune to stretch their anticipation. Then with one sweep he let the balls go and off they went—-higher and higher into the processed air. The Moon’s G was just a 16th of the Earths. They hadn’t thought of it—-Spherians tended to be spacey—-and he hadn’t either. But he knew a busker’s obligation was to perform no matter the audience, no matter the circumstance. So, he pushed lightly with his feet and floated to those balls. He took more from his bag and he began to get a good spin on all of them. Almost weightless there was no end to how many he could keep spiraling there. He felt like an angel twirling the stars. An angel, that would be his costume from then on.

Their hands clapped until they were as red as the dust of Mars. Their happy faces and loud ‘hurrahs’ calmed his nerves and fired his talent. His contract was renewed and Busker 232 / Juggler became known on all those Digiposters as ‘The Winged Wonder—-the Spinner of Stars’. From Sphere to sphere, he performed. He was not only a busker, entertainer, Underworlder risen—-no, he also became a Physicist—-learning the G of all those worlds and how to put just the right spin on those balls. He, like a sun, held those orbiting balls just right in their circles. His crypto-account was full so long as that retro-Earth-fad remained. But it is known, nothing is eternal, nothing lasts forever.