"I'm sorry, son, but I haven't finished just yet," James Armour said, his voice clearly an octave lower than before.

James Armour could have stopped explaining right there and Tyler Jr. would've known bad news was coming.

Maybe it won't be that bad. Maybe we'll just have to make some small changes to the design. Hell, we could make major changes if the government really needs us to. Just as long as the news isn't completely bad...

It was.

"Unfortunately, your proposal, as well as the first two that aired tonight, will not be among those considered. The committee has selected the next three designs as the finalists for the public to vote on."

After devoting two years of hard work to a cause only to be told it was not good enough was devastating. And Tyler did not want to think how his father, who had been dead set on completing one final, major feat before he died, would react when he heard this terrible news.

"I beg you to reconsider," Tyler Jr. pleaded. "We can make changes to the plans if necessary. Our plans are too good to be cast aside like yesterday's trash."

James Armour had always seemed like a reasonable person; surely he would listen to reason. After all, the NASSA chief and the President had a good relationship with Tyler's father, who had helped both men get to where they were. Corrections could be made, alterations in any form that Armour and NASSA wanted. Tyler refused to accept this news without a fight.

"I'm sorry, son," Armour said. "As much as I hate to say it, the decision has already been made."

Armour's voice made it clear that this was non-negotiable. Tyler would not stoop so low as to beg but he did have one final request before he let Armour off the hook.

"Can you at least tell me why? I speak for the rest of my design team when I say I don't wish to always wonder why our plans were rejected over others. For my own peace of mind, I would like to know why we were not selected."

There was silence on the other end of the line and Tyler Jr. could almost see the pained expression on Armour's face. His question seemed a reasonable one, though, and Tyler refused to go away without an explanation. He hoped Armour would tell him and hoped even more that the NASSA chief would not sugarcoat his response.

"I think that's a fair request, son," Armour said. "And even though it will be difficult for me to say, I suppose you deserve the total truth, no matter how brutally honest it may be."

"Honesty is the least of what I deserve right now."

"It's your father, Tyler," Armour said bluntly. "The committee saw how ill your father is. Although the plans of your space station were considered among the very highest, the committee did not feel the American public would want to consider accepting a project whose main leader was close to d... who was very ill."

"Please, Mr. Armour, don't hold back now. My father is very close to death, that's what you wanted to say, isn't it?" Tyler Jr. said, a bit of anger finally rising in his voice.

"Like I said, I'm very sorry to have to deliver this news. But with your father taking control of your presentation to the committee and your father plastered all over the video just shown to the country it appears as though he is the main cog in your wheel. You have to admit, it would be harder for the public to choose a project headed by a frail old man than a similar one headed by a younger man of good health."

"I resent the fact that you, your committee and the rest of America would place so little trust in the remaining employees of Ainsworth Industries. You have made a big mistake by leaving us out. I assure you that no other space station will be as grand as ours."

"I hope for the best for you and your father," Armour said. "I know it might not make you feel any better but I personally wanted yours in the top three. I didn't have enough votes from the rest of the committee, especially since they argued that your company already has so much business with the Navy."

Tyler was out of words. There was nothing else he could say or do to make himself feel better. Armour also sensed the end of the conversation.

"Please, give your father my best."

With that, Armour disconnected the line. Tyler Jr. stood with his phone against his ear for several seconds, a plethora of emotions gripping his heart and head. First and foremost was anger, anger that their plans had been so good but had been cast aside because his father's illness. It just wasn't fair. As he squeezed the cell phone tightly, his knuckles turned white and his palm began to ache. The frustration and disappointment that accompanied these feelings finally boiled over and he threw the phone as hard as he could against the nearest wall. He didn't watch the phone explode into hundreds of small pieces.

He walked back toward his father's bedroom door, which remained slightly open. The last thing Tyler Jr. wanted was to tell his father the bad news. What will the old man have to live for now? The news, while devastating for Tyler Jr., could prove the final string holding together his father's frail life. He did not want to think about how the old man would feel at the thought of ending his life with the biggest failure of his career.

Instead of going into the bedroom, Tyler decided to stand outside the door and listen to the blaring TV. He did not have to wait long.

"That concludes the first three proposals we'll be bringing you tonight," President Marshall said. Tyler Jr. was curious to see how the President would look when he gave the 'big news' but he was not curious enough to want to see the look of disappointment on his father's face. "Which brings me to my big announcement.

"I hope that you have been paying close attention to the first three proposals. While there are many similarities in the designs of the first three stations, I'm sure you noticed many differences as well. Each of the first three proposals had options that differed from one another, and the next three proposals will also be quite different. These options will ultimately prove to be the difference between which space station is chosen and which one is not. And who gets to make this choice?

"You do. Each and every American has a voice in the decision-making process. I have said from the beginning that this space station will be designed with the American public in mind. There is no better way to prove this than by placing the important decision in your hands."

Then why don't you let them choose from all the designs? Tyler Jr. wanted to scream. Once he passed through the denial and anger stages, he began to accept the fact that all of his work had been for naught. As he continued listening to the President's speech from outside the door, Tyler Jr. slumped down to the ground, resting his back against the wall. He wanted to put his face in his hands and just cry but he would not allow himself to do that knowing he had to face his father.

"But NASSA and I have decided to make the decision a bit easier. Although we will be showing you a total of six different proposals tonight, you will only be making your choice from the final three. The first three proposals, while all expertly done and possessing uniquely appealing qualities in their own right, have been eliminated for a variety of reasons. Therefore, if you have not been paying close attention before, I hope that you do for the next three, the final three from which you will choose.

"Now let's begin. The first finalist was designed by-"

The President's voice was suddenly cut off. After a few seconds, Junior heard a smashing sound (which he assumed was the remote) and his father's footsteps. The old man probably shouldn't be out of bed but Junior wasn't going to tell him that now. The bedroom door swung open and the man's wrinkled face was crimson with rage.

"It's all your fault," he yelled at Junior, who was still sitting on the ground. "Did you just hear what the President said?"

"I heard," Tyler whispered.

"Our design has been eliminated and it's all your fault. You have cost me the only thing I wanted before I died."

Tyler Jr. could not look his father in the eye. He knew the real reason that their design had ultimately failed but was not about to place blame directly upon his father's shoulders. After all, if they had done a better job on the design, then the government could have chosen them, no matter how old his father might be.

"I'm sorry that we lost but it's not my fault. You know how hard I worked on this. You know how hard the whole team worked on this," Tyler Jr. said, his head still slumped in front of him.

"Stand up when I talk to you, boy," his father yelled. "Don't sit on the ground like a scolded dog. You might be dumb as an animal but don't act like one in my presence."

Tyler Jr. stood and his father got right in his face. He saw the anger and the bitterness radiating from his old man's eyes. For the first time that he could remember, it truly looked as though his father hated him.

"I can't believe I trusted you enough to work on the most important thing in my life. I can't believe I let my guard down one time to let my screw-up of a dumbass kid have this sort of chance. Do you know how many other people I could have hired to serve as team leader?"

Tyler Jr. continued to stand silently still, not flinching as his father's angry spittle rained across his face.

The old man just needs to vent his anger, he tried to tell himself.

"Hundreds, probably. Hundreds of people could have taken the resources I provided and turned this into a reality. But no, instead I had to take the word of a druggie who says he can do it. My son, the druggie, the worthless little punk who's never been able to do anything in his life."

"I tried my best, Father. I'm sorry we didn't win but this is not my fault," Tyler Jr. said.

"Not your fault? Do you really believe that? Do you really think that your past didn't affect the government's decision? They probably think you'd take all the money from this space station project and start your own cartel."

This is getting ridiculous, Tyler Jr. thought. He understood that his father was angry but now the old man was just spewing hatred for the sake of causing him pain. He was really beginning to realize something about his father. Tyler Sr. was not able to channel and express his emotions in any other way but anger and did not care who he hurt in the process. Junior decided that he took enough of his father's misguided anger and that the old man needed to be alone for a while to deal with his feelings.

I'll give him some time, he'll realize what he's saying isn't true...

"Father, please, just go back to bed and relax. This whole ordeal has been too much for both of us to handle. Maybe it will end up being a good thing that we did not get it. Now you don't have to spend your remaining days worrying about a project."

"What am I going to spend them doing then? Huh? Being around you? God, take me now if that's my punishment."

Tyler Jr. knew there was nothing else he could say. His father was going to think what he wanted to think.

Tyler Jr. turned and walked toward the long staircase. He would leave the mansion for a few days, maybe jump on a plane and fly somewhere nice and warm. During that time away, he would try to relax and give his father the proper time, alone, to come to terms with the rejection. Junior began walking away and did not plan on looking back to give his father a chance to land any parting shots. But Tyler Sr. did not stand idly by while his son walked away. Although sickly, Tyler Sr. could still move with a purpose and cut off his son's escape before he reached the first step.

"That's right. You'd better leave," he yelled. "And you'd better never come back. I'm through wasting my time on a druggie. I'm through blowing my money on a waste of life. I wish your mother had taken you when she disappeared but I guess she couldn't stand you either."

"Maybe she couldn't stand you," Tyler Jr. yelled back. He felt bad the moment the words left his mouth and he planned to apologize. But when his father shook off the insult and continued to berate him, Jr. decided that maybe it would do his father some good to hear the truth, to hear what he really thought.

"Do you feel like a big man now?" the old man yelled. "How long have you been waiting to say that to me, huh? We aren't talking about me, though. We're talking about you, we are talking about how you've cost me the most important thing I had in life."

"I cost you? Do you know who called me during the presentation?"

"Another stupid question from my stupid son. Was it one of your drug dealer friends?"

"No, as a matter of fact it was James Armour."

Tyler Jr. hadn't thought his father could look any angrier, yet at the mention of the NASSA chief's name, his face twisted into a new level of rage.

"And what the hell did that backstabber want?" he asked, his voice softening in the slightest.

"He called to apologize for not choosing our proposal as one of the final three," Junior said.

"Why were we eliminated? He must've given the real reason," Senior said, his voice sounding as pleading as Junior's had when he spoke to Armour.

"He didn't really say," Tyler Jr. said, looking away from his father's eyes.

"Don't try to lie to me. You are too easy to read. I want to know the truth."

Tyler Jr. tried to think of the best excuse possible that would save himself from his father's continuing wrath, yet one that would not hurt his father either. He must have thought about it too long.

"It was you, wasn't it?" his father asked, immediately placing blame on Tyler Jr. "Armour told you that it was your fault and now you're trying to think of lie. It was because of the drugs, wasn't it?"

"No, it wasn't because of me," Junior said. The truth is my only way out now. "It was because of you. Armour and the rest of the committee didn't think the public could trust a company whose leader was so old and close to death."

His father stopped yelling for a moment. A pained expression formed on his face as the realization hit home in his mind. Junior had seen many looks on his father's face, many expressions of anger or annoyance or disappointment that Junior never wished to see again. But the pained look he saw now was the worst by far and he would have given anything to take back the words that caused such pain.

"You're lying," the old man whispered. "You'll do anything to place blame on me when you know it was your fault."

Tyler Jr. could barely hear the words his father spoke. His father always spoke with such conviction and self-reliance so Junior knew his old man's whispered tone was one of defeat, whether he admitted it or not.

"I'm sorry, Father. I didn't want to have to tell you that," Jr. said. He placed his hand on his father's shoulder to comfort him but the angry expression returned. Senior pushed his son's arm out of the way and slapped him across the face with all the strength his frail body could muster.

"You are out of the will. No mansion, no company, no millions when I die. I do not want any sort of association with you. If the government sees that I am not placing you in control once I'm gone, they will reconsider. Now get the hell out of my house and get the hell out of my life," he yelled.

Tyler Sr. turned around to walk back to his bedroom but his son grabbed his arm. Junior began to cry and felt like he was ten years old again, getting into trouble for accidentally knocking over a lamp.

"Please, Father. Don't do this."

"Father? Don't you understand? I am no longer your father. And you are no longer my son. Now get off my arm and stop whimpering like a woman."

Junior would not let go, though, and his father finally had to take action. He swung his open-hand toward his son's face again. This time, Tyler Jr. was waiting for it. He caught the old man's hand in mid-swing and gripped the frail wrist as hard as he could. In one instant, thirty years of mental and emotional abuse gripped Junior's soul. Every negative emotion or feeling his father ever caused in him coursed throughout his body until he felt like he wanted to burst.

Father and son locked eyes. For the second time in minutes, Junior saw a new look in Senior's eyes that he had never seen before; this time, it was fear. For the first time in his life, Tyler Jr. had power over his father and the feeling it gave him was indescribable.

You'll never make me afraid again.

With his free hand, Tyler Jr. grabbed his father's other bony arm. In one swift motion, he whipped the old man around and threw him down the steps. He stood at the top and watched the frail old man tumble down the long staircase, completely breaking the entire way down. Within seconds, the unmoving form of the old man's body lay crumpled at the bottom, appearing as lifeless and still as a rag doll. Junior rushed down the steps after him, suddenly panicked and frantic about what he had done.

Please be alive, please be alive.

He did not have to reach the bottom of the stairs to know his father was dead. He stood next to the body for several minutes, staring straight down at the lifeless form and wondering what the hell he was going to do. Hundreds of different ideas each one more insane than the last ran through his mind, different unworkable and crazy schemes that could cover up what he had done.

I could make the body disappear...

I could shoot him in the head and then plant the gun in his hand...

I could force a bottle of his pills down his throat...

I could break in the front door and stage a botched robbery...

But then the best idea of all came to him. The best idea was the simplest one of all, the one that required no work except a masterful acting performance.

He must have tripped and fallen down the stairs, Officer. I found him laying here like this and I called the paramedics immediately. Why did this have to happen to such a good man?

People had accidents all the time and it wouldn't be hard to imagine that a frail old man tripped going down the stairs. Once Tyler Jr. assembled the story he would tell the police, he was able to fully reflect on what he just did. In all honesty, he felt like a new man. A heavy burden felt as though it had been lifted from his shoulders; he felt like a convict just released from a long prison sentence.

He looked down at his father's open, unblinking eyes. For the third time in five minutes, the eyes had a brand new appearance. Junior had not liked the hurt or frightened look in his father's eyes but found himself liking this new one.

Lifeless.

Tyler Ainsworth Jr. smiled, a grin that remained during his stroll to the next room. Although he sounded distraught and frantic while making the phone call to 9-1-1, the operator never knew he wore a grin from ear to ear.

"I can't believe what we're seeing," a thin blonde nurse said.

"I know. I thought Marshall's whole space station thing was just another one of those empty, politician promises," another nurse, a middle-aged brunette, agreed.

"The whole idea is kind of strange and all but it's sure hard to turn away from this," the first one replied.

"Will you two shut up already? I'm actually trying to listen to this," a third nurse, an overweight woman, said.

The three nurses stood huddled around a small portable television they weren't supposed to have at their nurses' station. This TV was normally reserved for the nurses enduring the boredom of the midnight shift, a time when most of the children in their unit were asleep. But now that the President was making a historically important speech, they decided that watching the speech was worth the risk of getting in trouble.

"Oh Linda, calm down," the blonde said. "It's not like the news won't be replaying this speech around the clock for the next week."

"And it's not like you two don't have all night to stand around and gab with each other," she shot back.

President Marshall was in the middle of the second proposal from which the country would have to choose and Linda wanted to pay close attention to what he was saying. Her two coworkers, who she hated working with because they never shut up, did not seem to care much about what they were watching. Their only interest was in providing a running dialogue. There was nothing Linda could say to shut them up so all she could do was to try and ignore them.

Dr. Burton Williams slowly approached the three women from behind. His nurses all seemed preoccupied and he crept up behind them to see what they were doing. Williams, who'd specialized in pediatrics at Johns Hopkins, was admired by most of the nurses because of his good looks but disliked because of his crass attitude. He was all-business while working and did not feel the need to partake in any extracurricular discussions with nurses about non-work-related issues.

"What are you ladies doing?" he asked, watching with impish delight as the three women jumped in surprise. Two of the women quickly moved out of the way, leaving Linda standing alone next to the television.