"I talked with her on the phone," he said, knowing it sounded weak, defensive. "Almost every night . . ."
"You should have been here, where you belong!"
"The Air Force thought differently."
"The Air Force! That conglomeration of feeble-minded professional killers."
"That's not true and you know it."
"I could have had any one of a dozen United States Senators bail you out of your precious Academy. But no, you were too busy to come and ease your mother's last days on Earth."
"None of us knew she was that close to the end."
"She was in pain!" The old man's voice was rising, filling the nearly empty room with its hard, angry echoes.
"I couldn't come," Kinsman insisted.
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't want to see you!" he blurted.
If it surprised his father, the old man did not show it. He merely nodded. "You mean you couldn't face me."
"Call it what you want to."
"Sneaking around behind my back. Forcing your sick mother to consent to your joining the Air Force. The only son of the most prominent Quaker family in Pennsylvania —joining the Air Force! Learning how to become a killer!"
"I'm not going to kill anyone," Kinsman answered. "I'm going in for astronaut duty."
"You'll do what they order you to do. You surrendered your soul when you put on that uniform. If they order you to kill, you'll kill. You'll bomb cities and strafe helpless women and children. You'll drop napalm on babies when they order you to."
"I'm not going to be involved in anything like that!"
"My only child, a warrior. A killer. No wonder your mother died. You killed her."
Kinsman could feel waves of fire sweeping through him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he said, "That's a rotten thing to tell me . . ."
"It's true. You killed her. She'd still be alive if it weren't for you."
