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The Few Minutes
Helen wanted to give her father the curve of the Earth. For years he had sat at the kitchen table with launches on a small screen, naming the companies as if they were teams: SpaceX, Blue Origin, Virgin Galactic. She wanted him in a seat, not on that chair. The page she trusted described a suborbital flight of the kind Blue Origin and Virgin Galactic had offered to private passengers. Up, a few minutes of weightlessness, the Earth huge in the window, then down. Not an orbit. Farther down, the same page separated SpaceX from those two: private passengers carried into orbit, a longer journey that circles before it returns. She was not buying that. She was trying to buy the few minutes.
She found the price and did not say it aloud. It was not a sum she could move from her account to a booking.