Five minutes remained. 

Dr. Neil Hajo Adams, the pilot, threw three heavy switches, which caused a reaction to energize the rocket's hydraulic system. Red hydraulic fluid pumped down into all the veins of the shuttle and brought this massive machine to life. It gave it something comparable to a heartbeat.

Three minutes and thirty seconds remained. 

Using the fluid, KSP tested if everything was going to work. The elements on the belly, and then the three stupendous engines on the back, which looked like colossal church bells, all swang at the same time. The vehicle moved underneath Finn, and to him it felt like standing on a rooftop during a quake with a magnitude of eight or more.

Thirty seconds remained. The hydraulic fluid was depleted, and the vehicle was unreservedly ready.

Fifteen seconds remained until launch, the fireworks in the back started sparkling to uncover any extant hydrogen gas. Now the area was lit up, and despite the dark it was visible from miles away.

"T-minus ten. Nine. Eight. Seven—"

Six seconds were residual. Finn laid on his back, a cold wave embalmed him, as the hair on the back of his neck rose. Sweat dripped down the spine of his suit, and his eyes were sealed. The engines started to light.

"Five. Four. Three."

The nails of Finn's fingers drilled slowly into the skin of his palms.

"Two, one—"

Before they announced the lift-off, the rocket began to push its weight away from the ground, and by the time they cleared the tower, the spacecraft was at one hundred miles per hour, straight up, and burst through the speed of sound, waking up the entire city with a palpable bang. 

Finn, shaken like a cocktail and squished into his chair by the acceleration, grasped the end of the armrest and pulled himself up, giving his neck the chance to soak up a fragment of the vibration. 

Hajo and Andy focused on the instruments as the rocket shot up. Notwithstanding the blasting noise, Hajo and mission control exchanged information, until a man said "shutdown" through the communication installation. Abruptly everything turned silent.

Regardless of Finn's eyes enduring as painfully shut as they did at launch, and regardless of the present darkness already winding its horrendous tentacles around Finn's body, in space, all was even darker now. 

The engines quiet as a blink; no sound was carried in the emptiness of space, and nothing could be heard, but one's own breath.

Finn inhaled, more than he exhaled, and his lungs were so sore from it, with every breath he took, he could have sworn the oxygen in his helmet was filled with microscopic pieces of broken glass, scratching and burning his throat. He thought he would never unfold his eyes, but all that changed, when he heard her soft voice talking once again.

"Open your eyes," whispered Finn's memory of Nitha, and the world unpaused.

A window next to Finn, barely any larger than the size of his head, was in a faultless position for a perfect view. A view, so unique, so unimaginable, so heavenly and unearthly beautiful, that it stupefied Finn. 

He was paralyzed and hindered from working his mind. Not one thought was left to think, even the act of breathing had ceased, and never before did he experience this quantity of quietude. As if all life had found its halt. Even his own heart was as if dead in this moment of first silence.

His eyes were cuffed to the window and the sight it offered. What he called his home, his entire life, had come to be nothing more than a pearl of blues, greens, and white spirals of clouds above it all. 

He saw it clearer than he could have ever visualized it in his most lucid dreams. Half lit, and half-hidden by shadow, but stars, the only companionship to the image, stood out like bright beams of hope and inclination. 

If he could have fit one in his hand, he would have stolen a star. He would have kept it all to himself, he would never let go of it, he would never share it, never show it. It would have been his alone, for eternity, because the thought alone, of losing such a precious thing, would only lead to heartbreak. 

And so he wondered—perhaps he had already lost his star.

The feeling of loneliness found a home in his heart.

With a clicking noise, the crew unbuckled their seatbelts, and with it their hamstrings slowly moved away from the seats, indicating that they had arrived in zero gravity. 

Hajo and Christopher were the firsts to take their helmets and their gloves off, letting them whirl through the air. Finn's hands laid on his black seatbelt. It crossed over his body like those of a race car, starting on his shoulders, and ending on each side of his pelvic. 

For the fraction of a second Finn doubted himself. Then, without further mistrust, he unlatched his seatbelt and began to float. His smile spread from one cheekbone to the other.

"Westlake," addressed Andy, "we are ready to activate Una."

"Roger that," replied the man, leading mission control.

The crew was happy and energized. Before starting their duties, they each stripped out of their uncomfortably stiff suits, like a peeled banana. 

Finn and the rest were already wearing KSP's uniform beneath the spacesuit, consisting of white sweatpants, socks with strips of velcro on the bottom, and a white, tight long sleeve, with a very unique design. It had luminous fibers along his rips, and one was aligned to his left arm, from his shoulder down to his wrist. On the chest throned the company's circular logo; a spacecraft leaving a nebular-like environment.

On the upper right arm, its initials (KSP) were presented with honor, and on the forearm, they all had a black display. It was a touchpad device, called Una; A female voice installation, crafted by the computer science department, to guide the astronauts through their rocket, and assist during unpredicted complications.

"Finn," said Christopher and poked his son, "how are you feeling?"

"I won't lie," replied Finn, "my nausea has not gone away, but I'm no longer nervous."

"Good to hear. It's normal to feel dizzy. Your stomach isn't sure whether you're upside down or not."

"Dad, I have to talk to you about something."

The crew had left the room to follow their responsibilities, and to settle in, meanwhile, Finn and his father stayed behind.

"When we exited the atmosphere, and the noise and trouble had perished, I looked out the window, and I saw—well—everything. It was that very moment, when I understood—" 

Finn was in a shortage of words to describe what he had just experienced. 

"For the first time I truly understood why you do this, and why you love it so much. As a kid, I hated it whenever you left us for your work, I felt your life was divided between us. I was always furious and deeply hurt, I didn't want to see you go. I knew the risks, I knew that every goodbye may be the last, and it made me question your love towards us. I'm sorry that I felt like this for so long, I can see now why it was so easy for you to go after all. You were lucky to be here, and I probably would have done the same."

"Hold on," Christopher grabbed Finn by both shoulders and looked him in the eyes. 

"It was never easy to leave you. Not once. Every time I left, I was heartbroken and impatiently waited for the day I returned to having you back in my arms. Whenever I looked out of these windows and saw the magnificence of our planet, not once did I consider myself lucky. My only thought was that somewhere down there, I have a beautiful family waiting for me. I wanted to tell you that I've seen this view hundreds of times, and they all felt very special, until today. None of these times was comparable to today. Sharing this experience and imagery with you let any previous mission appear colorless and dull. You can't imagine how proud I am to have you on board. For the first time I'm not homesick in space."

Neither was Finn, which made him question if he had no one at home waiting for his return. Perhaps, his home was not what it seemed to be, perhaps what he had thought was home wasn't home at all.