“Look,” she says, standing up to head back to the docking bay. Her boots are scuffed. Her hair is a mess. “The black doesn’t care about your legacy. The black just is . My job is to get people from Point A to Point B without them turning into frozen meat popsicles. If I can do that while telling a bad joke and petting a tomato plant? I call that a win.”
In the pantheon of modern aviation and early deep-space transit, certain names carry weight: the pioneers, the record-breakers, the ones who don’t flinch when the red lights start flashing. captain zoe andersen
When asked about it, she shrugs.
