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122 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 24, 2012







• Real people began to flood the farm, mostly weekend warriors with good tools and a tendency to injure themselves. They’d heard about it online, they’d seen stories about it on the news, usually buried way back in the human-interest section right before stories about puppies who could bark “God Bless America” and newts who did geometry. Their numbers grew outcast by weirdo by outcast: six kids from a Boy Scout troop who’d been suspended from school after their homebrewed nitro-burning funny car had exploded and put two teachers in the hospital, a one-eyed amateur astronomer from Hawaii who couldn’t find work anyplace, a little person named Grekky who seemed to know an awful lot about wiring, a pair of registered nurses from Cleveland who were relentlessly upbeat no matter how many broken fingers, torn rotator cuffs, and burns they treated.
• Paul had a crew up all night making rollers out of wood, scrap steel, anything they could get their hands on, and these were placed underneath each of the massive rockets which were laid horizontal, then they began to move them. They moved them the way the Israelites built the pyramids: almost one thousand Rocket Zombies pressed close, pushing hard, using nothing more than human muscle. The Father went first, and as it left rollers behind, Rocket Zombies raced them to the front just in time to catch the Father’s nose, like moving a Viking ship from dry dock to the sea. News crews were tripping over each other’s cables as they walked backwards, filming the most primitive rocket rollout in the history of man. It was one part NASA, two parts caveman. There was something intoxicating about this exercise in brute force, and the few people not in the horde began to clap and cheer and the cheers turned to chants and the clapping became rhythmic and it took on the qualities of a pagan ritual.
Extracto de la introducción:
• Nothing depresses me more than footage of Jeff Bezos and Richard Branson shooting themselves into space. Nothing leaves me colder than a bunch of billionaires measuring their dicks. But it’s only a matter of time before people start looking up at the stars and thinking, “Why not me?” And then they’ll start tinkering in their backyards and their basements, they’ll start crunching the calculations and reaching out to other people who feel the same way. They’ll start pooling their spare time and their resources, matching their skills, sparking their torches, putting on their welding goggles, and when that happens it’ll only be a matter of time. After all, going into space is just a problem and the thing about problems is they all come with solutions as long as we’re willing to do the work. Why wait for someone else to take us to the stars? Why let someone else have all the fun? Why not do it ourselves?
After all, the sky belongs to everyone.