"Yes, maybe even that. It doesn't seem possible, does it?"
"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, I'm so happy!" She looked into the eyepiece again. "I'll never forget this, not as long as I live. That little tiny ball and the Sun. I think I feel something like God must have felt when he made it."
"If you were to look hard enough, Marte, you could almost see our little farm down there—"
"Our farm.... Say it again, Johnny."
"Our farm," he said.
The Ship drew nearer and nearer. The balanced terrarium pointed Home, rushing faster than the wind, faster than sound, faster—
The Captain sat at his desk. For the past hour he had been drawing strange designs, contorted in helical animation, on a pad of yellow paper. Occasionally, he paused to stare out of the Observation window, lost in thought.
Absently, he let the pencil drop to the deck; the sound it made spun away his reverie. He bent and retrieved the pencil.
"Skippy?"