Sam seemed to relax. "Home," he said. "You know, Johnny, lately I've been dreamin' of Home. Now you say we're almost there.... You know, I remember, when old John Turner--I guess you don't remember old John--before your time--when old John, well, he told Molly Dawn (she was his partner), he said, 'Molly, it sure looks like the only way _we_ can get Home is live as long an' as useful a life as Sam. Because Sam is just too stubborn to grow old like the rest of us.' Yes, sir, that's just what he said: 'Old Sam is too downright stubborn to grow old like the rest of us.'" Sam slapped his knee. "Now don't that beat all? 'Too stubborn,' he says." Sam leaned back against a row of crates. His eyes glistened in the light. Then the excitement died from them. "No, Johnny. It don't seem right for me to go on livin' when people come down to 'ponics every day to do my work. It _ain't_ right, Johnny." "But Sam--" "Oh. I know. You tell me we're almost Home. But Johnny," Sam leaned forward, "there ain't no Home. It's just a story they tell you when you're little.... Or maybe when you're old, like me. There ain't nothing but this here Ship and--" "Sam, listen--" "But me no buts, Johnny. Old Sam knows. Yes, sir, he's been around too long. You're all trying to fool him, but you're not." He paused for breath. "I _know_, Johnny. That's why I got this here bottle. You don't need to hint around, trying to make it easy. You just speak up. Old Sam can do what's got to be done." Johnny Nine stood up. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take that bottle, Sam." "No, Johnny." "Give it to me!" Johnny Nine took the bottle and smashed it against the deck plates. "We'll never need one of those again. Where we're going there's no tolerance factor. A man doesn't have to die just because he can't do all the work he once could. Earth is such a big terrarium that a man can just keep on living." "Johnny, old Sam's confused. He's all mixed up." One lone tear ran down his cheek. "You go to your cabin and get some rest. You'll never need a bottle. Understand that, Sam? You'll never need a bottle." "Then you weren't foolin' me? We're really goin' Home? Somebody said we were, and I thought we were, and then I thought you were all foolin' me and then-- "I guess I better had, Johnny. Old Sam's tired. Old Sam's awful tired." He limped out of the compartment. Johnny Nine watched his back until it disappeared down the companionway ladder to the passenger quarters. The rest of the passengers had been doing Sam's work for nearly three years now. But it didn't matter. They were so near Home that it didn't matter. They no longer needed to produce a balance for a new generation; it was journey's end. Johnny Nine began to rummage through the supplies, extra parts for all sorts of fancied emergencies that never occurred, and no parts, of course, for those that did, over the long, four hundred years of the trip.