The space-ship was flying too close to the black hole. Observers gathered round. Mission Control were calling, “Pull back, pull back,” but the ship didn’t turn. “What’s wrong with them?”
“We’re cutting it fine,” said the First Officer.
“Just go with the plan.”
Captain Nemo leaned over his screen; he’d never seen such glory. Science officers gawped at data, space at its rawest frontier.
“Cutting it too fine maybe sir.”
“Okay, we’ll turn around now.”
But forever and forever and forever they’re turning still, and it’s always now.
The observers sighed, “Too late,” and called for further volunteers.