My heart aches when I imagine those poor astronaut wives and husbands cowering by the small, cold-fusion furnaces of their skypartment buildings, carving the network’s tracking devices from their necks with a Rabbit brand laser corkscrew just to steal a moment’s peace from those abusive, genetically modified spider paparazzi.

And more important, Roach points out, the astronaut who comes back from voyaging to another galaxy will still be relatively young and fit and good-looking (because they were traveling at near the speed of light, so from their perspective the trip didn’t take that long), while the spouse back home will have aged and withered, having waited around on a planet that just kept spinning indifferently. It’s a recipe for disaster, basically. And betrayal. And pain.

So summing up: no.