The Pilots of Borealis Page 22
by David Nabhan
If in past epochs even sages had pondered without answer what the meaning of existence was, that great enigma had been solved for the fortunate generation alive now, and those to come. Mother Earth, a single blue-green speck in the dead, silent void, had produced a progeny of demigods with the power and animus to convert the amorphous chaos of the galaxy into a vibrant, death-defying reflection of themselves—and their mother. To fill the Milky Way with life was the task at hand.
This is the race that made for the stars.