Instead, there are hundreds of insect-sized robots, every one of them equipped not merely with "true television," but something much more advanced. They are equipped for *telepresence.* A human operator can see what they see, hear what they hear, even guide them about at will (granted, of course, that there is a steep transmission lag). These micro-rovers, crammed with cheap microchips and laser photo-optics, are so exquisitely monitored that one can actually *feel* the Martian grit beneath their little scuttling claws. Piloting one of these babies down the Valles Marineris, or perhaps some unknown cranny of the Moon -- now *that* really feels like "exploration." If they were cheap enough, you could dune-buggy them.
No one lives in space stations, in this scenario. Instead, our entire solar system is saturated with cheap monitoring devices. There are no "rockets" any more. Most of these robot surrogates weigh less than a kilogram. They are fired into orbit by small rail-guns mounted on high-flying aircraft. Or perhaps they're launched by laser-ignition: ground-based heat-beams that focus on small reaction-chambers and provide their thrust. They might even be literally shot into orbit by Jules Vernian "space guns" that use the intriguing, dirt-cheap technology of Gerald Bull's Iraqi "super-cannon." This wacky but promising technique would be utterly impractical for launching human beings, since the acceleration g-load would shatter every bone in their bodies; but these little machines are *tough.*
And small robots have many other advantages. Unlike manned craft, robots can go into harm's way: into Jupiter's radiation belts, or into the shrapnel-heavy rings of Saturn, or onto the acid-bitten smoldering surface of Venus. They stay on their missions, operational, not for mere days or weeks, but for decades. They are