Proxima B: The Pale Red Dot
What I sense (in these muted, orderly, and deliberate revelations [of which this is just one]--like gradated pearls on a string--of the existence of a larger, perhaps Galactic, Imperium of those who travel, somehow, faster than the speed of light, to which we seem to be asking admission as participant equals) is confrontation. Somebody doesn't want us to go nuts and demand it all at once.
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