"But this one had complete showers, soft bunks, everything. Hydroponic tanks that make the experimental station look like pikers—"
"Eat," said George.
Tad lapsed into silence, the hearty silence of a hungry nineteen-year-old before a full dinner plate. His father took another mouthful and put down his fork, his appetite gone. He could feel the tension growing, the tightness of his breathing. He sensed his wife's apprehension as she too slowed and stopped eating. As if she, too, were waiting—
"Saw Len Cooper when he came off the ship, too, dad. Do you remember Len? This was his first cruise." Tad's eyes sparkled. "He says there's nothing like it, that Rocket life. They stopped on Venus, you know, and then did a reconnaissance in toward the Mercury orbit before they came back. Almost five years away from Earth! They've got a stack of reports as big as an almanac for printing. And Len—you know how scrawny he was? He's put on muscle now. Looks great." Tad put down his fork, a subtle change in his voice, his hand trembling. "We had a long talk, dad. Len says—"
"Len Cooper's a fool!" George Barlow's voice snapped irritably. "He hasn't got all his marbles. A kid like that—all the potential in the world—brains, opportunity—and what does he do with it? Shoots it into Rockets! First cruise, huh? It isn't his last, by a long shot. Those Rocket boys aren't stupid. They know it takes a good cruise to teach a youngster his way around out there. He can't begin to work for his wages until the second cruise, or the third. And then it's too late to come back—"
Tad fiddled with his fork, his eyes down. The room was silent; even Florence sat tense, startled by the outburst. George sat glumly. That was stupid, he thought. Inexcusably stupid. You'll have to face it some day—you know that. Now? Maybe—oh, Lord, not now—maybe tomorrow. But what could you say? What if it is now? His hand trembled as he fumbled awkwardly for his pipe. Where were the words, the phrases, the arguments, so long rehearsed, so sensible, so fatherly?
"Dad."
His fingers were like ice on the pipe bowl. Not tomorrow, then. Now.
"Dad."
"Yes, Tad."