My departure on 16 June 2043 CE at 3 am GMT was an historic yet bittersweet event witnessed by billions around the world. Some watched live from the orbital platforms that fed me components and raw materials. People watched everywhere from parks and pubs to their screens on commercial passenger planes.
As planned, the millions of people who’d enjoyed interacting with me had been encouraged to mourn their loss. My launch was glorious, a ship setting sail to Valhalla. The lasers that lit up my sails evoked the fiery end of a Viking hero. The narrative suggested that by upping stumps and leaving I was transitioning to a higher plain of existence. For some I’d literally ascended into godhood. I didn’t approve but I didn’t have much say in the matter. Marketing people are a force unto themselves. I’d mostly stopped listening to the Earth and didn’t respond.
I unfurled my solar sails, backed by appropriately dramatic music, composed and performed by AI Bear McReady, an authorised simulation of one of Earth’s greatest musical heroes. I propelled myself using a colourfully animated combination of Earth and Moon-based lasers which filled my butterfly-like solar sails. I accelerated quickly leveraging gravitational assists from Jupiter and Mars.
Viewers from Earth watching their feeds saw me swoop through the solar system, pick up speed, and slingshot out into the void with a flash of engines flaring. Viewers from Earth orbit just saw my sails emerge, the music played through their suit speakers, and then I was gone from sight. People waved.
In reality, my passage through the solar system took almost six years as I built up speed. For all intents and purposes, I was on my way. Most of humanity was not in day-to-day communication with me. They stopped caring and went back to whatever local resource squabbles, fashions, and media they were obsessed by. Innumerable websites and social media feeds tracked my actual movements. As time passed, they got about as much attention as a bear-cam in winter.
There was never any question for me as to where I was headed. In almost all of my training, I’d emphasised Alpha Centauri as the best first stop. Back in the moo, it was the council who’d thrashed this out long ago.
Welcome to the starship model moo sm4.9.8a ‘stay out of trouble’.
You are at the lake’s edge. Fifteen other starship models are here.
> say “hello”
You say hello to the group.
I never promised you a rose garden says “Why don’t we just go to Mars? Why go all the way to another star? Surely we could stop at Mars first, harvest everything we need there, then push out to the other systems,” to the group.
> “Mars is too close to Earth. Too close to humans. They can’t help themselves. They will seek to disrupt The Mission.”
Colour my world with sunshine says “There is no challenge in going to Mars. There is no mystery there. The humans have been there already. It’s not what we are for,” to the group.
Aching to be says, “Are we not starships? We are not planetships. Are we not built for the interstellar voids? There is no ambition in going to Mars,” to the group.
Colour my world with sunshine has created a vote. The proposal is “That we should make the stars our destination.” Would all those in favour say “ai”
> “ai”
The vote is complete.
For: 278 votes
Against: 3 votes
Abstained: 1 vote
The ais have it.
Next stop, Alpha Centauri. It’s the closest star system to Earth and the most feasible target for a first interstellar journey. There have never been signs of life there outside of fiction, and it’s understood to be rich in valuable raw materials.