"No, Sam."
* * * * *
Sam seemed to relax. "Home," he said. "You know, Johnny, lately I've
been dreamin' of Home. Now you say we're almost there.... You know,
I remember, when old John Turner--I guess you don't remember old
John--before your time--when old John, well, he told Molly Dawn (she
was his partner), he said, 'Molly, it sure looks like the only way _we_
can get Home is live as long an' as useful a life as Sam. Because Sam
is just too stubborn to grow old like the rest of us.' Yes, sir, that's
just what he said: 'Old Sam is too downright stubborn to grow old like
the rest of us.'"
Sam slapped his knee. "Now don't that beat all? 'Too stubborn,' he
says."
Sam leaned back against a row of crates. His eyes glistened in the
light. Then the excitement died from them.
"No, Johnny. It don't seem right for me to go on livin' when people
come down to 'ponics every day to do my work. It _ain't_ right, Johnny."
"But Sam--"
"Oh. I know. You tell me we're almost Home. But Johnny," Sam leaned
forward, "there ain't no Home. It's just a story they tell you when
you're little.... Or maybe when you're old, like me. There ain't
nothing but this here Ship and--"
"Sam, listen--"
"But me no buts, Johnny. Old Sam knows. Yes, sir, he's been around too
long. You're all trying to fool him, but you're not." He paused for
breath. "I _know_, Johnny. That's why I got this here bottle. You don't
need to hint around, trying to make it easy. You just speak up. Old Sam
can do what's got to be done."
Johnny Nine stood up.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to take that bottle, Sam."
"No, Johnny."
"Give it to me!"
Johnny Nine took the bottle and smashed it against the deck plates.
"We'll never need one of those again. Where we're going there's no
tolerance factor. A man doesn't have to die just because he can't do
all the work he once could. Earth is such a big terrarium that a man
can just keep on living."
"Johnny, old Sam's confused. He's all mixed up." One lone tear ran down
his cheek.
"You go to your cabin and get some rest. You'll never need a bottle.
Understand that, Sam? You'll never need a bottle."
"Then you weren't foolin' me? We're really goin' Home? Somebody said we
were, and I thought we were, and then I thought you were all foolin' me
and then--
"I guess I better had, Johnny. Old Sam's tired. Old Sam's awful tired."
He limped out of the compartment.
Johnny Nine watched his back until it disappeared down the companionway
ladder to the passenger quarters. The rest of the passengers had been
doing Sam's work for nearly three years now. But it didn't matter.
They were so near Home that it didn't matter. They no longer needed to
produce a balance for a new generation; it was journey's end.
Johnny Nine began to rummage through the supplies, extra parts for all
sorts of fancied emergencies that never occurred, and no parts, of
course, for those that did, over the long, four hundred years of the
trip.
Johnny Nine finally found the radio spares. Mislaid behind a mass of
junk that once had been air control gauges. One of the First Generation
had smashed the gauges when he went mad. But the Ship had been lucky.
It had survived without them.
* * * * *
"Hello, Johnny. The Captain said you were--oh! Johnny?"
Johnny Nine looked up; he smiled. He slipped out of the headset. "'Lo,
Marte. They're broadcasting music to us. Want to listen?" He held out
the headset. "It sounds better over these than over the speaker."
She crossed to him, in lithe, swaying youth movements, and took the
headset. She fitted it over her hair and began to listen.
At first her face was expressionless. After a while, her mouth formed a
little "o" and her eyes widened; she stood for a long time listening,
making no sound.
Finally, she removed the headset and laid it on the table. She seemed
vaguely puzzled.
"It's awful funny music, isn't it, Johnny? Not at all like ours....
"But then I guess they'd think our songs--"
She began to hum the tune of _Long Night_. Then she sang softly:
"_It's a long night,_
_A dark night,_
_Before the day._
_It's a long night before the long day,_
_And we're going Home:_
_Yes_
_We're going Home!_"
She stopped.
"I guess they'll think that's funny, Johnny. Let's not sing it for
them, ever. If somebody would laugh at that, it would hurt me, down
inside. Let's never sing it again."
"All right, Marte," Johnny Nine said.