Drunk on moonlight, they played and danced across grassy hills to the river’s banks. The night was a living painting in ten thousand shades of white. They spoke then of promises. A pact of three. One day, Mars, would be this. Warm. Wet. Lived on. Loved. No matter what.
The cold hazy light of morning brought resolve and action and when the Senate was bombed, people blamed terrorists, right-to-lifers, and the NFLPA. They were wrong. Just three students from Cornell who decided there was no other way their government would move toward space.
Yesterday, plans were unveiled to move congress into orbit.
First appeared in Parlour Papers May/June 1994