The evacuation plan has one seat and a selfie stick.
Thumbs up, big grin, visor reflecting flames. Behind the helmet, the planet is on fire. Not a wildfire, not a region: the whole visible landmass is lit, and the smoke column is the biggest thing in the photo besides the astronaut’s ego. He is not heading back. The selfie is for the shareholders, or the memoir, or whichever platform still has signal at the edge of the atmosphere. Everyone else is down there, and the escape velocity cost more than their zip code.