Algae Caviar, Anyone? What We’ll Eat on the Journey to Mars

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To anybody who occurred to be trying up that morning, maybe from the deck of a ship off the coast of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, the airplane would have gave the impression to be on a particularly alarming trajectory. It rocketed into the cloudless late-summer sky at a 45-degree angle, slowed momentarily and leveled out, then nosed down towards the ocean, plunging 17,000 vertical toes in a matter of seconds. On the final second, it leveled out once more and started one other climb, searching for all of the world as if it have been being piloted by a hopelessly indecisive hijacker.

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