"He's caught in a stream, Lampson. A swift, driving stream that won't let him stop. He can't help himself."
Lampson shook his head. "I can't believe he's really going through with it."
"He's different now," Charters said. "A few months ago, he had all these ideas about the rocket being used for military reasons, for killing, and all that other nonsense. Now he's caught in the grip of this thing. He's watched his own work blossom and turn into a remarkably beautiful finished miracle."
Charters watched the rocket, eyes half-closed, seeming to feel the strength of it in his own hands as he closed them slowly, tightly.
"Ah—" he said, lips curling. "The beautiful, beautiful thing!"
Lampson watched through the thick window, unblinking. "He was right, you know."
"Who was right?"
"Randall. He was right about this rocket. We won't use it for anything but just another weapon. All this work and planning. All Randall's sweat and blood. For no reason, but just another weapon."
"It's too late now."
"Yes. And you knew it, didn't you?" Lampson said to Charters, looking at the man. "You knew what this would mean. When Randall wanted to quit, and you finally got him to go ahead, you knew what we'd use it for."