Dragging Rope

The longer this shakedown cruise goes on, the less inclined I am to end it. Aside from one stupid "Hey, Daedalus, watch this!" moment while fuel scooping, I've not had any real mishaps. Only took a five percent hit in a few modules. No repair modules installed of course.

Turns out, I have been making a beeline towards the galaxy center. I think I will keep going until I get to Sagittarius A. From there, who knows? Maybe Beagle Point.

Am I equipped and prepared for a journey a hundred thousand light years long?

Not really.

Do I care?

Same answer.

I don't want to go back to Cleve Hub until the paint is worn off and I am leaving a trail of debris behind me.

As for the name of the ship, I think I found it.

Roughly fifteen centuries ago, on Sol 3, there was a race to reach it's northern pole. Sounds kind of silly but back then, it was next to impossible to do. Many had tried and failed.

One fellow had a different approach to the problem.

He devised a plan to reach the pole via hydrogen-filled balloon. To steer the thing, he devised a system of dragging ropes along the ground below coupled with some small sails.

Did it work?

Not really.

Did he care?

Didn't appear to.

When his balloon was delivered, he was informed that it was leaking 150 pounds of Hydrogen a day and no amount of patching and doping would stop this. There was no way he was going to reach the pole.

Did he care?

I'd say, "No", because he snuck in and topped off the balloon with hydrogen one evening and told them, "What leak? You're worried about nothing", the next morning.

When the fateful day arrived, he and two other fellows he conned into joining him departed for the history books.

Did they make it?

No. The balloon lost enough hydrogen that it came down on an ice field a few days later.

They survived, posed for pictures alongside the slowly deflating balloon, made sleds from the balloon's basket and headed back on foot.

Did they make it?

No. One by one, they died on the ice.

The camera they used for the pictures was discovered thirty-three years later by an expedition sent to discover what became of them.

These black and white photos, a tea napkin, a few dilapidated camp sites and broken bits of sled were all that remained.

His name was S.A. Andree and, by God, he was going to do what he was going to do and to Hell with anything that stood in the way.

A magnificent bastard I can totally relate to.

And this ship now bears his name.