In the galley Pietro eats his lunch of macaroni cheese. Well, they call it macaroni and they call it cheese. Before he left earth his teenage daughter had asked him: do you think progress is beautiful? Yes, yes, he’d said, not having to think. So beautiful, my God. But what about the atom bomb and what is it, these fake stars they’re going to put into space in the shape of company logos, and the buildings they’re going to print on the moon, out of its surface dust? Do we want buildings on the moon? she said. I love the moon as it is, she said. Yes, yes, he’d answered, me too, but all those
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