And Joel guessed he was finally letting himself realize what the look really meant.
It was a look that meant a hunger for all that Joel hated, and more....
It was a look that meant, even now after all these years, that Sam still hurt inside, and hurt badly.
"Why—why couldn't it have been the other way around, Sam," Joel said hoarsely.
The other looked up at him. "You do hate it that much, don't you."
"Look Sam, you've gotta get my point! I don't think that crew did anything wrong! They didn't. They just decided to stop being hunks of machinery."
Carruthers smiled. "I get your point, Skipper. And I'm going to let you figure this one out all by yourself. But I'd like to tell you something first, just sort of as a point of information; maybe it'll help. Skipper, I had a girl once, too."
Joel stood still. Then he turned, opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it hard shut.
"They told me I couldn't pilot. But I could help, and my help was needed—everybody's was, because this wasn't a matter of a government project. This was a matter of a race of people who were building a ladder—a big, tall ladder, Nicholas. Sometimes it was a killer. Sometimes a heartbreaker. Sometimes a laughingstock. But it belonged to men, and they lived and died for it; they built it, and it's theirs to climb, Nicholas!"
Joel watched the other's worn face, and now the hurt was naked in it.