Mating in Flight

by Joseph T. Page II

I watched as the two metal butterflies mated while in flight. They were of two different species, yet had similar markings on their wings and abdomens. The smallest of the pair, ostensibly the male, flew ahead of the second, presumably the female.

Their courtship did not involve a highly choreographed mating dance, inherent in other species. However, their flow together was pristine. The “pheromones” directing their mating habit overrode the desire to obey natural instincts. Both creatures flew in a straight path, as the interaction progressed.

The lead creature, lowered a long protuberance from the rear of his thorax. The female flew in coordination, accepting the prominence’s offering without complaint or objection. Fluid was exchanged from male to female, providing the energy to assist corporeal bodies in helping to create life… or to extinguish it.

Inside the female, two eggs awaited delivery to their destination. The magic potential within each distinct cell would amaze and astonish any voyeuristic intelligence watching.

Once fluid transfer had ceased, biologic imperative transferred control to the creatures’ higher functions.

There was no kiss on the cheek or sideways glances from either former lover. The break-away was mechanical, yet functional and necessary. The female disappeared into the black skies, preparing for a gestation period that lasted from a few hours, to decades.

The male, disconnected from its spatial mate, continued to fly along his pre-selected route.

Behind in the distance, another wanting female approached…

30 feet…20 feet… 10 feet…5 feet…

Bomber One, Tanker one, clear contact when ready.

Tanker One, contact.

How you doing, Bomber One? I’m sorry, sir. Say again?

It looked like you hung there at about five feet. But we’re stable.

Sounds good. We’ll give you the whole off-load. Fifteen K.

[All you have is 15K?]

Another tanker fell out. Should’da been pre-coordinated.

Ok, that’ll do it for me. Have a good flight, Tanker one.

Good Hunting, Bomber One. Out.