Hour 9
We are huddled together in the room. Papa's eyes are sunken deep and shadowed, like Mama's; they've spent the whole of last night talking. I know it was all night, because I remember hearing their voices, even in my dreams. My ragged stuffed tiger, Scruff, is in my hands; at this point, I don't care who sees me – thirteen years old – with it.
Lisa still doesn't understand what's happening; she's too little, of course. But I do... she's leaning her head on my arm, sleepy-eyed, blond hair mussed up. I feel a sudden surge of protectiveness for her and hug her tight, though I know it won't do any good in the end.
The end...
Mama stands up and leaves the room.
We're all alone now.

Hour 8
Listlessly, Papa turned on his phone. To check. Just in case. Just in case... my eyes drift shut, despite the time, the blaring TV and radio, everything.

Hour 7
My heart sinks when I wake up again. Nothing's changed, I can tell from his face, his tired and gray hands resting on his knees, nothing's changed except that it's an hour closer. “But why can't they – why can't they just -” Mama is asking him. He looks up at her, and I can hear his exhaustion. “You know better than I do, Jacie.”
Papa never calls her Jacie.
Mama's with another woman, who's wearing a sari that's a painfully bright orange in the dim white room. Both their faces are creased with worry; Mama had her arm around the other's shoulders, but now she lowers it, and turns to the woman. “Maybe you can – convince – I can't, not like... not with things like this, not on my -”
I know what she's talking about. Mama's special, you see. The woman in the sari starts speaking to Papa, calmly at first, then faster and faster and then she breaks down and leaves the room crying. But Papa ignores her, so I do, too, even when she comes back later with a person that can only be her husband. He stands there, but he can't bear it for long, either.

Hour 6
Lisa woke up. She's crying now. I try to comfort her at first but now I feel tears springing to my eyes, too, and we both stand up and run over to Papa. He cradles Lisa, and Mama comes over, too. “Look at them!” There's pleading in her voice; this is worse than the few times they've argued. “Look at them, Andrew! I – I have to stay, there's -”
Lisa's muffled, tear-laced voice emerges from the depths of Papa's sweater. “Mama? What's going on?”
Mama doesn't know what to do, and she turns to me. “Rachel, Rachel, what can I say? Don't you want me to stay here with you?”
I swallow past the knot in my throat and wipe my eyes; the sleeve of my jacket is snotty and damp. I don't have to look at Papa to know what to say. “No, Mama. You have to go. It won't – change a thing.”
The TV screen shows it, the photograph, the panicked politicians. The NASA emblem pops up again and again, just like the one Mama has. I listen, tuning out her entreaties which cut me sharp and painful. The asteroid-detection – too late – a failure to compromise – our only hope is the program – our only hope – contingency plan has failed.
How many times have I heard those words, these past few hours? Now Papa is speaking again. “You were going to do it anyway... this isn't any different, Jacie. Don't think about us. We're not important, not Lisa or Rachel or Pooja's husband but the whole of us. Humanity.”
“That was different, though. It was – I was only going to be there for a year, two, three. Not – forever... But I – oh, I don't know!”
She throws herself onto him and now we're all hugging and kissing and sobbing wildly.

Hour 5
I really don't understand why Mama won't just refuse, but I think it's sort of the same as the reason she was chosen, of all people. She and a hundred others. Mama's special, I think again. She won't stay unless we force her, and we won't do that. Not even Lisa, because I whispered to her, “Whatever you do, don't make Mama stay.” Even though I don't know if it's right – but time's running out, and it doesn't matter much anymore. I stand up again and hug Mama.
Now a person in a white coat comes in, and this time I see past their glasses and their coat and see that he's just as scared and exhausted as all the rest. He glances at me, briefly, then turns to Mama. “Miss,” he says, then clears his throat. “Miss,” he starts again, “the – takeoff – is scheduled. If you do not refuse, you need to be ready to depart at 13:00.”
Mama stares blankly back at him for a few moments, uncomprehending, then nods. “If I don't refuse,” she replies, and the man turns and leaves. Papa takes her by the hand, and starts talking to her again, in the same calm voice he always uses. “You know that if you don't, someone else will. But that someone else is their second choice, they're less qualified, they're less likely to survive. And if you don't survive for us, that's the real end. You know it's the real end,” he tells her. She fingers the gold wedding ring. “I'll go, I'll go,” she murmurs, and my heart clenches tight and I start crying again.

Hour 4
“I can't go,” Mama says, when we're all standing outside in the strangely normal sun, Lisa's still crying and confused. My little sister. She's clinging to Mama's leg and keeps looking at her, questioning. “Mama, you'll fix it, right?” she asks, tremulously. I shush Lisa, suddenly annoyed with her because she doesn't realize that Mama will stay if she keeps doing that, and if Mama stays she will die like the rest of us. I gasp at myself then, wondering that I still have it in me to be annoyed with her. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Lisa, I didn't mean it!”
But does it make a difference?
Papa shakes his head; we're all silent, watching each other. I don't want to blink and miss a second of it, now, and I take shallow breaths; there's no room for more.

Hour 3
“Mama?” I ask. Papa's arms are wrapped around her. She looks up. “Can you take -” My hands are shaking as I stroke Scruffy's fur. “Can you take Scruffy with you?” Her eyes widen. No matter how many times she's made fun of my attachment to him, she knows how much he means to me. “Please,” I add. “Oh, God,” Mama moans softly, but she reaches out for him. A flash of inspiration crosses Lisa's face, and for a brief moment she is sunny and bright again. She hands her doll to Mama as well.

Hour 2
“I can't believe I'm doing this,” Mama says once again. There is the rocket that will take her far, far away from us, her and the other special ones and the DNA samples or whatever – I never really understood her explanations – to the planet they found. It was only meant to be an experimental colony, now that it was in our reach.
I can see Papa almost laughing at the sight of Mama standing with Scruffy and the doll. She's trembling slightly, and I am, too. “How will I survive without you? What if – what if I marry again, after all?” she pleads with Papa, but we all know she'll go anyway, that she'll survive. Because Mama is special.
And now they begin to file in to the rocket, and it's real, it's really happening. I don't know what to think. I hug Mama as tight as I can, but now there is no crying. I feel strange. Lisa hugs her, too, and says “Bye-bye, Mama. Please come home soon,” so that tears start to trickle down Mama's cheeks again. Papa's crying for the first time, and tells her, “This way we'll all survive. As – long as you think of us, Jacie, Jacie, it will be all right. Good-bye, Jacie. I promise you we'll come back, I don't know how, but – good-bye.”
Mama kisses me on the cheek, and Lisa, and she kisses Papa for even longer. And she tells him, “Good-bye,” and goes into the rocket. I do not know what happens next, but there is a flash of light and  I can see the afterimage of the rocket floating in front of me as I stare at the sky. I realize I still can't believe what's happening.

Hour 1
We decided, Papa and Lisa and I, to stay outside. We sit beneath the trees, in the sun, on the meadow, and I think that Lisa decides it will all be all right now. Anyways, she's chattering and smiling. I don't feel sad, but I don't know how I feel. My hands are empty without Scruffy.
All of a sudden, she goes quiet. “Mama will be back, won't she?”
Papa doesn't care that he'll die, I decide, looking into his eyes, because Mama's left. “Of course,” he says, and looks up at the sky. What will it look like, I wonder, right – right before?

Hour 0
A butterfly flies through the beam of sunlight passing through the leaves, and I see it and turn to look at it and I forget and I smile. So when the sky is torn apart, I only have a moment to glance back at Papa, whose arms are hugging Lisa and me. Then there is a great flash of light, and I feel nothing.
Mama, I think to myself, we're coming back to you.
And then I think nothing.