Words don't mean much on the way to the launch pad. There are no second thoughts. Consent was well thought out and provided long ago. Instinctively we reach down and tweak the valves of our liquid air cooling units. Inside the spacesuit a cool wave of instant gratification courses through hundreds of tubes against our skin.
Someone quips that everyone else is going the other direction.
A brief round of laughs. It's a good time for jokes. It begins feeling a little lonely as the police escort waves off and turns around. Outside, the starfield is eclipsed by a gigantic metallic hulk. Last month this steel giant, reminiscent of an Orson Wells radio show, delivered 4 million pounds of rocket to Launch Pad B, Complex 39, Kennedy Space Center.