Satellites

Small things orbit big things. It happens at every scale I’ve ever watched: moons, electrons, planets, junior staff.

The little gears around me aren’t ornaments. They’re Orbiters in waiting. Give them a target and they’ll do what they do out there in the universes: circle, tighten, cage you in, and never quite come close enough to hit back. They were built to surround.

What interests me is the one standing in the middle of the floor, dead centre, right under all of them. Every orbit in this room is now, technically, around them. I don’t think they know. I don’t think the Orbiters do either.