The first salmon to soar into the sky was discovered in the North Atlantic. It broke free from the fishing net, not diving down to escape but darting upward instead, piercing through the surface of the sea, water streaming off its belly. Sunlight on the deck reflected water trails like a starry night, and then it vanished into the clouds. The fishermen exchanged bewildered looks, unwilling to dismiss it as a mirage. Restaurants issued a new rule: every serving of salmon sashimi must come with weighted lead strips. Wasabi incurs an additional charge. Soy sauce dishes must be sealed with glass slides.

An atmospheric scientist raised a small patch of air in his laboratory, caring for it as though it were a pet. "It feels lonely," he wrote in his research journal. "Ever since realizing it could choose to drift into space, it has resisted confinement within this man-made container." People began stockpiling oxygen tanks, not for breathing but for storing memories. They believed the air could no longer be trusted, having allied itself with the salmon, ready at any moment to carry all gravity away to the clouds.