A voice said, "Hi, Papa."
He looked up, not immediately recognizing the Category Military, Rank Private, before him.
Then he said weakly, "Sam!" His legs gave way, and he sat down abruptly on the couch which faced the wall which was the Telly screen.
The boy said, awkwardly, "Surprise, Papa!"
His father said, very slowly, "What ... in ... Zen ... are ... you ... doing ... in ... that ... outfit?"
Sam grinned ruefully, albeit proudly. "Aw, it would've taken a century for me to make full priest, Papa. The only way to do is like Major Mauser. You didn't know this, but, I've been following the fracases all along. Especially when you were the reporter. I've watched every fracas you've covered for years. I guess you know I'm pretty proud of you."
"Sam! What are you doing in that uniform! Answer me!"
The boy flushed. "I'm old enough, Papa. I switched categories. I've signed up with Chrysler-Ford in their fracas with Hovercar Sports. They're taking me on as infantryman."
"Infantryman?" Freddy winced, and closed his eyes. "Listen, boy, where'd you get the idea that—" He started over again. "But all your life I've given you the inside on the Category Military, Sam. All your life. No trank in our home. No watching the Telly day in and out. You've gone to school. More than I ever did. You were going to be a Temple priest—"
Sam sat down too, vaguely surprised at this father's reaction. "Aw, Papa, everybody's a fracas buff now. Everybody. You can't get away from it. I ... well, I want to be like Major Mauser. Get so all the fans know me, want my autograph, all that. And all the excitement of being in a fracas, getting in the dill, and all. I just want to be like the other fellas, Papa."