Warped Drives

Since Britain is ruled by Regency louts, operates submarines that can acquire a Scotland-sized target solely by collision, and whines obsessively about being unable to control its own borders, it is natural that the head of the delusionally named UK Space Agency should be having a bit of a burble about putting the first filly on the moon within four years. Equally, since Britain no longer considers itself bound by international agreements, it is only expectable that it should be signing solemn compacts with NASA and the lesser breeds, and virtually inevitable that the delusional head of the UK Space Agency should gibber about being "a country that does the right thing." As with Brexit and the pandemic, there is no limit to the capabilities of a great enterprising power provided one takes care not to leave the realm of advertising, so the delusional UK headspace of the agency waffled that the whole jolly rah-rah was so British as to be "like Star Trek, isn't it." I am not well-versed in the Roddenberry cosmos, which doubtless explains how I managed to miss the episodes in which Spock is deported as an alien, Sulu assaulted as a plague-spreader, Chekhov clapped in irons under suspicion of smearing the Captain's chair with Novichok, and Uhura casually informed that she was never a Federal citizen after all and had best toddle off back home.