The Mate stood up.
Johnny Nine shuffled his feet. There was an awkward silence.
The History of the Ship. Which of them would dare attempt that?
The life of twenty-one generations; the death of nineteen; the dream of
Earth....
Their little, circumscribed hopes and fears. The little things out of
the night drench of a thousand lives. How well they lived together, the
mutual respect and the mutual affection....
The little things whose total is life.
Or the big things.
Like the Great Sickness, during the Second Generation. It had almost
finished the Ship.
The little things and the big, all rolled into an emotion that meant
the Ship. That _was_ the Ship....
The History of the Ship. Who could tell that? Who?
The Captain walked to the transmitter. He picked up the microphone and
switched the "send" lever over.
"Hello, Earth.... Hello, Earth.... Interstellar Flight One....
Interstellar Flight One.... For your press.... Repeat.... For your
press...."