Date: September 9th, 2016 7:50 PM
Author: concupiscible red mood milk
She was the best of us. The steely architecture of her whiteshine hull embodied the hope of humanity: that we might transcend our earthly enfeeblements and become the promise of greatness whispered in the ears of so many dreamers down the generations--standing in moonlit yards staring up at the beckoning night sky, hunched over in toil prayer at simulation tables in the witching hour, crossing dark jungle paths and challenger deeps; preparations for the great game. She bore all the gifts that our young species could carry to the reckoner's table of exploration: autonomous bioneural networks coursing through finely honed durasteel, new generation CRAY hypercores, whiskr sensors spinning fine orbits around her axes, and, above all else, sanctum sanctorum, the Kevron Drive, set in the heart of the vessel, readysprung to cut through the fabric of space and time. These, the offerings of men who had cast their lives to the pursuit of science--her completion was a shout defiant against the sea of doubt that mankind in this age could no longer come together in devotion to something greater than its individual, selfish pursuits. And so, on the fourth of October, in the two-thousand and twenty-fifth Year of our Lord, she launched.