A field journal, kept badly, by four people who absolutely should have known better.
We took her up at two in the morning, told no one, signed nothing — and came back changed. A more or less honest account of the first time the ship in the garage left the ground.
We went back to the moon we apparently own — properly this time, with thermals, oxygen, and an actual plan. We came home with cold-burn, far better photographs, and the strong suspicion that the place is somebody’s neglected back paddock.
Somebody on the ground near London got a real photograph of Prometheus in flight. It ran in a conspiracy newspaper, on the same page as the week’s other "sightings." We have never felt prouder, or safer.
We had ninety seconds on a garage ramp to name a spaceship. Here is the fight we had, reconstructed, mostly fairly.
We have title to a small satellite near Sirius B and, as of this week, we have actually seen it with our own eyes. A few quiet words about that.