I’d seen Maxwell and Major Prescott on the mediastreams but in person they look less polished and older--especially Maxwell. The sides of his dark hair are heavily streaked with gray. He’s freakishly tall and has to bend slightly to fit into the hospital doorframe. He’s wearing a crisp gray suit with a dark blue tie and he’s looking me up and down in disbelief.

Major Prescott is in his United Auxiliary Forces uniform-- similar to the surgeon general’s. His blue eyes are wide and bloodshot. He keeps a hand over his mouth whispers something over and over under his breath that sounds like “lookathim.”

“Would you still like to do the genetic bone marrow test, sir ?,” Dr. Hathway asks.

Major Prescott nods slightly, smiling at me tentatively  like I was a dangerous animal in the zoo unknowingly about to be euthanized.

The doctor asks me to lie down again and I do. When she numbs my lowerback I try and get myself under control and prepare for what what is coming. But then I see the foot long needle in  the reflection of the  mirror and  I can’t control myself, I have to say something.

I bolt up. “Wait.”

“Oh, you’ll only feel a pinch,” she says, that same lie every doctor tells me.

“No, I can’t I--”

“It won’t hurt--”

“I'm sorry. I--I have an irrational fear of needles,” I explain quickly, the shakes already starting. “Please, can you give me nitrous oxide or a local anas--”

She touches my arm gently  and I see her nurse going for the straps on the exam table.

My fight or flight gets the better of me.  I jerk my arm from her grip and run for the door, but Major Prescott stops me, holding on to my shoulders and bending to look me in the eye.

“I believe you're telling the truth. But we just have to be sure,” Major Prescott tells me. “We just need to confirm.”

“I’m sorry, I know--I--I just---I  have a phobia--I have to be put out. Please.” I try to explain to him through tears. I wasn’t sure when I’d started crying.

The nurse tries to pull me back and I resist. I hear Maxwell make a curt sound and then he brushes away the hair at the back of my ear, looking at the roman numeral tattoo my guardian had given me as a toddler. The one of the date I'd been taken.

“It’s him,” Maxwell says, his voice gravelly and definitive.

“What was that ?,” Major Prescott asks, moving my hair again and looking at the tattoo. “Who the fuck did this to him ? How did you know that was there ?”

Suddenly Major Lansing Prescott is no longer holding my shoulders but  hugging me. He kisses my forehead and his tear stained face is wet against mine. He smells like expensive cologne and dry cleaning. He hold me tightly, one arm braced across my back and the cradling the back of my head.

It’s the first real hug I’ve ever experienced. It feels odd...constricting almost.

“I knew it. My sweet boy. I knew it the moment I saw you,” he whispers, his voice hitching. "I thought this day would never come."

“Lansing,” Maxwell says, almost like a admonishment.

Major Prescott ignores him. “Let’s take our son home.” I feel like bursting. It was really happening.

My guardian was a liar and he could be an asshole but he got me back home just like he’d promised.

“He should stay here until Dr. Beltran arrives,” Maxwell says.

“Why ? Dr. Hathway says he’s healthy and unhurt. We don’t need another doctor.”

“Dr. Beltran is a forensic anthropologist, he’ll be able to figure out where he’s been--”

“Or we could ask him. Later. For now let’s go home.”

They give me my clothes back and I  walk outside between the two men--my fathers now, I guess--with a line of armed  guards behind us.

In the waiting room a pretty blonde woman in a mint green suit and high heels  joins us as we head for the door. Major Prescott reaches for my hand as we walk and I let him take it.  He leads me over to a large black car parked in the front of the hospital. We get in the backseat and one of the armed guards gets in the front seat. The moment the car takes off a privacy screen goes up between us and the guard.

Ft. Perch is different from the other cities I'd seen on the train--those were built out of the rubble of the Serial Wars. Ft. Perch was older, a city created during the beginning of the Serial Wars and protected by the bubble in case the rest of the country was destroyed. The buildings don’t match, some looking like they came from ancient Greece while others are glass skyscrapers and others are  steel orbs. It’s almost like I’m on another planet entirely. The Star was massive, but Earth feels expansive as the galaxy.

“Phoenix, this is Carrington, she managed the campaign and now she runs Max’s consulting firm,” Major Prescott says as the blonde woman in the green suit extends her hand to me.

I stare at her outstretched hand and the moment I realize she expects me to shake it it’s too late and she’s awkwardly put her hand back in her skirt pocket.

Maxwell’s hand easily settles on her thigh.

“So, how long do you think we can keep the press off--,” Major Prescott starts but before he can finish, Maxwell pulls Major Prescott’s  hand away from where it had been holding  mine.

“Stop treating  him like you  just pushed him out of  your cunt. It’s been 11 years, Lansing. That is not the same child we lost.” Maxwell spits.

“I know, Max,” Major Prescott  snaps back. “But he’s still  our son and he’s clearly very rattled and doesn’t need--”

“Don’t be obtuse, sweetheart.” Maxwell retorts, the term of endearment sounding like a slur. “He’s up to something and if he won’t tell anyone where he’s been or why he’s suddenly back  then I’ll have Dr. Beltran biopsy every inch of him until he figures it out.”

“Or we could just be thankful--”

“Thankful ?  You should be suspicious  instead of acting like a fucking idiot.  Don’t think for a second he is staying with you,” Maxwell says touching his Syndicate. “I’m arranging an interrogation cell in the Justice building.”

“The hell you are. He's a child. He has a room waiting for him at the house and he’s sleeping in it tonight.”

“Why ?,” Maxwell scoffs. “So, I can find you with with your throat slashed and all our money gone ?”

“In that case maybe he should stay with you--,” Major Prescott retorts.

“Gentlemen, please,” Carrington interrupts.

“I think you need to stay out of this,” Major Prescott tells her sharply.

Before anyone else can say anything more the car stops in front of a regal looking  brick townhouse surrounded by a wrought iron gate, flowering trees and an armed guard. Maxwell exits first and takes Carrington’s hand to help her out of the car.

I follow behind them up the stone steps. Once the intricately carved door shuts behind us, Maxwell grabs me by the neck of my shirt and shoves my back into a wall.

“Why did he send you back ?” Maxwell roars into my ear.

“Maxwell!,” Major Prescott shouts, pulling him off.

“Lansing--”

“Enough! If you’re going to behave like this you can get out. Right now.”

“This is Kenneth’s house,” Carrington says.

“Get out,” Major Prescott repeats, sounding like the army major he was. “Both of you.”

“Lansing get a grip, we need to discuss press strategy--,” she starts.

“Out. We will discuss it later.”

There is a silence and then Maxwell and Carrington walk out the back door.  

A small light shows in Major Prescott’s Syndicate and he turns back to the front door.

“That will be dinner,” he says walking to the front door as it opens and  the uniformed guard hands off to him a rolling trolley with four silver cloches.

I follow him as he wheels the trolley  into a massive dining room. He sets the meals down on the massive table and pours water into the glasses before sitting down.

“As I’m sure you can tell your father and I are separated,” he says. “ It’s been about 8 years now. I apologize, we’re usually much  better at managing it. It’s not public knowledge….things could get messy with our careers if we divorced. But... I think we’ll have to announce it soon.”

It had never occurred to me that they would be estranged or that Maxwell would hate me. It cracked the facade of what I thought was going to happen but atleast Major Prescott was being kind.

I’m starving and I uncover the meal  to a  plate of thick grilled steak and perfectly uniform  root vegetables cut into strips. When I cut into the steak it is  pink in the middle and blood run out onto the white plate.

We hadn't had much meat on the Star. Most of the research was about growing crops in space so while t there was lots of fresh produce, there wasn’t room to process fresh meat.

The food feels foreign in my mouth. I don’t like the tough, fleshy texture of the steak and the heavy silverware taste sharp on my tongue.  The vegetables have a chemical aftertaste and even the water has a strange chalky taste--they treated it differently than they did on the Star.

Major Prescott tells me about how they had found out about me only a few hours ago. He tells me they haven’t told Gemma and are keeping it quiet for now because they’ve had lots of false alarms over the years.

I’d heard about the con artists that  took boys from foster care,  hacked  DNA readers to make it look like a match so they could collect the money. He said he knew all the boys were fakes the moment he saw them but that he always made sure the boys got put in better homes.

“You’re not hungry,” Major Prescott says looking at my mostly full plate next to his empty one. “Do you want something else ? You used to like eating raw tomatoes sliced up with salt and pepper.”

I hated raw tomato

I shake my head no.

I expect my room to still be for a toddler or small child but it looked like it was waiting for a teenage boy. It’s deep blue, impeccably clean and enormous. The entire bedroom was nearly the size our our entire cabin on The Star.

Or my guardian’s cabin or, really,  Haley’s cabin. I guess I didn’t have a guardian anymore.

Major Prescott gives me a pair of pajamas to wear that still have the tags on them.

“Maxwell would kill me for this,” he says when I make to get into the bed. “ But I’d like to stay here with you until you fall asleep. Do you mind ?”

I nod my head because I didn’t know what else to do. I lie down and he sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing circles on my back through my shirt. My muscles tense at the touch and I try to relax but this feels too awkward.

He was my father, I was supposed to be comfortable with this.

He starts humming a song under his breath and  I recognize it.

“Sorry,” he says. “We used to call it the Goodnight Song. Do you remember it ?”

I don’t respond because I’m afraid he might cry or something if I say yes.

There were some students on the ship who spent the summer  at Atlas’ Earth Discovery Camp. They got to travel a new continent each summer doing activities and living in dorms at colleges. I was never allowed to go  but I remember there were always a few kids who’d come back early  because  they were homesick. I never understood how you could want home when you were some place so awesome.

But now I did.

I miss my tiny room, my  glowing analog clock, the subtle swing of the ship beneath my feet and the unrelenting view of the stars.

I can’t shut my brain off and after 2 hours Major Prescott leaves and comes back.

“Come take this,” he says, helping me sit up. “Just for tonight.”

He has a prescription pill bottle in his hand and I  quickly assess the bottle.  I used to help my guardian study for his re-certification and I know where to look to see the prescription was written for Major Prescott and the pill is a boutique brand sleeping pill.

According to the codes on the bottle it was for insomnia due to severe anxiety.

He breaks the pill in half and I take it dry, forgoing the odd tasting water. The minute I lie down I feel it working, my heartbeat slows down to a rhythmic thrum and I slowly fall into it.