"You've been strange lately."
"Oh that!" he shrugged. "Let's say it's the getting ready ... the heart plunge just before you jump into space."
"No." It was definite. "It's more than that. You've been a rocket man all your life. You don't get nervous any more."
His fingers twisted the glass. Something else twisted his voice. "There are things in it that might make a man nervous, Mary. Black winds. Burning worlds. Holes in space waiting for him. You think it might be that, Mary?"
"No."
"But this is Alpha Centauri. This is faster-than-light." He bowed. "This is when baby-God Hastings tests his brain child ... when the electron lightscope goes to bat. You think it might be that, Mary?"
"Don't make nasty fun."
Her husband regarded her a long, serious moment. "No. You're right again." Leaning in to her, he spoke softly. "Did you know, Mary, that it isn't the big things that make a man nervous any more? Only the little things—"
"Say it!" she insisted. "Get it out. You'll feel better."