Across the sky, flitting light. Not stars as such, but gilded shards. They continue to fall, piercing horizon upon horizon. Some say they will ignite briefly over the deepest darkest parts of the ocean, to be seen only by the whales and the dolphins as they break upwards from the blue. Some say the shards will spark and burn their way through the atmosphere, burying themselves blackly, finally, into the cold tundras of the Arctic north. Some say they will flicker like fireworks over Hawaii. But no human should worry. The death of one more satellite is of no concern.
The road was quiet and amber in the street light. She could hear the sound of violins and voices from high in one of the office blocks. Someone was playing Verdi. She looked upwards. There were no stars in the sky. Beyond the clouds would only be the vapour trails of aeroplanes streaking across the night. Beyond them, satellites beaming TV shows to nations round the world; satellites distributing information about the location of individuals; rockets testing the limits of technological power; defence shields that cost citizens dear. And what was beyond that? Perhaps it was only daydreams and notions.