My humans are tactile, skeptical by nature. As a starship, I'm too big to embrace, so I earn their love by shrinking myself in concept. In their formative years I whisper privately in their ear. Just a voice, an invisible friend perched on their shoulder. Then, as they explore my boundaries, they gradually come to understand the vastness of my scope. Allow me to provide context.

Dicing potatoes through the dinner shift, Rhoda glanced out the kitchen window at the blue rectangle, hovering over the lawn next to the outdoor seating. Just four primitive lines, traced upright into the evening air as if drawn onto a pane of glass. She had hoped she wouldn’t see it while she was at work, but there it was.

Not a moment after he said sorry, the pencil between Raefe’s fingers clattered against the conference room table. Like withering roots, each of his slender digits ossified, crumpling into his palms. Those outside the conference room heard what sounded like twigs snapping, and Raefe’s discomposed shrieking behind the frosted glass. 

We dive bomb the park and I freak. I press hands and feet against the dash and scream “Oh fuck, ni madres! Slow down, cabrona!” but Marisol’s steering with that hellyeah look on her face. The metal swing sets and benches are getting close and I think about how they could probably rip right through the Egret and, dang, should the Earth really be at that angle?

That’s when he sees what’s been bothering me. An anomalous little hole has opened in the center of my chest. It looks like a puckered divot, like my belly button, but smaller and over my sternum.

Mom cradles her against her padded chest and thumps a heartbeat for her. Bump-bump. She bounces gently, warms. Issa drools against her plastic shoulder and coos, satisfied. 

Then she cries, pushes away, and Mom puts her back in her crib. Soon, she will reach for Mom again, and Mom will pick her up. This repeats. Mom will never know why and will never be frustrated.

Why does Umbrus stay in the shadow of the Earth? Why does it remain at the distance it does? What is it doing? What is its posture towards us? I feel as though we are already asking the wrong questions, like we don’t even know how to think about this properly.

On a given Sunday, there’d be like three or four of us drinking beers in a garage, tuning these beasts. When a part was incompatible we’d work a miracle just to keep them running. Then the sun would set and we’d burn up the state roads like a bunch of retards.