There alone, a single, little slip, a silver star, passing through dark space. I know how it was made, and for what use. Its pilot, as single minded as his ship’s single purpose, alike striped down to essentials.
We took an old missile and managed to retrofit the barest of life support systems into it, his own. From a hospital bed to a living casket, from the four squeaking wheels of his gurney to the silent engines of a torpedo.
Say goodbye, for our friend shall not, nay, he cannot, return. Sailors were buried at sea. He’s buried amid stars.
Tale Told 