Drones’ reproduction is outsourced to a separate life system. Like the larval stage on an insect, or the mycelium of a fungus, they are a significant part of the lifecycle, but not the part that engages in gamete swapping. They are the non-breeding cycle-part of their mega-organism: the military-industrial complex. The breeding part happens in budget negotiations of the vote-loving Representative Government, and in the contract negotiations between the State’s armed forces and Lockheed, General Atomics, and other contractors. And then, after a bit of technological gestation and the creation of a number of good homeland jobs, the drones burst from the skunkworks egg sac like newly born spiders, catching on the wind, riding around the currents of the globe, to life a lifetime of spying, bombing, sunning themselves on the secret tarmacs of the world, to be the gargoyles hanging from our informational downspouts, to hang out around the playground and the convenience store, bothering good citizens with their language and their music. Each drone secures the terrain and the sustaining resources of the organism like a system of airborne, hovering roots, until eventually they crash, break down, or are obsoleted, and the cycle can begin again. It is a beautiful thing, this unmanned, aerial birds-and-the-bees system. But like our lives, the temporality of drones between birth and death is also filled with mundane stretches of inactivity. Not every day can be a double tap. There is not always a vehicle to track. And so, drones date. They, as we say, “pass time”.