Churning in Space

Microfiction: Science fiction. In less than 100 words, use the word "beneath" and depict the action "eating ice cream"

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Keeper-Starlight is still; we hear the recycling churn beneath us power up. Our mouths water, eleven Earth-years since the last recycling. 

"Chocolate," Bosun-Silence whispers, sniffing the air. The churn's vacuoles relinquish the coolant-based treat I can hardly remember. 

"You first," he nods to me. I lift the spoon to my mouth, honoring Keeper-Starlight with the first miraculous melting mouthful. 

Every generation yields life to the next; the moment of recycling a frozen sacrificial celebration. Nine generations of flavor-based eulogies as we drift in space. 

I look at Bosun-Silence. He's certainly caramel, I muse. 

Craving, I finger my antique steel blade.