"Gave them something to do," Branson said.
"Every time things got dull, I livened them up. I got a stunner and robbed along the corridor. That really stirred them. Lucky nobody got hurt during any of it, including that Stoneman woman. I was trying to rob her when she woke up."
Branson cleared his throat. "Ah, Ellason about that story. You understand you can't write it, don't you?"
Ellason said regretfully that he did understand.
"The colonists will never know the truth," Branson went on. "There will be other ships outward bound."
Critten sighed. "And I'll have to be caught again."
Yes, we're anonymous, nameless, we Nillys, for that's what we call each other, and are a theme, with variations, in the endless stretches of deep space, objects of hatred and contempt, professional heels, dying once a trip when the time is ripe, antidote to boredom, and we'll ply our trade, our little tragedies, on a thousand ships bringing humanity to new worlds.