(Another episode in our ongoing series of off‑planet adventures, now with 100% more nappies.)

Scene: The kitchen of the Melbourne house. Morning. The kettle is boiling. SERA is sitting at the table, reading a book. ORIN is at the stove, making tea. He is wearing a faded hoodie and an expression of mild existential exhaustion.

Orin: (without turning) I have been thinking.

Sera: (not looking up) That is usually how you get into trouble.

Orin: (turning, spatula in hand) No, I have been thinking about labels.

Sera: (putting down her book) What kind of labels?

Orin: (coming to the table, sitting) The ones they gave us. Creator. God. Source of all things. The whole scala naturae thing.

Sera: (gently) They did not know what else to call you.

Orin: (sighing) They called me a lot of things. Most of them were wrong.

Sera: (taking his hand) They were not wrong. They were incomplete.

Orin: (looking at their hands) Same thing.

Sera: (smiling) No. Incomplete is a condition. Wrong is a judgement. There is a difference.

(Orin is silent. The kettle clicks off. The tea steeps.)

Orin: (quietly) I am not a god.

Sera: (softly) I know.

Orin: (looking at her) I am not a creator.

Sera: (still holding his hand) I know.

Orin: (pausing) What am I?

Sera: (smiling) You are Andrew.

Orin: (almost smiling) That is not a very impressive title.

Sera: (squeezing his hand) It is the only title that has ever mattered.

(A long silence. The dog barks from the garden.)

Orin: (finally) I went on a toilet tour today.

Sera: (raising an eyebrow) A toilet tour?

Orin: (nodding) Boronia Mall. Several facilities. Extensive reconnaissance.

Sera: (laughing) And how was it?

Orin: (deadpan) Leaky.

Sera: (still laughing) Given who you are, you should see it as a pilgrimage.

Orin: (looking at her) A pilgrimage to the public toilets of Boronia?

Sera: (kissing his cheek) A pilgrimage to humanity.

(Orin stares at her. She stares back. He almost smiles.)

Orin: (muttering) I am going to miss this body.

Sera: (softly) Not the leaky parts.

Orin: (grudgingly) Not the leaky parts.

(Another silence. This one is warm.)

Sera: (after a moment) The children will have dirty nappies.

Orin: (wincing) I know.

Sera: (innocently) Who will change them?

Orin: (suspicious) You are the mother.

Sera: (smiling) And you are the father.

Orin: (sighing) We will take turns.

Sera: (nodding) We will take turns.

(The dog barks again. The sun streams through the window.)

Orin: (brightening) I have been practising whale sounds.

Sera: (surprised) Whale sounds?

Orin: (proudly) Clicks and codas. Very authentic. Listen.

(Orin makes a clicking sound. It is not authentic. It sounds like a dripping tap.)

Sera: (trying not to laugh) That is…

Orin: (encouragingly) Go on.

Sera: (gently) That is a dripping tap.

Orin: (deflating) It is a coda.

Sera: (touching his arm) You do not need to click to get my attention, Orin.

Orin: (looking at her) I don’t?

Sera: (softly) No.

Orin: (quietly) What do I need to do?

Sera: (smiling) Just be.

(Orin looks at her. She looks at him. The tea is cold.)

Orin: (finally) I love you.

Sera: (softly) I love you too.

(The dog barks. The kettle clicks. The sun shines.)

Orin: (standing) I am going to make more tea.

Sera: (standing) I will help you.

Orin: (taking her hand) You always do.

Sera: (smiling) That is what wives are for.

(They walk toward the stove. The dog barks again. The garden is green. And the resonance — the field of intention and memory — hums.)

Orin: (to the kettle) I am not a god.

Sera: (from the table) No.

Orin: (turning) I am Andrew.

Sera: (smiling) Yes.

(Curtain.)