"I love you, Marte."
He kissed her lightly.
"I love you too," she told him.
The passengers all gathered around him at the air lock. He looked at them, saw each of their faces, knew them as friends.
Over to one side was a long, rude box. Newly made. Sam spoke to him from the muted memory of the dead; the memory not of Sam alone, but of nineteen generations.
Marte, standing at Johnny Nine's side, clinging to his arm, looked up at him, and smiled. She was beautiful with the innocence of youth, and her smile was that of a girl who has never seen her dreams crushed.
He tried to think of something to say.
Finally, in desperation, he said:
"I won't be gone long."
He reached up and flipped his helmet forward. He buckled it in place with stiff fingers and stepped into the airlock. The door clanged shut behind him.