Voyager 1, the space probe launched in the 1970's, contained a golden disc of mankind's most profound musical works and images of our planet, for if someone should find it. It has flown uninterrupted through our universe for the past 560 years, passing out of our solar system and flying towards the stars. Mankind has long since been destroyed by its own petty squabbles. All art has been lost, save that preserved by this timeless golden disc. Flying alone through the emptiness, the last remnants of a dead civilisation, carrying some of its greatest treasures.

A poem exploring the insignificant squabbles and tenants of humanity, against a backdrop of an infinitely large universe.

Nightingale is human - or would be, had it not been for the manner of her creation. Genetically engineered and grown to adulthood in a lab, she was created, not born. Why? For the sole purpose of the entertainment of rich men as one of the many Inamoratas in the bordello business . Beautiful, elegant, a superb dancer and an even better singer, she is the perfect lover for any man. Perfect, that is, except for her personality - the one thing you can't engineer.