On the western edge of the great dry lakebed at Edwards Air Force Base, a square, timber-framed platform rises high above the cracked ground. Up a creaky flight of stairs and over a railing that wouldn’t withstand more than a good push, there’s still a commanding view of the desert flats, with runways marked out in oil. Beyond the slicks, mountains rise in the distance set against a pale sky. Underfoot, scraps of outdoor carpet remain pinned down by rusted staples, and a phone line, long since dead, hangs loose nearby. Once there was a red phone plugged into one end of it, in anticipation of President Ronald Reagan’s probable visit, just in case he ran out of jelly beans or decided that he needed to drop a few bombs. That was only twenty-five years ago, when this platform stood at the center of the universe, and STS-001, Columbia’s first flight, prepared to touch down in front of it. But for a visitor standing there today in the teeth of the wind, it’s hard to imagine this place was ever anything more than the easy metaphor it’s become.
