They flew past me all the time inside those massive metal machines. Though some were bigger than others. My people have been floating among the stars, bright spots in what, for most, would be otherwise pure darkness for as long as I can remember. We had bodies, once, and needed such machines before, but we evolved past that. My family called me, we were heading to a new asteroid belt. Holding out hands, we, as bright flames, flew to see those that had solid forms still. It was time to say hello. These ones were more adventurous than many had been. -- Anon Guest
In an eon past, we reasoned that it was next to impossible to take our bodies with us to the stars. So we transformed our minds into intelligences of plasma and magnetic forces, leaving our old bodies behind. We flew away from our world and those left who shunned us and our solution to the problem of vast distances.
We were immortal, feeding on the radiations of space, flying between the stars at speeds close to light. It didn't matter how long it took, or how rare it was to meet another like us in our flights. We could not touch the worlds we saw, but some of us thrilled at skimming their atmospheres. Peeking at the material worlds below.
We sang to each other between the stars, listening between the babble of others communicating on the hydrogen line. You can imagine, then, our shock and surprise when others came to the void in metal armour, in shells like snails or crabs, taking everything they needed with them. Some plodded slowly, but others matched our speeds at close to that of light. Curious, we swam close to them. Peeking in portholes. Singing to them. We did not understand how they could dare.
They call us Starmaids, or cryptids; and the tales they tell are routinely scoffed at and dismissed until one of them sees us. They make recordings, they spread the word.
We are dangerous to them. Our way of living is not, precisely, life. We, who feed on the radiation in space, are radioactive ourselves. We cannot linger too long or too close to these fragile mortal things inside their protective shells.
Some of them risk their lives to hear our songs. Those ones call us Sirens. We do not sing to lure them to their deaths. We sing to know each other. Some of us try to tell them that there is a way for them to join us. We try to teach them how we became the way we are...
Some of them call us harbingers of death. We didn't mean to harm them. We try to avoid that fate. Many of our songs are warning them not to come too close. We offer and offer and offer, and they refuse.
Worse. Some of them have worked out how to kill us.
It is safer to flee the mortal ones. We do not wish to die, and we never wanted to harm them. We only wanted to see the stars.
I sing... but as time continues to pass, I wonder if I am singing alone.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / SSilver]
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