On the edge of the desolate wreckage of a crashed ship, the honeybee trembled, climbing downwards from the motionless stalks of the machine’s antenna. In its bee mind, it feels only order and structure, and something that might have been relief, having recently escaped capture by a spider. Through fractional vision, it sought the vector of sweetness, yearning for growing things. It sees instead, the mandibles of the robot it sits astride, slipping into the great smoking metal of the satellite before them.

For the briefest moment, a connection is made, between the robot and the ship. When the second is over everything is dark, and dead. The honeybee drops ashen to the ground. For a moment, the antenna of the robot wiggled in thought, digesting all he had learned.

“Oh dear,” he said.