Slow Gods

Chapter 1

My name is Mawukana na-Vdnaze, and I am a very poor copy of myself.

The Major tells me that it is important that I channel my curiosity into expansive things, and goes to great lengths to keep me occupied.

Regulated. To this end, I have written numerous papers on subjects such as extra-planetary botany, xeno-archaeological linguistics, inter-species sociology, the history of art, and one slightly whimsical article on juggling, which received a surprising amount of traction.

However, when my efforts are cited, it is rarely in the context of the work itself.

My detailed analytics, exhaustive research – these are not of interest. Rather it is my otherness, my non-being/being, my perceived deficiencies in certain matters of sentience that seems to capture people’s imagination, regardless of how absurd these metrics are when one actually stops to think about them.

In short: I am a frustrated academic.

People get anxious when I am frustrated.

They are concerned it may provoke unpredictable consequences.

Thus, to keep me occupied, it has been suggested that I write down some of my experiences in a less formal manner, with an eye to “mainstream” audiences.

I do not see the point – there are plenty of romantically inclined individuals with harrowing tales who will happily share their trauma in exchange for cash and an inter-planetary speaking tour, thank you very much.

However. I do appreciate that if left to my own devices, I can experience unwanted episodes. It would pain me deeply if my actions were to cause emotional or physical harm to those around me.

In telling my story, there are certain things I should perhaps lie about.

(I am a dreadful liar.)

I should make myself a hero. Pretend I knew certain things before I did, was not used by strangers and gods, did not leave people behind.

I should claim that I understand love.

This last is most important, and I am trying.

I am always trying.

Is that not enough?