Voss stepped in.
Two armed men followed him.
He looked at Mom first. Then at me.
Seeing him in person was worse than the screen. His scar twisted one side of his face, but his eyes were bright and strangely sad.
“My son,” he said.
I stepped back.
Mom moved in front of me.
“You don’t get to call him that.”
Voss smiled faintly.
“I wondered if he had your courage.”
“He has his own.”
For a moment, something almost human passed across Voss’s face.
Then it vanished.
“Lucas,” he said, “your mother made you afraid of me. I understand. But I am not your enemy. I built something that could end wars before they begin. Imagine aircraft that cannot be detected. Evacuations without losses. Defense without destruction.”
“Control,” Mom said. “That’s what you wanted.”
“I wanted advantage.”
“You wanted power.”
Voss looked at her with old bitterness.
