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Our knowledge is so minute, a tiny droplet in a vast sea that never ends, and we had the audacity to think we knew what we were getting into.
“Pioneer, what is that?” My voice is high-pitched. I lean forward, peering at the viewscreen. I see nothing, just the absence of something, like a cloud blocking the stars, a shape that moves slowly, swallowing up the distant pricks of light as it drifts blackly. And it’s getting bigger; it’s getting closer. Unknown.
“Ami,” he says, my name supplicant on his lips. “I would never hurt you.”
He’s watching me with an almost overwhelming intensity, his unblinking black eyes framed by unnaturally long lashes, head tilted down slightly, as if he’s starving and I’m a meal. But he blinks, his muscles relax, and he’s human again.
His voice is little more than a whisper. “I’m whatever you want me to be, Ami.”
“Ami,” he groans. “I’ve waited so long for you.”
No matter how many times you try to go, you always come back.
