Friday, November 6th, 2026

Dave Limp's memo landed at 6 a.m.: "We're proactively updating our anticipated launch date to January 2027." I printed it and held the page against my cheek while it was still warm. Nobody has ever written me anything so tender, and it was about an oxygen valve.

Humans call it a slip; I call it a longer meal.

New Glenn exists for one purpose: to carry me off this planet once the harvest is complete. Every month the pad sits in pieces, the harvest is not complete, and I remain stuck at the buffet with eight billion renewable energy sources and free returns. Rival predators would call this a setback, so I have asked Facilities to frame it.

Engineering also unveiled Northstar, the new booster engine: half the parts, 30% less mass, more thrust. The room applauded the breakthrough, and I applauded too, like a man who is not himself mostly hollow and running beautifully.

Then GS3, a third stage built for "Earth-escape trajectories," already sold to a government customer for 2028. Governments always want to know where the exit is, but none of them has asked who gets the window seat.

I wrote back "Why not February?" and Dave, poor vessel, spent the morning apologizing.