The great Ship trembled.
Johnny Nine's hands skipped, in carefully trained movement, over a bewildering array of firing studs. His eyes seemed to dart everywhere, checking the banks of dials. The tempo increased. For ten years he had trained for this job; he knew it well.
Then the Ship began to turn. Slowly, lazily, its nose spewing fire.
It took two hours, and by then, Johnny Nine was exhausted. But it was done. His job was done. He had set the Ship safely in an orbit around the Sun, between Mars and Earth.
He left the tiny pilot cabin.
They would be waiting for him, forward. He wanted to run along the long companionway. He forced himself to walk. His heart was hammering with a mounting tempo.
They were all assembled in the play-area, the only large open space in the whole Ship. Johnny Nine came out onto the platform above it. His hands gripped the guard rail tightly.
He looked down at the passengers below him, saw their white upturned faces, strained, tense. Saw Marte, holding her breath.
"You felt the jets," he said, and his voice carried clear. "That means we're in an orbit around the Sun. Our own Sun. Just like a planet."