...Mission Control flips us onto our backs, keeps us fixed on target past any realistic hope of acquisition. They send last-ditch instructions, squeeze our fading signals for every last bit among the static. I can sense their frustration, their reluctance to let us go; once or twice, we're even asked if some judicious mix of thrust and gravity might let us linger here a bit longer.
But deceleration is for pansies. We're headed for the stars.
Bye, Burnsie. Bye, Mission Control. Bye, Sol.
See you at heat death.
There was no question that the Voyager spacecraft would someday become the first objects made by human beings to get there
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