“This world is so good, Apollo. It’s far from perfect but it’s so good. How can you expect them to forgive you for—” “Worlds,” his instant answer. “Maybe they won’t be better. Maybe no time in human history will be as comfortable as this one. Or maybe they’ll be better someday, but for a long time they’ll be hard, scraped out with plow and sweat and stuffy rockets. But there will be more than one. There will be Mars, Europa, Titan, more and more, safeguarded by this war. You must let those who are about to die know that, have that. You must tell them what I did, and tried to do.”
I love you Apollo.
