You arrive at the base late. The crew is gone, leaving behind a few dozen people whose faces flicker between unease and excitement and naked, startling grief. You are holding a dozen roses, wrapped in a paper that crinkles softly when you place it on the chair next to you. Such a useless goodbye. You will have to toss them before you board. You pick up a pamphlet and pretend to read the pilot biographies and the safety protocols. You know these procedures backward and forward. You’ve heard enough stories from your mother, and the array of astronauts and engineers