I am the daughter of a society on Mars. We live in isolation, fighting our way out of this dark hole, void of Earth’s poetic technology, such as firepower based on philosophy and metaphysics. Starships sail near. When we see them in space, we send distress calls. If they land, we attack with speed.
By campfire’ we write new guides through metered poems. The original user guides had presented a challenge; they were only drawn images of humans. We are without limbs. Therein was the puzzle. But we run at faster than light, so sneak attacks save on bullets. Our necks are twice as long but double jointed, so learning to duck is easy.
Pride drives us. We have fears about these weapons, but we respect them. Testing has resulted in a comedy of errors. Some have resulted in death. Accidents turn darkness to light, our knowledge increases through our loss of life.
We have one weapon that presents hope, but it requires a pilot. That’s where I, Bic, come in.