With her stuffed bear pressed forcefully against the thick glass as a witness, the little girl watched the accident from the safety of the observation deck.
The massive freightliner drifted slowly away from the orbital station, taking an assortment of dock men and droids with it, all helplessly waving their appendages in terror, in shock, and then in the semi-violent throes of death.
The incident had taken only a few seconds to develop – a minor lapse in concentration having flowered into disaster, a time-lapse video of the chaotic dysplasia of man’s overconfidence in space.
In the impact, one of the technicians had bitten his tongue, and as he held on to a cluster of pipes on the ship’s side of the docking platform, globules of crimson drifted out of his mouth as if he were blowing lovely opaque bubbles.
As the ship and all its crew exhaled their last hopeless breaths into the embrace of empty space, the girl waved the bear’s hand in farewell.