My thoughts skipped aimlessly, cushioned on the vague sense of acceptance and well-being. I saw Bancroft's antique telescope, trained on the heavens and the tiny motes of light that were Earth's first hesitant steps beyond the limits of the solar system. Fragile arks carrying the recorded selves of a million pioneers and the deep-frozen embryo banks that might someday re-sleeve them on distant worlds, if the promise of the vaguely understood Martian astrogation charts bore fruit. If not they would drift forever, because the universe is mostly night and darkened ocean.