CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE

By Zena Uzep

This story is an amateur publication, strictly written for the enjoyment of STARMAN fans and is not meant to infringe upon the copyrights held by Henerson-Hirsch, Michael Douglas Productions, Columbia Pictures Television or ABC-TV. Any resemblance to places or persons, either fictional or real, living or dead, unless otherwise stated or noted, is strictly coincidental. This publication may not be reproduced in any form without express permission of author. Copyright 1993. All rights reserved.

FOREWARD

Dear Readers,

Well, I've finished another STARMAN story. I'm writing this forward because of something my good friend Joyce, wrote to me. This story deals with a complex issue that has become quite a horrendous problem, gangs and the violence associated with it. She liked the concept, but said other Starman readers might find this story too violent. Well, gangs are violent. It sounded like a good idea to write about at the time, and I still think it is. Yes, I know that the series was a show we all praised for it's commitment to non-violence. However, the facts present themselves. There are gangs in every major city, and sadly, they do commit a lot of the violence and crime that is present today. Boston, which is the closest metro-city to me, seems to ranking right up there with Los Angeles and Chicago, where most of this story takes place. I listen to the news and almost every other day I hear another person has been murdered. It's very frightening. It is a growing problem and there seems to be no solution in the immediate future.

Now, before I get too morbid here, I wish to thank everyone who helped me and coached me through this: most especially, Lynda Sappington and Joyce Fossek, who both reminded me more than once what STARMAN readers like and don't like. I tried, ladies. And thanks to my other unnamed editors, legal and medical advisors for procedures and medical stuff of which I know diddley-swat.

Now, try to enjoy "Caught In The Middle" and remember, if it's STARMAN, it comes out right in the end! At least I try to make it come out right. I hope I succeeded.

ZENA UZEP

o o O o o

It was almost eight o' clock in the morning of December the 26th when Father John Schrade awakened a sleeping Scott and summoned him to breakfast. Crawling out of bed, Scott dressed and met the father at the tiny kitchen table. After saying grace, they started to eat.

"Did you sleep well, Scott?" the priest asked.

“No, not really," the boy replied between spoonfuls of cold cereal.

"Do you have the number of the hospital? I'd like to call Dad."

“I think you'd better wait a while. Your father may still be sleeping. He looked very tired."

Scott looked at the clock and agreed with the man. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just that I'm worried about him. I want to know how he is. Dad doesn't like hospitals and I don't like leaving him alone."

“You're a good kid, Scott. Not many children nowadays show as much concern for a parent as you do." The priest paused a moment, then chuckled and said, "Of course, no one else but you has a father who's from another planet either. I'm still finding that incredible. I almost convinced myself last night that this was all just a dream."

“It's not. He really is from ...out there and he really is my father. Believe me, Father, I had trouble accepting it at first, too, but now, I just love him. He's my dad."

“I'm sure your dad'll be fine. Listen," the priest continued, "I've got some things to take care of first and then I can drive you to the hospital around eleven. You can stay with your father the whole afternoon while I go about my business and I can pick you up, say, after dinner?"

"That sounds great. What're you doing?"

“I've got church duties to attend to and things at the school to plan as well. I teach there, you know."

"Yeah? What do you teach?"

"Mathematics."

"Oh," Scott replied sullenly.

“What's the matter? Don't you like math... or aren't you doing well in it?"

"I like it, I'm just not great at it."

"Well, maybe I can help," offered the father.

"Would you?"

“Sure. C'mon, let's see about doing these dishes and then you can call your father."

The two of them washed, dried and put away the few dishes and utensils there were. It was almost nine and Scott felt certain his father was awake by now. He asked the priest where the phone and the directory were. As he looked up and dialed the number of the hospital, he heard Father Schrade say, "I'll be next door in the church if you need me, Scott."

“Okay," the boy answered, then returned his attention to the telephone as a female voice came on. "Hello? St. Michael's hospital? Can you connect me with Paul Forrester's room? Thanks."

The phone rang on the nightstand beside Paul's bed. He reached for the receiver and said in a weak voice, "Hello?"

"Dad, it's me. I can hardly hear you."

"Oh, Scott. Why are you calling? Everything's okay, isn't it?"

"Everything's fine, Dad. I just called to find out how you are." "I guess I'm doing okay."

"It doesn't sound like you're doing okay. You sound awful." "I feel awful, Scott. I didn't sleep well. The pain medication wears off too soon. It hurts to breathe."

"Oh, Dad," Scott replied, almost in tears.

Paul heard his son's breaking voice and tried to reassure him. "Don't cry. They're taking good care of me. Don't worry. Okay?"

"I can't help it, Dad. I am worried."

"I know."

Scott took a deep breath and tried to control his fears. Willing himself to sound more confident, he told his father, "Father Schrade said he'd drive me up to see you around eleven this morning. He'll drop me off so I can spend the whole afternoon with you. Okay?"

"Isn't he staying?" Paul asked.

“No. He's got some stuff to do, but he said he'd come pick me up after dinner. I'll see you around lunch time, okay?"

"I'll be waiting for you. And don't worry about me."

"I'll try not to, Dad. Bye."

“Good-bye, Scott."

As Paul hung up the phone and lay back heavily, he began another coughing fit. He was still very weak and it left him winded. Despite Scott's assurance he'd try not to worry, Paul knew better. He was still very worried himself.

As promised, Father Schrade dropped Scott off at the hospital entrance and told him he'd be back in a few hours.

Scott walked into his father's room and stood by the bed. His father appeared to be asleep. Quietly, he called out, "Dad?"

Paul slowly opened his eyes and smiled. "Hi, Scott."

"How do you feel? Any better?"

“Yes. They gave me another shot for the pain. It doesn't hurt so much anymore."

Scott looked at his father's pale face, then gently took his father's free hand and held on to it tightly. Paul felt feverish. Scott still feared his dad might die.

Paul felt Scott's concern and squeezed his son's hand in reassurance, adding a warm smile to back it up. There was mutual silence as father and son's emotions flowed into each other.

"So what do they say?" Scott asked.

“The nurse said there seems to be a slight improvement. She said my lungs are slowly clearing."

"That's great!"

"Yes. The medicines seem to work."

"I'm glad."

“Me, too. I guess I owe Mr. Fox some thanks. If he hadn't called that

ambulance for me, I'd probably be dead by now."

“Yeah. I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I guess I need to thank him, too."

There was silence again. Paul could feel Scott's unease at the mention of death and he tried to lighten the mood. "So what have you been doing?"

“Nothing much. Father Schrade said he'd help me with my math. He's a teacher, you know." "No, I didn't know that. I'm glad you're keeping up with your studies.

You pay attention to him. Listen and learn. I'll be testing you when I get out of here."

"Gee, thanks a lot," Scott grinned.

Paul smiled.

The orderly came in with Paul's lunch and Scott helped feed his father. They spent the rest of the afternoon together. Paul slept a good part of the time and Scott just sat close, watching him.

George Fox entered the FSA building in Washington D.C. and took the elevator up to his floor, a pleasant smile on his face. "Good morning, Edna. Hope you had a nice Christmas."

A bit shocked, Edna replied, "Uh ... yes, I did. And you?"

"Just great. Where's Wylie?"

"Not in yet, sir."

“Okay, when he does get in, tell him I want to see him. And bring me a cup of coffee if you would, please. Thanks."

George walked into his office and shut the door, then moved behind his desk and settled into his soft leather chair. After thinking at length, he started preparing the much-dreaded report for General Wade.

Edna came in with his coffee. She put the cup on Fox's desk and left, closing the door behind her. Before it shut completely, George called, "Thanks, Edna."

Shortly after, there was a knock and Wylie entered. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

“Yes. Sit down." As Wylie obliged, George asked, "How was your Christmas?"

"Wonderful. It was great to see the whole family. How about you, sir?"

"It was ...different," he said with an intriguing smile.

"Uh, yes, sir. You want me to start checking the police reports again?"

"No. We're not going to be on this case any longer."

"Sir?" Wylie said, in confusion.

"I'm closing the file. I'm dropping it. It's finished."

"But, sir, the reported sighting last week..."

"Forget it."

"May I ask why?" he asked respectfully.

"Wylie ...we don't have to hunt them anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I found him, them, actually."

"Great! I'll go tell Edna to arrange transporta..."

“No, that's not necessary," George quickly cut in. Taking a deep breath he continued, "Wylie, ...I had the most wonderful ...talk, with him."

Wylie was flabbergasted. "You talked with him?"

“Yes, and he convinced me that we've been wrong about him. He's not a

threat to national security or ...anyone."

“What did he say to change your mind?"

George leaned back in his chair and started to tell his assistant how he'd tracked the pair down and found them hiding in a church on Christmas Eve. He described the condition in which he found Forrester. "I believe he thought he was going to die, Wylie." "Well, what happened?"

George told Wylie about the priest who'd defied him, the mass and afterwards, and the incident with Scott and his gun. "And Scott gave it back to me. I mean I was scared, Wylie. That boy was desperate! But Forrester told him it was not their way and the kid listened to his father and gave it back. He was reluctant, but Forrester just kept looking at him. And then Forrester looked at me with a kind of 'forgive him...he's just a child' look.

“He offered himself and his son to me. They had my gun. They could've killed me and escaped, but they didn't. I think he felt he was going to die very soon. It was sort of haunting ...spooky.

“I'm still not sure what made me do it, but watching him and thinking it over, I decided to release him. You should've seen him. He was like a frightened child. His eyes, they looked so resigned to whatever was going to happen."

"Where is he now?"

“In a hospital. I called an ambulance to take him to the nearest hospital where he could receive some proper medical care."

George started to recall the scene in the emergency room as the doctor approached Forrester, reassured him and explained what he was going to do. Wylie listened with intense interest as his boss related the events.

"I'm Dr. Weston. I understand you've been complaining of chest pain and you're having difficulty breathing. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Paul answered.

"What's your name?"

"Paul Forrester."

"He's my dad," Scott added.

The doctor looked at the boy and short man.

"I see. And who are you, sir?" the doctor asked.

“I pulled out my ID and showed it to the doctor. 'I'm George Fox,' I said, 'special agent with the FSA.'"

"Is this man under arrest or something?"

"No."

"Uh-huh." The doctor returned his attention to his patient. "And

how old are you, Mr. Forrester?"

"Thirty-seven."

"You said you have chest pain. On what side?"

"The left side."

Pulling out his stethoscope, the doctor continued, "And how bad is

it?"

"It hurts, a lot."

"Okay, severe then, and when did the pain start?"

"The day before yesterday."

"Why didn't you tell me, Dad?" Scott asked with concern.

"I didn't want you to worry. Besides, there was nothing you

could've done about it."

"Shh, quiet please," Doctor Weston said.

“The doctor asked Forrester to sit up so he could listen to his heart and lungs, but Forrester was too weak. Scott and I lent a hand and propped him up while the doctor continued the examination. He started by positioning the stethoscope over Forrester's left lung and asked him to take deep breaths."

"Okay, breathe." He moved the stethoscope a little, "Again." another move, "Again..." and worked around the back to the sides and finished in front. "And one more, please. Okay, that was fine. You can lie down now."

“We eased Forrester back down. I noticed the beads of perspiration on his forehead and felt the heat from his skin. Whatever he had, I knew it was serious. Then another doctor came in. Dr. Irwing introduced himself to us and asked Dr. Weston about Forrester's condition."

"He has an elevated temperature," Dr. Weston replied, "increased pulse and respiration, and his color indicates slight cyanosis. He's complaining of severe chest pain on his left side and he says he's having difficulty breathing."

"Did you check his respiration for breath sounds?"

"Yes."

"And?" Dr. Irwing pressed on.

"There are no breath sounds coming from his left lung and

decreased sounds from his right."

“Dr. Irwing took out his stethoscope to confirm Dr. Weston's findings. Scott and I helped Forrester sit up again. The doctor listened to Forrester's heart and lungs, then took out his penlight and checked his eyes. He examined Forrester's throat and checked his lymph glands, running his hands down the neck and under the jaw, and made a note of his temperature and color."

"Okay, you may put him back down now."

"Doctor, what's wrong with him?" Scott asked.

"And who are you?" Dr. Irwing asked.

"Scott. He's my dad."

"Well, Scott, we're not positive yet, but it looks like your father has a case of bronchial pneumonia and a collapsed left lung. Why did you wait so long to get him in here?"

"We've been on the move," Scott told him.

"Well, the only place he's going to move now is to bed." The

doctor asked his patient for his name.

“Forrester stated his name. The doctor said he'd give him some medication to relieve the pain in his chest and asked him if he had any drug allergies that he knew of. Paul shook his head and said he didn't think so."

"He's only had medicine once before," Scott informed the doctors.

"And how old are you Mr. Forrester?"

"Thirty-seven."

"That's amazing! Where have you been?"

"Just healthy," Scott said.

"Okay. Just relax, Mr. Forrester, I think you'll be alright."

The doctor handed the chart to the nurse and told her, "Start him on these medications immediately, get him on oxygen, and tell them to keep a close eye on his respirations." The nurse went to comply with Dr. Irwing's orders.

Doctor Irwing turned to Scott. "We're going to start treatment

now. Would both of you please wait in the lobby?"

"But I wanna stay with him," Scott pleaded. "Please?"

"Well, alright," the doctor conceded.

“I told Scott I could handle the Admissions information they'd be needing if he wanted me to. As I was leaving, Forrester asked me if I needed his driver's license and things for identification. While the doctor was talking with the other staff, I bent over slightly and told him I probably knew more about Paul Forrester than he did. Then I added for the benefit of those who might have overheard me tease him that I would just need his medical insurance card. Scott said they didn't have any medical insurance.

“You don't have any insurance?" I asked. "Paul looked at me and simply replied, 'No.' His eyes told me the reason, Wylie, though I could have guessed for myself why he had no insurance. Under the circumstances of the past two years, he couldn't afford it. I told him not to worry about it, I'd take care of it."

Wylie stared incredulously at his boss as he ended the story. Fox noticed the look, but only shrugged as he finished, "So I walked out of the emergency room leaving Scott with his father. I gave Admissions all the information they requested and as for insurance, well, he was just another charity case.

“I left them then to check into my hotel room. I came back around an hour later and Forrester was in his room, hooked up to IV's. He was awake ...and we talked. I still don't know how he managed to answer my questions, he was coughing so hard; you know the kind, deep, racking, painful."

"Is he going to live?"

"I don't know, but believe it or not, Wylie, I hope he does."

"So what are you going to put in your report to General Wade?"

“I'm not sure yet. I'm working on it. I'd love to walk up to the general and tell him the alien doesn't exist, but Peagrum blew that idea. I guess I'll just have to convince him, somehow, that Forrester is not a threat to national security or anything else."

“Why not just tell him the truth, that you talked to him, and, based on what he told you, you're convinced he is not a threat?"

“Because I don't think the general would believe it. You know what a skeptic he is."

“Well, if you'll pardon my saying so, sir, you were one, too, and Forrester convinced you."

“That's true. You've got a point there."

A few hours later, Fox walked into General Wade's office and handed in his report. He silently sat down and waited until the general finished skimming through it.

“Do I understand you correctly, Fox? You found him and verified he is an alien?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you talked with him?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you let him go?" General Wade exploded.

"Yes, sir. If you'll look at the report..."

“Are you out of your mind! How could you let him go? You know how much he's cost us?"

"Well, if you'll read my statement in the report, you'll see that ..." The general cut in impatiently, "Do you know where he is now?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I left him in the hospital." "Hospital? He's sick?"

"Yes, sir, he was very sick."

"What makes you sure he's still there?" Wade wanted to know. "Pneumonia and a collapsed lung should keep him there for a while.

He's human, sir. He's as vulnerable as the rest of us to diseases."

"I hope you're packed, Fox."

"I haven't really had time to unpack, sir. Why?"

“You and I are going fly out there right now. I want to talk to this ...alien myself. What town is he in?"

"If you'll look at the report..."

"Just tell me!" Wade snapped.

After George Fox gave the general the requested information, he watched as General Wade told his aide to make immediate flight arrangements to the small town in which George Fox had left Forrester.

"Call me back as soon as you get the reservations."

The general hung up the receiver and he and George locked eyes. They waited for the aide to call back.

Wade leaned back in his chair and stared at Fox with disbelieving eyes. "Seventeen years we've been after him, George. Seventeen years and you ...just let him go. I don't believe it...I don't even want to try. What the hell were you thinking of?"

“I listened to him, sir. I never did before. I mean, I really listened to him and to what he was telling me. Based on our conversation, I made a decision."

"To let him go."

“Yes, sir, and I believe I've made the right decision. I'll stand by it."

The general let out a grunt. He still did not want to accept what Fox had done. Moments later the phone rang. It was his aide informing him of the completed travel arrangements.

“Thanks." General Wade hung up the phone. "Get your gear and meet me here in fifteen minutes. The flight leaves in an hour."

During the flight, George renewed his effort with General Wade on behalf of Forrester. The general read and re-read the report, but it seemed to George that he was still as skeptical as ever, maybe even more so. George was now getting concerned for Forrester. His promise of freedom could turn out to be one he might not be able to keep.

The flight landed smoothly. General Wade and George hailed a taxi to take them to St. Michael's Hospital to see the object of their interest.

Paul had just finished lunch, or what he could manage of it, as George and an unfamiliar face walked through the door.

"Forrester," George greeted.

Paul gave the FSA agent a questioning look.

"Paul, this is General Wade. He wanted to talk to you in person." "General. Please, sit down. It's good to see you again, George,

though I didn't expect it to be so soon."

"Neither did I. How are you doing?"

“Better. The doctor said my lungs are slowly clearing. It doesn't hurt to breathe as much as it did two days ago, but I still feel very tired and weak."

"And the fever...?"

Paul smiled a little. "The nurse told me it broke yesterday."

Wade was not in the mood for small talk. "Let's get down to business here. This is not a social call. Fox tells me here in this report, Forrester, that you aren't a threat and we have no reason to worry. Is that correct?"

Surprised, Paul answered, "Yes."

“We shall see."

The general proceeded to question Paul, following almost the exact routine George had. Paul could tell that he was making little progress with his explanations. This man was not willing to believe him the way George had. His eyes suddenly became fearful.

Paul looked at George and saw his concern. His stomach began to develop a knot and his heart increased its pace. "General," he asked, "why do you see me as some sort of threat? Can't you believe that I might be a benefit to your people instead of the danger you think I am?"

General Wade ignored Paul's question and intensified his interrogation. Following George's report, he reviewed the incident where Scott had gotten hold of the gun. "Why did you tell your son to give the gun back?"

“As I told Mr. Fox, General, it's not my or my people's way to harm or injure another being."

“Your son doesn't seem to share your philosophy. He was ready to kill Mr. Fox."

"He was afraid. So was I. The memory..."

A coughing fit interrupted Paul's reply. The general and George waited for it to subside and to let the Starman catch his breath.

"I'm sorry," Paul apologized.

"You were saying?" Wade pressed.

“Yes. The memory of our stay at your laboratory is still very much a part of us. We do not want to relive it. Scott tried to protect me the only way he could think of at the moment. He panicked. I was lucky I could reach him and reason with him before he made a fatal mistake, not only for Mr. Fox, but for himself."

The general pondered Forrester's explanation a moment. "I see," he said, then turned the discussion to the issue of captivity versus freedom. George didn't like the direction the conversation was going.

“General," Paul began, "if you decide to imprison me for the rest of Paul Forrester's life, I will die. I didn't come here to cause harm. I came to raise and care for my son. That's all I want to do. Please trust me."

"That's asking for considerable trust."

“Perhaps it is, but I can assure you I am not here to invade you as you fear. There are no armies waiting to come and destroy you. That kind of action would be unthinkable among my people. It is against our very being. We do not conquer."

"Maybe you plan to invade and conquer us one by one?"

“No!" Paul said in an emphatic tone. The effort started another coughing fit. Breathless, he continued, "Why won't you listen to me? Don't you think, General, that if we wanted to invade your world we would have done so already? I mean, why wait? Why not just take this planet if we want it? The fact is, if we wanted to conquer this planet, we could do it easily and swiftly. Your primitive defense forces would be no match against a race centuries ahead of you."

“Oh, I don't know about that. We shot you down easily enough on your last visit."

“My ship wasn't armed. If it had been and I were hostile, those planes would've simply vanished. But I am not hostile and neither are my kind. Did you ever stop to notice that they did not retaliate for what you did to me? They wouldn't."

"Not even if we caught or killed you?"

"Not even then. I would just be considered a regrettable casualty."

"Then what is your reason for being here?"

"I've already told you. I came to help my son."

“You mean to tell me you traveled across the galaxy just to be with your son?"

"Yes."

"I can't believe that. That's too simple."

"But it's the truth. I have no ulterior motives."

"Don't you?" the general quipped sarcastically.

“No. I have remained here to help him to grow up; to be the father he needs. That is the truth. But I can't be a father if I'm locked away in a cage for you to study until I die."

“General, it's all in my report," George said. "I don't believe he's here to spy on or hurt us. Please listen to him."

"You believe him?"

"Yes, sir."

Wade turned back to Paul. "I could just take you, you know."

"I know. But then you wouldn't have me for very long, either." "A threat with a counter-threat, hmm, Forrester?"

“No," Paul replied sadly. "I just stated the facts, but you refuse to listen to me. You twist almost every answer I give you and try to turn those answers against me. You don't want to believe me." Paul paused, then with great resignation and pain written on his face and in his voice, he looked at George and told the agent, "Perhaps it would have been better if you had not tried to help me."

"What are you saying, Forrester?" the general asked.

“I'm saying I want to be free like everyone else. But I can't seem to convince you I'm not a threat. My kind are born among the stars, General. We're born free. We need our freedom to live just as much as you do. If you put us in a cage..."

George noticed this emotional turmoil was taking its toll on the Starman. He was getting extremely tired, and the coughing left him winded and weak. George leaned over to the general sitting next to him and told him of his observation. After a brief whispered discussion, George said, "Paul, we're going to leave now and talk. We'll be back in a while. Don't give up. You hear me? Don't give up!"

Exhausted, Paul nodded and swallowed hard, hoping to wet his fear-dried throat. George Fox promised them freedom, but General Wade didn't agree. The Starman was suddenly filled with the remembered terror of Peagrum. The mere thought of experiencing that torture again made him begin trembling. Paul locked pleading eyes on his only ray of hope. It's up to you, George. Our lives are in your hands. You have to convince him. I don't know what else to do. If you fail, I'll die. I'm too weak to escape. And Scott... A tear rolled down his cheek as he imagined his son in captivity. General Wade won't stop until he finds him. He doubted his son could elude capture for very long by himself. Wade and Fox walked out. Weary, Paul lay back against his pillows and closed his eyes. Please, Creator, he prayed to his translation of God, help us.

Father Schrade stopped his car in front of the hospital's main entrance and Scott got out. Before the boy closed the door, the father said, "I'll be by to pick you up in a couple hours. I'll be at the rectory if you need to call me, okay?"

“Okay. See ya in a couple hours. Bye. And thanks."

As he turned into the corridor to his father's room, Scott saw an MP standing outside his father's door. The teen quickly ducked out of sight, his heart pounding. Confused thoughts raced through his mind, tumbling over each other in his fright. The military! What're they doing here? Chancing a peek, Scott saw George Fox and the general come out of the room and walk down the hall away from him, leaving the MP at the door. Fox! He lied to us. I knew it couldn't be true. I knew he'd never let us go. God, what am I gonna do now? I can't get to Dad with the guard standing there. Father Schrade! I gotta get to him and tell 'im what's happened. Oh, Dad! Scott took off for the stairs and hurried down. As soon as he exited the building, he started running back to the rectory. Scott realized it was five miles to the priest's residence, but there wasn't any faster way. He didn't know when the buses would be by, and being broke, calling a taxi was out. Scott kept up his best pace, remembering his previous athletic coaches' words of training while on those school track teams.

George Fox and the general walked to the cafeteria after the general left orders for the MP to stand watch outside Forrester's room. They each ordered a coffee and sat down at a booth well away from anyone else.

"Well, General? What are you going to do?"

“What you should've done, transfer him to one of our secure facilities. What did you think I was going to do?"

"No, sir, you can't! Please don't. Didn't you listen to what he said?"

"Yes, I listened, and I think you're both full of bull!"

“Then why have this discussion at all if you're not going to accept my report or what he's told you? If you're not even going to try to believe us, then you may as well kill him right now ...sir!"

“Alright, alright. I'm not that stupid. You honestly believe that Forrester spoke the truth?"

"Yes."

“That all he's here for is to be a father to his son and to find this what's-'er-name, and be a family?"

“Jenny Hayden, yes, sir. Now, may I ask again, what're you going to do with him?"

"Well, I can't just let him go. Procedure dictates... "

“Screw procedure!" George exploded as he pounded his fist on the table. He took a deep breath and leaned back, rubbing his face in his hands. He seemed to be getting nowhere with the general. Regaining his composure, George tried reasoning again. "Sir, you can't lock him up. He'll die if you do that. He said it himself. His son keeps saying, 'He's not a criminal. He hasn't committed any crime or broken any law. He's no threat to you or anyone. We haven't done anything, except try to stay alive. Why can't you just leave us alone?' Well, why can't we?"

“C'mon George, you know better than that. If he is an alien, we need to keep him in a controlled environment where we can study him."

"He's a living, thinking, highly intelligent being, not a pet you can put in a cage and keep watered and fed."

“There are questions we need answers to. The scientists will want to study him."

“He said he'll answer what he can and the hospital records here can provide the scientists with a plethora of information about him."

"Not good enough, George. They want to examine him 'hands on.'"

“Yeah, sure," the agent sarcastically replied. "They'll examine him 'til they kill him and you know it! You know as well as I do what'll happen if you let the scientists get their hands on him. They'll vivisect him and they won't care about how much pain he feels. And when he dies, they'll just say, 'well, sorry, we didn't realize he was human.' They'll mark every little detail on their charts, then dissect him into a thousand pieces, catalog each one and cryogenically freeze what's left of him for storage, like some steak in your freezer."

“Why are you suddenly so concerned about what he feels?" Wade asked, curious about Fox's newfound devotion to the alien. "Your job is to find and interrogate him. You've found him, now we'll interrogate him, thoroughly."

“You haven't listened to one word I've said or he's said! You're just gonna take him. Well, I do care what he feels."

"Why? You shouldn't. It isn't your concern."

“Maybe it should be, sir," George responded candidly. "If someone won't speak up on his behalf, he'll be led like some lamb to the slaughter and who cares? Well, I do. I think I can say with certainty neither of us wants him to die. I also think you'll agree, he's worth much more to us alive than dead. Sir, he has knowledge that's beyond our imagination. We can learn from him and he wants to learn from us. There's got to be a way to do that without confining him like some prisoner on death row. He wants to live free. He has a right to. What's the problem?"

“The boys in Washington, that's the problem! And what do you mean he wants to learn from us?"

“The boys in Washington! Those paper pushers haven't got any idea ..." With exasperation he continued, "He wants to learn what it is to be human; to experience ...life, as a human. Physically, he is human."

“Yeah, well you still haven't provided me with a valid reason why we should let him go, nor have you shown me any proof he's not a danger to national or international security."

“You want a valid reason?" George asked, going on the defensive again, "How about getting nothing from him but a lot of wasted time, money and effort if we don't let him go? I don't think he was lying when he said he'll die first. He will, I'm sure of it. Just think what it would mean, sir, if he would talk to us and answer our questions, freely, without trying to force or coerce him. There's so much we could gain if you'll just let him go. And as for being a danger, if you'll review my past reports, you'll see that he's never hurt anyone, even though I know he most certainly could have. General, all these years I truly believed he was a danger, and I've gone out of my way trying to prove it, but I was wrong. He's not."

“Which brings us back to square one. He wants his freedom and I can't let him go. We've invested too much time and money on this project to drop it now that we have him. ...You got any suggestions?"

"Well yes, one."

"What?"

"It's really crazy and I'd need help, but... "

"But what?" Wade growled, impatiently.

“I move in and live with him ...'round the clock surveillance. What better way to learn from and observe him than to be with him day in and day out? He can travel around while we report everything he does and says. We can watch and learn, in what for him will be a relaxed atmosphere. And he gets his freedom to go and do what he wants, to live as a human. ...Your controlled environment, sir, sort of."

“That's not bad, Fox," Wade smiled, "not bad at all. Think he'll go for it?"

“Yes, provided that after this investigation is finished, you assure Forrester you'll give him and his son their total freedom. The question is, sir, will you do that?"

Wade took a long breath and let it out. "Well, if what he says and what you say in your report are true, and if both of you can prove to me he's not a threat, then yes, I'll give him his freedom."

There was a short pause as the general and Fox looked each other in the eye, weighing the proposal. Each took a sip of their now-cold coffee.

“No tricks, sir," George asked, "you'll keep your promise and give him his freedom?"

Wade sighed, but responded honestly, "No tricks. On my honor, I'll give him his freedom. But if we find out he is a danger, then I'll haul 'im back to Peagrum faster than he can blink an eye."

"Agreed. Sir, you think the boys in Washington will go for it?"

"Honest opinion?"

"Yes."

“I tend to doubt it, but I'll find a way to make 'em go for it. As you've just pointed out to me, I think this is our best chance to get him to cooperate."

"Thank you, sir."

"Well, what do you say we go back up and tell him about our proposal?"

“Sounds good to me. On the way we can iron out some things like living arrangements, transportation and so forth."

The two men stood up, and headed for the elevator.

“Now, you said you'd need help?" the general asked. "Is there anyone special you have in mind?"

"Uh, yes, sir. I was thinking of my assistant, Wylie."

"Wylie! That idiot?"

“Yes, sir. With all due respect, he's not an idiot. He can do the job. Besides, I'm think I'm safe in saying, and you will agree, the fewer people who know about all of this, the better. Since he and I are already quite familiar with Forrester... "

"Yes, yes, yes. Alright. Anyone else you need?"

"No, sir. The two of us should be plenty."

The elevator door opened and George and General Wade returned to Paul's room.

Scott burst into the rectory and called, "Father! Father Schrade!"

Startled by the unexpected commotion, the priest hurried to the front door. Seeing the exhausted and frightened boy clinging to the door frame for support, he knew something was terribly wrong. "What's the matter?" he asked, concerned.

"It's Dad," Scott gasped.

Father Schrade felt a knot in his stomach. Knowing Forrester's condition, he asked Scott the obvious question. "Did he... ?"

"No," the boy replied.

Relieved, the priest led the boy to a chair. "Sit down. Catch your breath. Tell me what's wrong."

“I went to see Dad ...there was an MP standing outside his room ...and then Fox and some other military guy walked out ...and they went down the hall leaving the MP standing outside."

"What?" the priest asked, surprised.

“Fox lied to us, Father!" Scott cried. "He's betrayed us, and now he's got Dad! They'll take him away, I know it, then they'll be after me. You gotta help me get Dad out of there. If the military get their hands on him, they'll kill him. Please, Father, you've gotta help me!" he begged, desperate.

“Calm down. I'm sure there's got to be some logical explanation for all of this."

“I told you," Scott exploded, "Fox lied! He never intended to let us go."

“Possibly, but maybe not. Why don't we try calling your father and find out what this is all about?"

“No! They'll have the line tapped to trace the call and then they'll find me. If they capture me, I won't be able to help Dad escape."

“Then let's go to the hospital and see him," the priest suggested. "I'll ask some questions and see if the guard is still outside your father's room. You can hide in the pastor's office until I come back. You'll be safe there. That sound good?"

“Anything. I just want to get Dad out and away. We can't let the military have him."

“We won't, Scott," Father Schrade reassured. "If I have to fly him to the Vatican to protect him, I'll do it, but first we have to find out what's going on. Agreed?"

"Yeah."

In a lighter tone, the Father added, "Come to think of it, I'd love to see the Pope's reaction if he met face to face with your father."

Scott understood the humor intended, but was unable to enjoy it. "Yeah, me too. Let's go."

The Father hurriedly pulled on his heavy winter coat and he and Scott were soon on their way back to the hospital. Scott silently prayed all the way for his father's safety.

Paul was asleep when George and General Wade entered his room. George put his hand on the Starman's shoulder, and called his name while gently shaking him awake.

The Starman opened his eyes, focusing them on George and the general.

“I'm sorry to wake you up," George said, "but we need to talk to you again."

The Starman nodded and George continued, "Paul, I'm sorry. General Wade isn't going to let you go free."

Paul's eyes widened in alarm.

“Take it easy," George quickly added when he saw Paul's reaction. He continued, "General Wade has a proposal he'd like you to listen to. I think it's your best option under the circumstances."

Paul turned worried eyes to General Wade and waited to hear what this man had in store for him.

The general told the Starman about his deal.

"So, we do it your way or else," Paul said.

"That's about right."

"What can I say? What choice do I have?" the Starman asked resignedly. "None. Not if you want any freedom that is."

“What assurance do I have that you won't just imprison me and my son anyway, when your test is over?"

“I give you my word, and on my honor as an officer of the United States Air Force," Wade replied. "As you said, it's a matter of trust."

"Yes, but how can I be sure of your trust?" Starman asked.

“How can we be sure of yours?" the general revertedly responded. Before Paul could answer, Wade held up his hand in a silencing gesture and continued, "Forrester, I will keep my promise. I'll give you and your son your unconditional freedom when you've satisfied me that you are not a threat to our nation or our world as you and Fox claim. But if I find you are a threat ...then you and your son will be imprisoned. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Do you agree to the terms and conditions of the proposal?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then let's hope for the best, shall we?"

Paul was silent, and looked at the general with hope in his eyes. He did not want to die. Nor did he want his son jeopardized.

The general stood up, ready to leave. "I wish I could stay longer to talk with you, but I must get back to Washington. Good-bye, Forrester."

"Good-bye, General. And please, it's Paul."

Wade nodded to the Starman, then continued, "George, I'm leaving him in your hands. This is your responsibility. You'd better start making your living arrangements and clear up everything else that needs to be taken care of. This project will start today. Call me if you need anything."

"Yes, sir. I'll call Wylie and tell him."

The general mumbled, "Now all I have to do is figure out how to explain this deal in Washington." With a sarcastic snort, he added, "I can hardly wait to see what their reaction's gonna be." Glancing at Fox, he said, "Good-bye, George."

"Good-bye, sir, and thank you."

General Wade turned and was gone. As he left, he still was not entirely satisfied with the proposal. Something kept eating away at the back of his mind. The total turnaround in Fox's attitude towards Forrester unnerved General Wade. He still was unsure of Forrester's motives despite the alien's seemingly straightforward answers. Wade had to find some way to make sure that Fox could be trusted to remember he was a special agent of the FSA, and not forget the reason he was with the alien. However, General Wade decided to hold off any immediate action on that part. He would study Fox's weekly reports very carefully to decide if further precautions were necessary. Just to make sure, Wade began formulating his own backup plans.

Back in Paul's room, George shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry,

Paul. He just wouldn't believe me."

"Don't be sorry. I know you tried your best to convince him." George smiled at the Starman. "Don't worry. It'll be alright. Just

keep going like you have been and he'll understand, eventually."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes."

George sat quietly, studying the Starman. He didn't want to admit it, but he was growing fond of this being and feeling more and more protective of him and Scott.

Paul's face furrowed as he pondered how to explain the deal to his son.

George noticed the Starman's expression and asked, "What's the matter?" "I'm worried about Scott. He should've come here a couple of hours ago.

He said he was coming to see me this afternoon. Look outside. It's getting dark. I wonder what's happened to him?"

“Well, before I start making phone calls and you go into a panic, why don't you call him? Do you know where he is?"

"He's staying with Father Schrade."

"Then give the father a call."

Paul called and let the phone ring many times. His concern deepened as he hung up the receiver.

"Well?" George asked.

"No one answered."

"You sure you dialed the right number?"

Paul looked George squarely in the eyes. "Yes, I'm sure," he replied.

“Well, he's probably with the father doing something. Or they may be on their way over here right now. Give it a half an hour or so and then call again." Paul nodded and lay staring out the window, his face drawn with worry.

George sensed the Starman's tension and fatigue. He decided to leave the Starman and let him rest. Standing up, he told Paul, "I guess I'd better go and check into a hotel. I'll be back soon. Why don't you try to sleep some before Scott comes."

Paul agreed with George's suggestion and closed his eyes.

The Starman awakened to the sound of rustling newspaper. He opened his eyes and noticed the FSA agent seated beside his bed. "I thought you said you were leaving to check into a hotel."

“I did," George replied. "I got back a few minutes ago. You were asleep and I didn't want to disturb you. I've been waiting for you to wake up."

"Scott...?"

"Hasn't shown up yet."

George noticed the distressed look reappear on Paul's face. Knowing Scott Hayden's fierce devotion to his father, he theorized it was unlikely the boy had left and run away. So where is he? he asked himself. George could not help but wonder the answer to the question.

After Father Schrade parked the car, he and Scott entered the hospital through a lower level. They looked around wearily for unfriendly eyes, then headed for the chaplain's office where Father Schrade instructed Scott to wait while he checked to see if the coast was clear.

“I'll just go up there and walk in, then I'll either come back for you or call you from your father's room, okay?"

Scott nodded. The priest went to Paul's room. He saw no one standing outside the room as Scott had claimed, so he calmly walked in. Once inside, his eyes locked on George Fox.

“Father Schrade," Starman greeted. Not seeing his son, Starman asked,

"Where's Scott?"

The father temporarily ignored Paul's inquiry. "Uh, Mr. Fox, may I ask, was there another gentleman from the military here and a guard outside his room this afternoon?"

"Yes," George answered, "but they've left."

"I see."

“See what?" Paul asked anxiously. "Where's my son? He usually comes with you."

“He's here, Paul," the father answered. "I'll call him now." He picked up the phone beside Paul's bed and dialed the chaplain's office. "Hello? Daniel? Is Scott still there?"

Father Torelli answered, "Yes."

“Would you put him on, please? ...Scott? It's me. You can come up here. There's no one here with your father except George Fox and me."

"Fox is there! Are you sure it's safe?" Scott asked nervously.

“Yes," the priest reassured, "Now get up here. Your father's anxious to see you."

"Are you really sure it's okay?"

"I'm positive."

Scott could barely contain his excitement. "I'm on my way!"

Father Schrade put the receiver back down. George looked at him and asked, "What was that all about?"

Father Schrade smiled as he said, "I think I'll just wait and let Scott tell you."

Scott burst into his father's room full of joy and relief. "Dad! Thank God you're alright!"

“I'm fine," Paul answered with a smile. He gestured for Scott to sit on the bed beside him. The boy complied. "Where were you?" Paul asked gently. "I was worried. You said you were coming this afternoon. When it got dark and you didn't come..."

Scott looked at Mr. Fox, then Father Schrade, then at his father. "I did come," he began, "but I saw a guard standing outside your door this afternoon, and then I saw Mr. Fox and some other military guy come out of your room. I thought they were gonna take you away. I... I thought he'd betrayed us. I was so scared I ran back to Father Schrade's place."

"You ran back?" Paul asked, shocked.

"Yeah."

"That's five miles!"

“Tell me about it. My lungs are still aching and my legs feel like rubber."

Paul laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Scott." With a sympathetic grin, he teased, "At least you'll be in shape for track season."

Scott's eyes bulged with surprise. "Yeah, right," he smiled and laughed. Serious again, he asked, "But why were those military guys here?"

George took the initiative. "I think I'd better explain that, Paul."

When Fox finished, Scott turned to his father and asked, "Does he mean to tell me that he and that guy Wylie are gonna have to live with us?"

"Yes."

With a look of anger, Scott spat out, "I don't believe this!"

“Believe it," George replied. "The general wouldn't accept my report. He wants to know, absolutely and positively, that you and your father are not a threat to us or the country. I'm afraid your father had no choice in the matter. Either he accepted the offer or General Wade would've hauled him off to Building 11 right then and there and we'd be hunting you down, too."

"Dad, I never imagined we'd be having Mr. Fox and that other guy... "

"His name's Ben," George cut in.

“Yeah, well, I never thought we'd be rooming with them! And how long's this gonna be for, anyway?"

“Until the general feels satisfied you aren't a threat," George replied.

"How long's that gonna be?" Scott demanded unhappily.

“I don't know," George replied, "but I can venture a guess it might be for at least a year, maybe more."

"A year!"

Paul tried to calm his son. "Scott, I had no choice."

“It isn't fair, Dad! You answered everything he asked you, and he promised they'd leave us alone!"

"I know."

“I'm sorry, Scott," George offered sympathetically, but the teen turned on him angrily.

“Yeah, I'll just bet you are! I should've known it was too good to be true!"

Paul tried to reason with his son again. "Scott, if we want our freedom, this is our best chance. I don't want to run forever to spend the rest of our lives in captivity and eventually die. I want to be free. I want the same for you. Can you understand that?"

"Yeah," the boy sighed.

“I knew you would," Paul smiled. "And it might not be as bad as you think."

"Yeah?" Scott answered with a sarcastic snort.

It was George's turn to try to calm the teen. "Just think how I feel, Scott. I never thought that I'd be living with you or your father, either. I thought I'd be moving on to another assignment, do my eight to five shift, and go home to my apartment every night, but General Wade changed all that. I had to find some way to keep your father out of confinement that would be satisfactory to the general and your father."

"So why you and what's-'is-name?"

“Because I suggested it rather than someone else. I believe in your father now. I trust him. The general doesn't want anyone to know about you two other than the people who already do, so .... "

"So when does this arrangement start?" Scott wanted to know.

“Right now. I've told Wylie about the general's orders and he's making all of his arrangements in D.C. and taking care of a few of mine as well. He'll join us in a few days. Then it'll be on a twenty-four hour basis as soon as your father gets out of the hospital. I think I convinced the general that your father isn't going to run away from us. That's why he agreed not to post a guard outside the room."

"And I gave my word neither of us would try to escape," Paul added.

“You'll be living with me at the hotel until your father gets released," George said.

“But I'm living with Father Schrade until Dad gets released," Scott rebelled.

"That'll have to change. I'm sorry."

"Dad?"

Paul looked sadly into Scott's pleading eyes and empathized with his son.

When no answer came from his father, Scott turned to the only other person there he thought could help with his situation. "Father?"

“You'd better do as Mr. Fox says. I'm sure he'll take good care of you."

"Yeah, sure,"

Fox patiently tried again. "Scott, it's not like we're keeping you prisoner."

Scott's anger exploded. "Isn't it?" he snapped. "One of you'll be watching what we do and writing down everything we say every second of every day! We won't have one minute of privacy! If you don't think that's being a prisoner... "

“No, Scott, it's not," Paul said. "We'll be living together. There's a difference. We can still go where we want to or where my work takes us; and as for privacy, I'm sure George will allow us some every now and then. I know you don't like this, but it's the only chance we have. Please try to make it work ...for both our sakes?"

"What choice do I have?"

“None," Paul replied as he watched his son hang his head despondently. Gently taking the boy's arm, he softly continued, "C'mon. It won't be so bad. At least we still have each other. Isn't that the most important thing?"

Scott still tried to avoid the inevitable. Lifting his head and looking at his father, he asked, "Do we really have to, Dad?"

"Yes," Starman replied.

“C'mon, Scott," George started, "I'm not a monster, despite what you may think of me. I'm not the bad guy. I don't want to hurt your father or you, but I have my orders and I'm afraid it means you and I must live together. That's simply the way it has to be if you want to get your eventual freedom."

Scott groaned.

Father Schrade placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to comfort him. He could feel the boy's resistance. A couple of minutes passed in silence as Scott forced his turbulent emotions to simmer down.

The priest decided to leave. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have other patients I must visit. When I'm ready to return to the rectory, I'll stop by here and pick you up, Scott. Then we'll go and you can pack your things."

“If you don't mind, I'll just come with you in your car, Father." George asked.

"That'll be fine."

“We'll take a taxi from there to the hotel. I'll arrange for a rental car in the morning."

Scott remained silent and his heart sank as he watched these two men make their arrangements for his life.

After Father Schrade left the room, Scott continued to eye Fox suspiciously. Already in a depressed mood, he finally muttered out loud, "I feel like a Ping-pong ball."

"What?" Paul asked.

Scott repeated, louder, "I said I feel like a Ping-pong ball! My whole life's been like that. I get bounced back 'n forth between one person or place and the next, and it doesn't seem to matter what I have to say about it! First Mom had to give me up; then the Lockharts died. The state shoved me into Leland Hall until you came along. Then we kept on moving because of Fox. And now I've gotta move in with him!"

"But I'll be living with you, too."

Still disgusted, Scott mumbled, "Yeah."

"So what's the problem?"

“None, I guess," the boy sighed, "...but geez, Dad, living with them? That's gonna take some getting used to ...if we can get used to it."

“We'll all have to get used to it, and I know we can. All we have to do is try." Paul gazed at his son and noticed something else was bothering him. "Scott?"

The boy was distracted, still contemplating the idea of living with his former enemy. "Yeah?" he answered softly.

"What else is wrong?"

“Nothin'." Scott stared at his father. Intense love and terrible loneliness spilled out from those dark eyes. "I miss you, Dad. When are you gonna get out of here?"

“I don't know," Paul replied. "The doctor said my recovery is progressing nicely, so I assume it shouldn't be too long now."

“He's right, Scott," Fox said. "Just hang in there. You'll get your father back soon."

"Yeah, sure."

About an hour later the priest returned to Paul's room. He asked Scott and Mr. Fox if they were ready.

“I guess so," the boy replied.

The short drive to the rectory passed far too quickly for Scott's liking.

While Scott packed his duffle bag with his few possessions and grabbed his father's bags, George called for a taxi.

"Good-bye, Father," Scott said. "Thanks for everything."

Father Schrade embraced the boy and hugged him. "Good-bye, Scott. Now you take care of yourself, and keep up with your studies."

"Gee, you sound just like Dad."

"Well, thank you," the father grinned.

"You still gonna come and see us?"

"Sure, whenever I can until you move on."

That brought a smile to Scott's sullen face. George opened the door to the cab and climbed in, but Scott hesitated. Taking a deep breath of the cold winter air and letting it out, he finally sat down in the back seat with George and shut the door.

As the car pulled away, Scott waved good-bye to Father Schrade one last time. George spoke up to try to change the gloomy atmosphere that permeated the air. "You want to go get a hamburger?" he asked.

"Huh?" Scott jumped, deep in thought.

Fox repeated the question. "I said, do you want to go get a hamburger?"

“No," the boy answered. After a momentary pause, Scott looked at Fox and asked, "Can we go back to the hospital?"

"Why?"

"'Cause I want to see him again, okay?"

"Your father needs his rest."

"Please, Mr. Fox?" Scott begged.

George could see Scott was going to be a handful, but he gave in. "Alright. I guess we can see him again for a short while. Driver, take us to St. Michael's Hospital."

"St. Michael's ...okay."

“Thanks," Scott said.

The taxi dropped them off in front of the main entrance. George paid the driver and they both went up to Paul's room. To lighten Scott's load, George carried Paul's duffle bag.

Paul was surprised to see his son and Fox again. "What are you doing back here?" he asked. "I thought you left with Father Schrade."

"We did," George replied.

"So I thought you were going to go to the hotel afterwards."

"It seems Scott wanted to spend a little more time with you."

Paul sensed his son's sombre mood. "Scott," he began gently, "...visitation is permitted only until eight o'clock. It's almost that now."

“You saying you didn't want me to come back?" the boy countered defiantly.

“No, I'm not saying that ...Why are you yelling at me?" Starman asked, perplexed at his son's sudden hostile tone.

"I'm sorry."

“Apology accepted. Now what's wrong? ...Does it have something to do with moving in with George?"

Scott glanced from his father to Fox and remained silent, standing like a soldier prepared to fight. Paul knew he had found the crux of the problem. "George, would you mind leaving us for a few minutes? I'd like to speak to my son alone."

“Sure. I'll be in the lounge down the hall. I'll come back in say, ten minutes?"

Paul nodded, and thanked the agent as he left the room. When he was out of sight, the Starman spoke to his son with gentle reproach in his voice, "Scott, you know this is foolish. You're only delaying the inevitable."

"Yeah, I know," the boy sighed.

"Then why the ruse in coming here? You know you have no choice."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it."

“Well, I'm not exactly enthusiastic about it either," Starman confessed, "but I'm not going to fight it. I'll do it because I know I have to. You must, too. You're sixteen years old, Scott. By Earth standards that's almost an adult. It's time for you to face the situation and act responsibly. You can't run away every time you don't like the way things are going. That isn't life and it isn't you."

Scott felt a little embarrassed as he said, "Time to grow up, huh?"

“Yes," Paul smiled. "George is doing his best to help us now. I think you know it was unnecessary to drag him here with you again. We have to live with them and you have to face that."

"I guess you're right. It's time to stop acting like a baby."

"Yes. It'll be alright. You'll see."

Scott eased up and started smiling again. "I hope so. But I still wanted to see you some more. That part wasn't a ruse."

Paul took his son's hand. "And I'm glad to see you. I miss you."

George entered the room, happy to see a relaxed look on Scott's face instead of the 'doom and gloom' mood. "I take it you've straightened things out."

Paul and Scott both answered, "Yes."

Scott looked at George and apologized. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fox. I guess I'm ready to go with you now."

"Good. I don't know about you, but I'm getting hungry."

"You two haven't eaten yet?" Paul asked.

Both George and Scott said, "No."

“Then I think you should go and eat dinner. Thank you for bringing my son and stopping by again," Paul told the agent.

"My pleasure," Fox replied.

Scott stood up. "See you tomorrow, Dad."

"I'll be waiting," Starman smiled.

Scott and George headed for the door.

Before they left, Paul called to his son, "When you come tomorrow, bring me your math book so I can get ready to start you on the next chapter."

"Aw, Dad!" Scott cried.

“No 'aw, Dad.' Bring me the book," Starman ordered, "and be sure you keep up your studies. Remember, I'll be testing you on the chapter you're on just as soon as I'm released from here."

“Alright," the teen sighed. "C'mon, Mr. Fox," he urged, "let's go before he decides to test me on everything else."

Scott hurried into the corridor.

George stifled a laugh, bid good-bye to the Starman, and softly said, "I'll keep an eye on him and make sure he studies."

“Thank you," Paul answered.

Paul closed his eyes. As much as he appreciated his son's extra visit, he was still very weak and tired easily. Just trying to keep his human body functioning through this illness had taken nearly all of his strength. The medicines and treatments were helping to fight this infection that had nearly taken his life, but there was still a long way to go to total recovery. All he needed was time; and since he and the FSA had sort of 'made peace' with each other, he had plenty of time now. The minutes passed and soon he was asleep.

George asked the taxi driver to suggest a family-style restaurant and take them there. He thought perhaps treating the boy to a meal might begin to break some of the barriers that existed between them. Living together required a certain degree of cooperation, and George hoped Scott would accept this offer as a first move towards a more friendly relationship. Scott's attitude had improved since the talk with his father about 'growing up'. The boy thanked him and wolfed down the meal with great delight. George smiled, pleased to see his gesture was met with approval.

George opened the door to their suite and stepped inside. "Well, this

is it," he said, "your home and mine until it's time to move on. C'mon and I'll show you where you can put your things."

Scott looked around the place and hesitantly followed Fox into the suite.

George went to the bedroom, pointed to the beds and said, "Pick whichever one you want. Wylie and I'll share the other one." He showed Scott the chest of drawers and told him, "You can store your clothes and stuff in here," then walked to the far wall, "and the closet's over here. Okay?"

"Yeah," Scott quietly answered.

The agent continued, "The bathroom's this way ...kitchenette's there."

After they had settled in somewhat, George reminded Scott of his father's instructions to study.

Scott gave Fox an icy look, but complied. Sitting on the bed, he started to go over his math lesson while George watched a football game on TV in the main room.

As their first hour together in the hotel wore on, the sounds of a cheering crowd coming from the TV in the other room proved too much for Scott's teenaged heart to resist. He closed his math book and walked into the living room, then sat on the couch at the opposite end from Fox.

George looked at the boy. "I thought you were supposed to be studying," he said.

“I just can't seem to get into it tonight. I heard the cheering... the game. May I watch, too?"

"What about your studies? Your father is expecting you to..."

“Aw c'mon!" Scott protested, "Not you, too! What did Dad do, tell you to make sure I study? I think I've had my face plastered in that book ever since Dad's been in the hospital! Just ask Father Schrade, he'll tell you! I haven't watched TV at all!" In a calmer tone he continued, "I just don't feel like studying tonight. I've reviewed everything I'm supposed to. I know the chapter by heart. Can't I just skip it and watch the game with you?" he begged. "Please?"

George grinned, remembering when he had those days, and relented. "Yeah, sure... c'mon'n watch."

Scott's face beamed a smile. "Thanks. Who's playin' and what's the score?"

“Patriots against the Dolphins... Dolphins got the lead, twelve to five."

It was almost midnight when the game ended. After watching the post- game review, both Scott and Fox headed for bed.

“Thanks for letting me watch," Scott said. "I promise I'll study tomorrow," he added.

"No problem," George replied.

After a moment the boy appealed, "Please don't tell Dad we watched football."

"Why not?" the agent asked, puzzled. "Doesn't he like football?"

“Like it? He doesn't even understand it! 'It's just a bunch of huge men running around a field chasing a little ball,'" Scott said, imitating his father. "You wanna try explaining football to him?"

“No, thank you," George chuckled, and turned off the light. "Good- night, Scott."

"Good-night, Mr. Fox."

George lay there in the dark, thinking about what the boy said. After a minute, he asked the teen, "Does he really consider football nothing but a bunch of huge men running around a field chasing a little ball?"

“Yeah," Scott sighed. "He feels the same way about soccer and baseball, too. And don't even bring up boxing or wrestling. He won't even allow me to watch those. He thinks it's cruel, ugly and too violent. He says, 'they have no redeeming qualities and serve no purpose except to hurt others.' He'll never understand sports. G'night."

Scott fell asleep quickly, quicker than he would have imagined under the circumstances.

George watched the boy in the dim moonlight filtering in through the curtained window. When he was certain that Scott was indeed asleep and not likely to get up and run away, he, too, succumbed to his body's nightly need.

It was seven-thirty in the morning when George first stirred. He immediately looked to see if his charge was still asleep in the next bed. Getting up quietly, he went into the bathroom to shower and shave. Upon emerging from the daily morning routine, he observed that Scott was still asleep. Shaking his head, he mumbled to himself, "That kid's going to sleep 'til noon before he decides to wake up. Maybe the smell of breakfast will change that." George dressed himself, went into the kitchen and started preparing two breakfasts of eggs, fried sunny side up, hash browns, bacon, orange juice, a coffee, black ...and milk.

Scott woke to the aroma of a country breakfast. When he opened his eyes, he was frightened, until he refamiliarized himself with his surroundings. Oh yeah, the hotel, he thought. The fear began to disappear, until George showed his face in the doorway. Once more he was startled.

“Well, you're awake. I thought some food might do the trick. C'mon and get up or the food'll get cold. I took the liberty of making breakfast for you."

"Okay, thanks," Scott answered sleepily.

The boy crawled out of bed, slipped on his jeans and yesterday's tee shirt, then joined Fox at the small table in the corner of the main room.

George noticed how skittish and tense the boy was. Scott ate quietly and kept his face down. Occasionally, he sneaked a quick glance up to see if George was watching him.

To George, it looked like the boy was taking in his surroundings, trying to determine the best avenue of escape. As they continued eating, he saw Scott gradually calming down and relaxing. Still, he made a point to keep a watchful eye on the boy.

Scott finished his breakfast. "That was good," he said.

“Glad you liked it. I've got some final arrangments to finish up and I need to call for that rental car. You'd better finish your studying like you promised."

“Yes, sir," the boy answered as he got up from the table.

George went to the phone and began dialing. There were still a few details to iron out to make this operation work. It seemed the little things always managed to get overlooked and George planned to straighten some of them out now.

Scott went into the bedroom, got out his clean clothes, then entered the bathroom and proceeded to take his shower. When he came out, he sat on the bed and reached for his math book. He started reviewing the chapter his father planned to quiz him on.

By mid-morning George had finished making calls and taking care of all the forgotten little details he could think of. He quietly walked up to the bedroom door and stood there for a moment, watching the teenager. When Scott looked up, he asked, "You ready to go to the hospital?"

“You bet!" the teen replied, eager to get away from his lessons. He quickly jumped off the bed, went to the closet, put on his jacket and headed for the front door when George called him back.

"What is it?" Scott asked.

George noticed the boy was empty-handed. Remembering the instructions Paul gave to his son, he wasn't about to let Scott pull the old excuse, 'I forgot.' Looking at the teen, he told him, "Your math book. Your father asked you to bring it to him, remember?"

Scott sullenly retrieved the book, and muttered, "you're no fun."

A smile crossed George's face as he heard Scott's quiet grumble. For a half-alien, he's remarkably like any other teenager, the agent thought. George grabbed his coat and they left.

Paul had just finished eating his lunch when George and Scott entered his room.

Scott cheerfully called out, "Hi Dad. How you doin'?"

"Alright, I guess," Paul responded.

George seated himself in one of the chairs. Scott stood beside his father for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed.

Paul studied his son's face before asking the critical question. "Well, how did last night go?"

"Okay."

"See, I told you it wouldn't be as bad as you thought."

“Yeah, I guess you were right." Scott presented his father with the math book. "Here."

"Did you study?"

Scott looked at Fox and then at his father. "Yeah, I studied," he replied.

Paul had his suspicions. "Why do I get the feeling there's an aura of partnership here? George?"

Scott protested. "Dad! I studied, okay?"

"Did he?" Paul quietly asked the agent.

Clearing his throat first, Fox answered, "Yes, he did."

“Good," Paul smiled, satisfied. "I'll read the next chapter. After I've memorized it, then you can study it."

“The problem with that," Scott related to George, "is I think Dad's got a photographic memory, because when he says 'after I've memorized it, then you can study it', he means, literally, after he's read it one time. I wish I had his memory. I'd fly though classes."

Paul looked confused and raised his eyebrows in his familiar questioning look. "Fly?"

Scott grinned at his father. "Pass with flying colors, Dad. It's just another saying."

As they talked, a nurse came in to take Paul's vital signs. She stopped beside his bed. "How are you doing today?" she asked the Starman as she pulled out her stethoscope.

“Okay," Paul replied. No sooner had he said the word then he began another coughing spasm. The spasms no longer left him breathless, but they were still painful and racking.

She waited for the fit to subside. "Okay, hmm," she chided Paul as she listened to his breathing, then took his temperature and blood pressure.

"I guess not," he said and grinned sheepishly.

The nurse smiled at Paul and left. When she was out of sight, Scott started laughing. George began chuckling too.

"You sure messed up that time, Dad."

"I guess I did, didn't I?" he smiled.

“I'll say, ...'I'm okay,'" he said as he imitated his father, then began a fake coughing spasm that ended in laughter.

Paul was feeling quite tired and told his son and George that he wished to go to sleep for a while.

Scott and George hung around for a few more minutes and just watched in silence, glancing occasionally out the window as Paul closed his eyes. George finally turned to Scott and whispered, "let's go and grab a bite to eat."

"Okay," the teen agreed. Before leaving he called, "Dad?"

"Yes?" Paul asked without opening his eyes.

“We're gonna go and get something to eat. We'll be back in a little while. Okay?"

"Mm, hmm," Paul murmured.

George and Scott walked out of the room.

When George and Scott returned from their lunch, they were alarmed when they walked into Paul's room and saw another patient occupying his bed. George went to the nurse in charge of the unit and asked where they had taken Forrester. She told him he'd been transferred and she gave him the new room number. He and Scott went to find it.

They entered the room and Scott smiled, relieved to see his dad. The scare had shaken him, and reminded him once more just how much he loved his father and how terrified he was at the idea of losing him.

George was just as relieved as Scott to see Forrester. He didn't want to lose the man either, though not because of any love, but because Paul was his responsibility. He couldn't imagine anything worse than having to explain to General Wade, after his promise and Forrester's that neither Paul nor Scott would try to escape, the why's, when, or how's if Forrester did disappear.

Paul appeared to be asleep. George quietly pulled up one of the visitors' chairs next to the bed and sat down while Scott gingerly sat on the corner of his father's bed, trying not to disturb him.

Paul felt some motion at the far corner of his bed, opened his eyes and saw his son sitting there.

"Hi, Dad. Did we wake you?" Scott asked. "I'm sorry if we did."

“No, you didn't. I never fell asleep. Just as I was about to after you and George left, they came in and moved me to this room."

“Yeah, we found out when we walked into your old room and you weren't there. It scared me."

"It scared me, too," George added.

Paul was genuinely surprised. "George," he asked, "you don't really believe I'd run off, do you? I gave you and General Wade my word. And I'd never leave without my son. Also, I'm not strong enough to run yet."

“No, I know you promised and I trust you, but it still was a little unnerving to find you missing. General Wade would have my head for lunch if I told him you were gone."

Paul assumed the expression was just another usage of English slang, but it still drew a surprised look from him which Scott picked up immediately. "Ah,Dad... it's another... "

“Saying, ...I know," he smiled. "Where do you get all these expressions? I'm not sure I like that one. Eating another person's head... for lunch? It sounds savage, primitive... "

“Alright, Dad! Enough! We get the message," Scott sighed, exasperated. "Mr. Fox won't use the term again. Right?"

"Right," George confirmed sincerely.

The boy continued lecturing his father. "You've gotta stop taking everything we say so literally. Half the time we don't say exactly what we mean anyway."

"Yes, I've noticed," Paul replied.

Their conversation continued with small talk and humor taking up most of the time. Scott enjoyed playing around with words with his father. It was often fun just to watch his father's facial expressions and interpretations to slang, double-meaning words and expressions, and all the other strange and wonderful applications the English language had to offer.

At the same time, George was carefully studying the Starman to see just how much he did or did not know. Sometimes George was quite surprised when Paul understood something he didn't think the alien would know, and at other times he was very amused to hear or see, Paul's interpretation of a common statement we all know and don't give a second thought to.

When Paul's dinner arrived, George and Scott thought it best to leave. They said good-night to the Starman and left.

The next few days of Paul's hospitalization went by much the same as when he had first been admitted for care. George and Scott would come by around noon and stay with the Starman until after he had eaten his dinner, in early evening. Most of the time was spent with Paul teaching Scott the lessons from his textbooks and reviewing the material.

George silently observed the interaction between father and son as teacher and student, He made mental notes for his report to General Wade. He found it interesting to see that Paul, indeed, was very good in all of Scott's subjects. He also agreed with Scott's statement that Paul had a remarkable, perhaps photographic, memory. He required only one reading to know the material. George smiled as he continued to watch his charges.

Scott was a little disgruntled when his father decided to give him that promised math test. Paul was feeling stronger now and decided to give his son the test before his release, rather than afterwards, as he had said previously.

Scott protested as any normal teenager would, but quickly accepted the inevitable when father cornered son with, "You told me yesterday you were ready, that you knew the material. Were you trying to be slick with me again?"

When Scott sheepishly replied "no," Paul smiled and issued a challenge: "Then show me," he said.

Scott reluctantly took the sheet of paper and pencil his father held out to him and began solving the problems his father had prepared.

The silence quickly got on George's nerves and he began to speak to Paul. "That stuff gets pretty complicated. I took a look and I can't understand it. Of course, it's been so long since I've been in school, I've forgotten how to do it."

"If you'd like, I can teach you."

"No, thanks!" George said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Scott looked up, irritated. "Hey, cool it, you guys! I'm tryin' to take a test here. How am I supposed to concentrate if you two are talking?"

"I'm sorry," Paul said. "I'll be quiet."

"Yeah, me too," George apologized. "Sorry."

Paul smiled and he and George took turns watching each other and Scott.

Around twenty minutes later, Scott stopped writing and looked at his father with a broad grin on his face.

"All done?" Paul asked.

"Yeah."

Scott looked over his work one more time just to be sure and handed the paper back to his father.

Paul began to check each of Scott's answers. It took him less than a minute. "Very good, Scott, but I see one mistake, so one answer is wrong."

The happy smile quickly disappeared from Scott's face and he jumped to his feet to look at the paper with his father. "Where?" Scott demanded.

Paul pointed. "Here. You just made a simple error. You should have put the X here, not here. Of course that alters the rest of your solution."

"So what is the correct answer?"

“You want to figure it out?" Starmam asked, hoping his son would take the initiative.

"No. Show me."

“Give me the pencil." Without any hesitation, Paul wrote down the solution. "There. That's the correct answer."

“Well, I'm not a genius, you know!" Scott exclaimed. "Fourteen out of fifteen ain't bad."

“No, it's very good. I'm proud of you. Just practice these some more and you'll do fine. You want me to make up a couple more problems?"

"Uh-uh. Fifteen's enough."

“One's enough!" George piped up. "I'm amazed you know that stuff, Paul."

“I know a lot of math. I needed to use it every day in my profession. This is really very simple."

“Simple?" George asked, astonished. "If it's so simple, then why do you even read the chapter if you already know it?"

“I read it because I need to see what stage my son is in and how it's presented. I can't give him problems in advanced calculus or trigonometry if I don't know what he's already learned. And I need to know which process he's supposed to be using to solve the problems."

“I see. Well, you can keep your calculus, I'll stick to simple addition, subtraction, division and multiplication. No fancy stuff for me."

“Simple arithmetic is alright if that's all you need, but Scott needs much more than that." Paul returned his attention to his son. "Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"The next test I'll be giving you will be in history."

"Aw, Dad!" the teen protested.

“Why is it you always object to my testing you?" Paul asked, perplexed. "Every time I tell you I'm going to give you a test, no matter what the subject is, it's always, 'Aw, Dad!'" Scott was silent and offered no answer to his father's question.

Inside, he felt guilty and knew his father only had his best interests at heart. Still, he hated tests.

“I'm trying to give you an education," Paul continued. "You have to have an education if you want to, as you say, 'make it in this world.' Everyone deserves an education. It's your birthright and my responsibility as a parent to see that you get it."

"I know," Scott replied guiltily.

"Then why do you dislike it so?"

“I guess because I'm just being a plain normal kid and we're supposed to hate tests and school."

“Oh. That's not a very good excuse." Paul saw Scott's eyes shoot up quickly. "But it's being human, hmm?"

“Yeah," Scott answered quietly. "I'm sorry, Dad. You're a great teacher, really. I'd rather have you than a regular teacher any day."

"Well, thank you. I guess that means I'm doing alright."

Scott chuckled, "Yeah, you're doing better than that."

The afternoon sun had set and the fading colors in the sky gave way to the evening darkness and shining stars. After Paul finished his dinner, Scott and George left to go eat theirs and return to the hotel. Not long afterwards, Father Schrade surprised Paul with an unexpected visit. It had been a couple of days since the priest had come by and Paul was glad to see him. He enjoyed their talks.

Father Schrade equally enjoyed talking with Paul. After all, how often does one get to chat with a being from another planet? As their conversation drifted to subjects hitting closer to home, the priest confessed to Paul that the events of Christmas Eve had had quite an effect on him.

“Meeting you and Scott inspired me to begin a campaign to help the homeless people in the area. After last Sunday's service, I approached the parishioners about establishing some sort of shelter. I also asked if anyone could donate blankets and food or clothing. The response was remarkable and much has already been collected."

Paul listened with great interest as the priest told him how very fortunate it was that a wealthy member of the congregation had offered the use of an abandoned warehouse as the shelter.

"And I'm responsible for this?" Paul asked.

"Partially, yes."

"What did you tell them about me?"

“Oh, not anything specific. I just said that God had answered our prayers for you, the special man I had told them about, and you were recovering from your illness. But I also just happened to mention that you and your son were homeless. It touched people's hearts when I told them you came to the church sick, hungry and cold, with nowhere to go to get out of the freezing weather, and with a son to take care of. Then I told them to think about all the other people just like you, who unfortunately have to suffer, and to thank the Lord and count our blessings for what we do have. I said to them, there is something we can do, if we are willing to open our hearts and act. The result is the fund and shelter. Hopefully, it'll save other people, even if it's only one or two, from dying from the cold or hunger. It's terrible to see that. It shouldn't happen."

"You didn't tell them that I'm ... "

“Oh, no," Father Schrade answered as he caught Paul's meaning. "I never mentioned that you weren't from here ...Earth, I mean. Are you kidding? Who'd believe me? Even I find it hard to believe at times. Besides, I think Mr. Fox would jump all over me and the Church both if I told anyone else, even my superior. He specifically warned me not to mention your origin to anyone."

"Yes, I kind of figured he would say that," Starman smiled.

“Paul, when you get out of here, I'd like you and Scott ...and Mr. Fox, too, to come to the next Sunday service. I'd like the people to meet you."

“I don't know about that, Father. I don't want to draw any attention to myself or my son. Besides, I don't think George would approve."

“Well, talk it over with him. I'd like the people to meet you. If it wasn't for you, this project wouldn't exist."

"I'll talk to George about it, but I can't promise we'll be there."

“Fair enough." As Father Schrade answered, Paul yawned. The father took note of the time and Paul's unconscious signals of fatigue. He bid the sleepy extraterrestrial good-night. Paul thanked the priest for the visit and settled more comfortably in bed. After Father Schrade turned off the overhead light and left the room, Paul closed his eyes and slept.

When George and Scott arrived back at their hotel room, they settled into what had become the evening routine, Scott studying for around an hour and George watching TV. Scott finished his studying, then joined George on the couch. They were in the middle of watching a movie on some cable channel when there was a knock at the door. George asked Scott to answer it.

The teen opened the door. He stood there frozen in silence and momentary fright. Benjamin Wylie was standing in the hall with a pile of suitcases beside him.

Scott steadied himself, trying to think about what his father had told him about growing up and facing the situation. He'd known this man was coming, it wasn't a total surprise; yet all the preparations he'd made in his mind for this moment had disappeared when he saw Wylie's face. Right now he wished his father were here or he were with his father.

Wylie and Scott looked at each other in silence for what seemed like an eternity to the boy. When it became obvious to Wylie, Scott wasn't going to move aside or speak, he took the initiative and finally asked, "May I please come in?"

Scott took a couple of unsteady steps backwards.

Wylie entered and spotted his boss. "Hello, Mr. Fox," he greeted.

"Ah, Wylie. I'm surprised you made it here so soon."

“Yeah, me too. If you wouldn't mind helping me, sir, I've got your stuff out in the hall."

George stood up. "Oh, good. Scott, will you help get the luggage?" "Uh... yeah," Scott mumbled, still in shock. Some of the fears and

doubts he had about living with George Fox were gradually being buried, and he had calmed down somewhat in the few days they'd been together. But now, the uneasy feelings came back in a rush. He remembered the time he and this man, Wylie, were locked together in that hospital room in California. He felt like he was trapped in there again and wanted to run out of the room.

Taking a deep breath, Scott walked into the hall and grabbed two of the suitcases and dragged them into the bedroom. George was busy talking with Wylie while Scott finished getting the other pieces of luggage. The boy stood by the bedroom door in silence, listening to the men as they discussed the arrangement and him.

The rest of the evening was spent with George trying to calm Scott down and aquaint him with his partner, Benjamin Wylie. George had noticed the boy's skittishness and anxiety had returned with his partner's arrival.

When it was time to go to bed, Scott found he had difficulty trying to fall asleep. George's calm assurances finally won him over and he managed it.

The next morning, though, was an exact replay of the first morning Scott had spent with George. Ben frequently looked back and forth between Scott and his boss during breakfast, finally deciding to try some small talk with Scott to break the silent stalemate. Scott answered the man's questions in one syllable responses. Wylie decided it was a start. By mid- morning, they were engaged in a more relaxed conversation.

Paul had just finished another session with the respiratory therapist. The therapist was quite pleased with his progress. She told him the collapsed lung was almost cleared, and he was responding well to treatment. She informed him that further sessions with her were unnecessary, but she urged him to continue the breathing exercises at least once a day on his own, until his recovery was complete. The woman said good-bye to Paul and wished him the best with his recovery, then left the room.

Paul was strong enough now to take a slow walk daily up and down the corridor, with assistance if needed. As his strength returned, he was encouraged to walk further and more often. He was getting quite restless lying in bed, so he decided to get up and take a look out the window.

Overnight, another storm had deposited several inches of fluffy white powder, but a warm front moving in had changed the precipitation to rain, which froze on contact with the colder ground and objects. The trees and everything else in sight now glistened like crystals in the sunlight with the thick coating of ice.

As he looked outside, he thought how lucky he was to be alive to see such beauty. He was also thankful to be enjoying that beauty from the comfort of a warm room, even if it was in a hospital. Silently he offered a prayer to the Creator, his English translation for the Almighty, thanking Him ...and George. This image should be preserved, he thought, not just in my memory, but for all to see and share. If I only had my camera. While he continued to gaze outside, he wondered, why not?

Acting on the idea of the moment, Paul went to the phone beside his bed and called his son at the hotel.

George answered the telephone and was surprised it was Paul who was calling. With recognition came a sudden feeling of panic and George nervously asked, "Is there something wrong?"

Paul calmed the FSA agent down, and asked to speak with Scott. There was a momentary silence as George passed the receiver to Paul's son.

When Paul heard Scott's voice, he explained in detail what he had seen and the reason for the unexpected call. Scott told his father he would be happy to bring the camera when he came to visit.

“And don't take too long getting here," Paul emphasized. "I want to take the pictures before the ice melts."

"We were just getting ready to come see you."

"Okay, that's good. Don't forget the film."

"I won't." Paul said good-bye to his son and hung up the phone. He stood up and

walked to the window again, pushing the rolling IV cart ahead of him.

George asked Ben if he wanted to come along to see Paul, but Ben declined, saying he wanted to finish unpacking and catch some more sleep after yesterday's 'run here, dash there' trip. George and Scott left for the hospital.

Paul heard the orderly walk in with his lunch and got in bed again. Besides slowly regaining his health, his appetite had also returned with a hearty vigor. He was in the middle of eating his meal when George and Scott walked in the room.

"Hi, Dad," Scott called out.

Paul swallowed the mouthful of food and greeted his son and George.

Scott showed Paul the camera bag. "Here you are. Film's in it."

"Thank you. Go take a look out there. It's very beautiful."

“Yeah, pretty to look at," George said with a frown, "not so great to drive in. Be thankful you don't have to. It's really hazardous out there."

"I'm sorry. I didn't think about that."

Pushing the remains of his lunch aside, Paul got up, went to the window again and took the camera from his son's hand. He took several shots, then returned to bed again and finished eating. "I think I'll try a couple shots at sunset. It should be even more beautiful with the twilight colors in the sky. Maybe I'll take a few more tonight when you can see the headlights of the cars on the highway."

"You really like photography, don't you?" George asked.

“Yes. There are so many beautiful things to see. It's too bad people don't take the time to look and appreciate what they're seeing."

"What?" George asked, confused.

“I've noticed people look," Paul said, "but they don't really see what they're looking at," he explained. "They miss a lot."

"We do?"

“Yes."

Around an hour later, Dr. Irwing walked into the room with some good news. He informed Paul he was going to be released soon. The doctor expressed some concern however about the release of a patient who had nowhere warm and secure to stay. He knew he couldn't keep the man in the hospital all winter, that would be ludicrous, but he didn't want him to suffer a relapse either. This bout of pneumonia had nearly cost Paul his life. The most the doctor could do would be to delay his release for a few more days. His concerns were put to rest, though, when George Fox informed the doctor his patient would be staying at the hotel with him.

"But George," the Starman started, "I don't have any money for..."

The agent held up his hand and Paul fell silent.

The doctor was pleased to hear his patient would be well taken care of and said, "In that case, I'll probably release you this Friday." He excused himself so he could finish his rounds.

After Doctor Irwing left, George told the Starman, "We've redirected the funding I received for my 'alien project.' Technically, the Government's footing the bill for you and Scott until you're fully recovered and can support yourself. We discussed it when I called General Wade to finalize some arrangements."

"Speaking of jobs, Dad, what are you going to do?" Scott asked. "Well," Paul replied, "I was thinking of going to see if I can collect

what Mr. Harmon owes me from my last job, then I'll see if he has any more work for me."

"And if he does?" George asked.

"Then we'll find an apartment and stay until there is no more work."

"And if he doesn't?"

“Then we pick someplace," Scott replied, "any place, and try to find a job."

“If I can't find work, then we just keep movin' on until I do," Paul told him.

"Sounds real exciting," George said with a little hint of sarcasm.

Paul looked at the agent and told him candidly, "It's the way Scott and I have lived for the past two years." Returning his attention to his son, he noticed the boy was daydreaming. "Scott?" he called.

Scott kept thinking about the doctor's news. "Man, I can't wait to have you back," he said excitedly. "Friday. That's just two more days, Dad!"

Paul smiled. "Yes. I can't wait to join you, too. I'll be very happy when they remove this needle from my hand. I'm tired of being stuck with needles."

"Better you than me," George said.

"Excuse me?" Paul asked.

“Sorry," George told him, "I didn't mean it that way. It's just I hate needles, too."

It was the Friday everyone had waited for and Paul was excited about being released. The hospital was starting to feel like some sort of prison. Maybe now I can get a good night's sleep, he thought. The doctors and nurses kept waking him at all hours of the day and night to give him pills and shots, take blood pressure readings....

George broke his train of thought. "Are you ready?" he asked.

“Yes, but we have to wait a few minutes for the nurse's aide to come back. She said she had some instructions to give me and a prescription for some medication the doctor wants me to take."

The 'few minutes' turned into more than an hour. The nurse's aide finally came in pushing a wheelchair and carrying some papers on a clipboard. She handed the papers to Paul. "Now be sure to follow these instructions, get plenty of rest like the doctor told you and don't forget to take your medication. You'll find a slip there with a prescription you should have filled immediately. And here is an appointment card. Dr. Weston wants to see you again in three weeks."

"But I might not be in the area. I move around a lot."

“Well, the number is on the card. You can call the doctor's office and make other arrangments."

"When can I return to work?"

“Dr. Weston suggested that you rest and stay in bed for at least another week, then see how you feel. Now, if that's all settled," she pointed to the wheelchair, "please take a seat and we'll get going."

"But why do I have to sit in that?" Paul asked. "I can walk."

“Hospital rules, Mr. Forrester. All patients must be wheeled to the door. Now, if you please..."

Paul reluctantly sat down in the wheelchair. The aide pushed him out into the corridor and towards the elevator. They entered and she pushed the floor selector for the lobby. "We'll just make a stop at the cashier's and get you officially discharged, then you're free to go."

“Paul," George said, "I'll go get the car warmed up and wait for you at the entrance." He asked the aide, "Which door will you be taking him to, Miss?"

"The one next to emergency in back. You know where it is?"

"Yes. Be waiting for you, Paul." With that George left to get the car.

They stopped at the cashier's and picked up Paul's bill, then the aide took a pair of scissors and removed Paul's identification bracelet. The Starman almost made a scene when he insisted he could now walk the rest of the way to the door, but a subtle look from Scott convinced him he'd better stay where he was and let the aide continue to give him a ride. He remained seated until they saw George's car pull up.

“Well, Mr. Forrester, this is it. Remember your instructions and take care of yourself," the aide reminded him.

Paul smiled and gladly stood up. "I will. Thank you for everything you've done for me."

"You're welcome. Good-bye now."

Father and son walked out the door. As soon as they were outside, Paul closed his eyes and lifted his face upwards into the bright sun, taking a deep breath of the cold air. "You know, Scott, it feels so good to breathe fresh outdoor air again."

George was holding the passenger door open. "And it's freezing cold, too. You want to get pneumonia again? Get in the car. I've got it heated for you."

Paul and Scott got in the car, Paul in front and Scott in back. George closed the door and went back to the driver's side. "First thing is to get you to the hotel and into bed. I'll send Wylie to a pharmacy to get that prescription filled."

Paul silently stared at the agent for a moment, then murmured, "Yes, George," while Scott gave Fox the 'Oh brother, here we go,' look and sighed.

As George drove to the hotel, Paul began thinking what the coming situation was going to be like. He had reassured his son everything would work out that night Scott came by unexpectedly after dinner. The boy was full of apprehension at the very thought of moving in and living with the man who had relentlessly pursued them since his return. Now, he was experiencing the same misgivings Scott had. Some things will be different. Scott will be with me, Paul thought. But what are George Fox and Ben Wylie really like? He didn't know that much about these two men. Until Christmas Eve, George had been obsessed with repugnance and prejudice at his very existance. Their talk on Christmas Eve had changed the man and Paul began to see the kinder, gentler side of the FSA agent. George had even become sort of protective, and unconsciously showed how much he cared for them. But Wylie was an unknown.

Paul remembered Wylie from the time George and he had captured him in California and handcuffed him uncomfortably to a wooden chair. Wylie was quiet and seemed pleasant enough. His personality, or what Paul had seen of it, wasn't as rough as George's was. But he hasn't even come once to the hospital with George or Scott to visit me, and neither George or Scott ever mention him, except they told me he'd arrived. Why? Paul asked himself. Is he afraid of me?

Paul was so engrossed in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed they'd arrived at the hotel parking lot or that George was calling his name and shaking his arm. "Paul?"

"Dad?"

Paul blinked his eyes and came out of his trancelike stare. "What?"

"We're here," George said. "C'mon."

When they reached their room, George opened the door and gestured Paul and Scott inside. The Starman looked around the room and let his nervously racing heart slow its pace down a bit.

“Well, here we are," George said. He spotted Wylie coming out of the bathroom, looked at Paul and asked, "You remember my associate, don't you?"

"Yes, hello." Wylie stayed by the bathroom doorway, curtly nodded acknowledgment of

Paul's greeting and just watched as Scott showed his father around the suite.

The boy took his father to the bedroom and pointed out which of the two beds was theirs. He then suggested his dad should get in and rest.

"I am feeling a little tired," Paul admitted.

George noticed the time and asked the Starman if he was hungry. The discharge time was supposed to have been around eleven, but then there was the delay while they waited for the aide to come with the discharge papers and instructions. It was now early afternoon and none of them had eaten lunch yet.

George asked everyone what they would like. Paul let Scott choose their lunch. Wylie told his boss he'd been snacking while waiting for them, so he wasn't hungry. "In that case," George said, "you can go find a pharmacy and get

Forrester's medicine. ...Paul, give me that prescription."

The Starman pulled out his wallet and gave George the piece of paper. He looked inside the billfold and counted what was left of George's gift. "How much is this going to cost?" he asked the agent.

“I don't know, but put your money away," George insisted. "General Wade and I agreed to pick up any charges for medication after your release."

Paul slowly pocketed his wallet. "Okay," he resigned, "but I'm beginning to not like this arrangement. You're doing me favor after favor without compensation. As my son would say, 'I'm beginning to suspect a rat.' I'm grateful to the general and you for my medical treatment, but I will not be bought. You do not own me and I do not and will not owe you. I hope you both understand this."

“Yes, I know. We're not trying to buy or own you, believe me. This is just a temporary condition until you are completely well and can support yourself. Alright?"

"Okay."

Before Wylie left, George suggested he also pick up some other items he anticipated Paul might need, such as an ample supply of tissues and a dosage measuring spoon for the cough syrup.

“Lunch'll be ready in about twenty minutes," George said as he went to the kitchen.

After eating, George went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Wylie returned while they were eating, and Paul went to sit next to him in the living room. Scott stayed at the table, studying as his father ordered.

“Wylie?" Paul asked. The man looked at him and he continued, "Do I ...make you feel ...uncomfortable?"

"No."

Paul tried to think of how to say what was on his mind without offending the man. "Then, may I ask why you haven't spoken to me?"

"Uh, I didn't know ...quite what to say to you," the agent replied.

"Oh."

"May I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Would you tell me what happened the night Mr. Fox found you?"

"Didn't he tell you?"

"Yes, but I'd like to hear it again from you."

Paul smiled and started the story. Wylie sat back on the couch and listened with increasing interest as Paul unfolded the tale from a different perspective. As he finished the part about Scott somehow getting hold of George's gun, and then doing the right thing by returning it, he could see his listener wanted to say something.

"Scott was very brave to do what he did."

“Yes, but I'm not sure it was bravery. I think he did what he did out of desperation and fear. He was just trying to protect me and perhaps, himself, although he went about it all wrong. It's not my or my people's way to cause harm or injury to another. Scott is a part of me. I'm just thankful he listened to me and gave the gun back to George." Paul continued with the story.

As George came out of the bathroom, he noticed the Starman was not in bed. He heard the murmurings of conversation in the living room and went to join them there. "What are you two talking about?" he asked.

"What happened on Christmas Eve," Paul replied.

"Oh."

"It's an amazing story, Mr. Fox," Wylie said.

“Yes, it is. General Wade seems to think so, too, I also think he's trying hard to believe it."

Scott finished his studying and walked over to join everyone. "Believe what?" he wanted to know.

"What happened on Christmas Eve," George said.

“Oh. Gee, Dad, that reminds me, I never even got you a present. I'm sorry." “Well, I didn't get you one either," Paul told him, "but I think we both got our presents anyway."

"We did?" Scott asked, perplexed.

“Yes," Starman answered with a smile. "You've got me and I've got you. Material things aren't necessary as long as we have each other and each other's love."

"You're right. Thanks, Dad."

"Thank you, Scott."

Paul went into the bedroom, sat down on the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. George followed him and stood by the doorway. "Hey, what are you doing?" he asked.

“I'm going to take a shower," Paul replied. "I haven't had one since before Christmas. I feel ...dirty."

"Are you sure you're up to it?" George asked concerned.

“I think so," Starman smiled. He gathered his clean underwear and went into the bathroom.

George went to watch TV with Ben and Scott.

Paul came out of the shower a few minutes later dressed in his briefs and went to the bedroom. He put his pants and shirt in his duffle bag and climbed back into bed. Settling himself comfortably under the blankets, he listened to the television playing in the living room for a while, then closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Wondering why the Starman did not join them, Scott decided to check on his father during a commercial break. The boy went to the bedroom and noticed his dad was asleep. He returned to the living room and informed George and Ben of his finding. Everyone made a concious effort to keep quiet so as not to disturb the Starman. They watched TV until it was time for bed.

It was the third morning for the foursome at the hotel and everyone had just finished eating breakfast. Paul went to the bedroom while Scott turned on the TV in the living room to watch whatever caught his interest. Wylie decided to join Scott and sat down beside the teenager. George followed the Starman. "What are you doing?" he asked when he saw Paul go to the closet and take out his leather jacket. "You're supposed to stay in bed."

“I was thinking of seeing Mr. Harmon at the magazine office. I need to collect the three days' pay he owes me and find out if he has any more work."

“No. You're not supposed to go outside for at least a week," the agent commanded.

“Please?" Starman begged. "Not one more minute in this bed. I feel strong enough."

George relented. "Well, okay. Just let me get my coat on and I'll drive you."

"Thank you."

Scott overheard his father and asked, "May I come, too?"

“No," Paul replied. "You study your history, and no more TV. When I come back I'll be giving you a test on that chapter."

"Aw, Dad!" Scott cried. "That's all I do all day long!"

Starman repeated the order with finality. "Study!"

"Yes, sir," Scott answered resigned.

"We shouldn't be long," George told Wylie as he and Paul left.

“Yes, sir," the agent responded.

After George and Paul walked out of the room, Wylie tried to cheer the boy up. "I'll help you if you like, Scott. I'm pretty good at history."

But Scott turned Wylie down. "No, that's okay. Thanks for offering, though."

Scott sat down at the tiny table with total distaste at having to spend more time in front of a school book. Ten minutes later he slammed the book shut.

Wylie looked up at him, startled at the sudden noise. "What's the matter?" he asked.

“I'm sick of studying!" Scott complained loudly. "That's all I ever do when Dad's around, just study, study, study! I can't stand to hear the word anymore!"

Wylie didn't say anything to the boy. He watched as Scott moved away from the table, went to the window and stared down at the snow-covered ground below. He had often felt the same way himself and knew that too much study and no play could ruin Scott's attitude towards school.

Scott began speaking softly to Wylie, but actually it was more to himself. "You know what I want?" he said. "I want to go outside and have a snowball fight or build a giant snowman ...just for the fun of it. But it's impossible. You can't have a snowball fight with yourself. There's no fun in that. And I can't ask Dad."

"Why not?"

“Ha," Scott said disgustedly, "show's how much you know! I'd have to explain for hours why we like to throw snowballs at each other, build snowmen, go sledding, even though we're too old to do those sorts of things, just because we're human. Explaining everything to him takes all the fun out of it." Finally he added in a guilty voice, "...And he doesn't want me fighting in any form, not even make-believe."

The room fell silent as Scott continued to stare out the window.

Even though he was on duty and considered himself too old to do what the boy wanted, Wylie decided to see if he would accept a substitute. What the hell, I might even enjoy it, he thought. I haven't done this in years.

Quietly, he asked, "You really want to have a snowball fight... and build a snowman?"

"Yeah."

“Well, how about building one and having a fight with me?" Ben suggested.

Scott was taken completely by surprise. "With you?" he repeated.

"Sure, why not? That is what you want to do, isn't it?"

“Yeah," he said, slowly smiling. "But what about when Dad and Mr. Fox come back?"

"So leave 'em a note and let's go have a little fun."

Scott's mood brightened immediately. "Awright!" he exclaimed.

After they both bundled up, Scott wrote a very short note to his dad and Mr. Fox. He left it on the table and they went out the door.

George eased the car into a vacant space on the street, not far from the back entrance to the newspaper office. He turned off the engine and glanced at Paul who wore a smile on his face, anticipating what lay ahead.

Paul grabbed the camera bag he'd brought with him. They got out of the car, shut and locked the doors, then walked down the street to the building.

Once inside, Paul approached the dark-haired, middle-aged woman sitting behind the reception desk and asked, "Is Mr. Harmon in?"

“Yes, he is, Mr. Forrester," she answered. "If you'll just take a seat I'll tell him that you're here."

The secretary picked up her phone, pressed the intercom button and told her boss Paul Forrester was there to see him. A few seconds later, the door opened a crack and a thunderous voice came booming out. "Forrester, get in here!"

Paul and George looked at each other.

"Good luck," George said. "Sounds like you're gonna need it."

Paul stood up and nervously walked into Mr. Harmon's office and closed the door. Harmon continued his verbal assault. "You've got a hell of a nerve showin' your face back here!" he roared. "I give you an assignment and you run out on me before it's even finished! When I give you a job, I expect it to be completed! What I don't need are irresponsible photographers on this paper!"

"Please, I can explain... ," Paul said.

But Harmon would not let the Starman get a word in. "They warned me about you. They told me you were a wild card, a rogue, that you couldn't be depended on, and they were right! I should've listened to them. What did you come back here for, anyway?"

“I came to collect what you owe me and to see if you had any more work."

“You came back to collect money?" Harmon asked astounded. "Listen Forrester, I don't pay for pictures I don't have and I wouldn't give you an assignment if you begged me on your hands and knees!"

“But I have the pictures right here," Paul said as he tried to hand him the roll of film.

“Too late," Harmon replied. "I hired a reliable photographer and I have my pictures. I don't need or want yours, Pulitzer-prize winner or not. Now get the hell out of my office and don't you dare come back! You do and I'll kick you outta here personally!"

"Won't you even let me explain what happened?" Starman begged.

“You don't hear too good, do you?" the unforgiving editor retorted. "Well maybe you'll understand this: you're fired! I don't want to hear your excuses. Now get out!"

Paul put the now-worthless film back into the camera case and left. George stood up and looked at Paul as he walked over. "Well?" he asked.

“He fired me," Starman replied dejectedly, "then told me to get out and never return."

"Didn't you tell him you were in the hospital?"

"I tried to, but he wouldn't let me explain anything."

“I'll straighten this out," George consoled. He took a couple of steps, ready to burst into Harmon's office, but Starman lightly grabbed George's arm, stopping him.

“I would rather you didn't," Paul said resigned. "Just forget it and let's go."

"What about collecting your back wages?"

“He doesn't pay for pictures he doesn't have and he refused to take the film. He said he already found someone else to replace me and that person got the pictures he wanted. As you would say, I'm out of luck. Let's go. I'm feeling tired and I'd like to get back into bed."

“Okay, if that's what you want."

George drove Paul back to the hotel in silence. He was unsure if Paul was quiet because he had just lost his job or if it was fatigue associated with trying to return to normal activities too soon after the devastating illness he had suffered. The pneumonia had taken a lot out of the Starman and he still hadn't recovered all his strength.

In any case, George planned to take care of Forrester, and right now, that meant giving him as much rest as possible. George turned the radio on, setting the volume on low and continued driving, while Paul leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

George pulled into the hotel parking lot and they went up to their suite. Paul opened the door and walked in with George following behind.

There was no one in the room. Paul spotted the piece of paper on the table along with Scott's school books. He walked over and picked it up.

"What does it say?" George asked.

Paul read the note. "'Gone to the park to build a snowman and have a snowball fight.' Fight! George, we've got to stop them. They could get hurt."

“Let me see that!" George barked, snatching the note from Paul's hand. "Snowball fights, snowmen, baloney. This has to be a joke."

"It's not a joke," Paul insisted. "That's my son's handwriting."

“Well, okay, don't worry," the agent replied as he read the note. "Wylie's watching Scott, although this isn't the way I had in mind."

"But they're fighting!" Paul said distressed.

"No, they're not. Haven't you ever had a snowball fight before?"

"No," Paul replied quite frankly.

“Well, everyone does it when they're a kid and adults sometimes do, too. It's nothing to worry about. We'll just wait for them to finish having their fun and come back. But right now, you should get undressed and climb into bed."

Paul nodded and slowly complied with George's order, while George sat on the couch, turned on the television and watched a movie on some cable channel.

Paul had been thinking about Father Schrade's request to come to the next Sunday service. This seemed as good a time as any to bring up the question, so he called the agent to the bedroom. "...George, there's something I need to ask you."

"Sure, what?"

“Father Schrade asked me if Scott and I would come to the next Sunday Mass after my release from the hospital. He'd like you to come, too. He said he wants to introduce me to his congregation."

"No, absolutely not."

“I told him that's what I expected you to say. I'm sure he wouldn't say anything about who I really am. What harm would come if they did meet me?"

“I don't mind if the people meet you, Paul, but what if someone should ask why you and Scott were in that situation, and someone probably will. You can't tell them you were Federal fugitives. That wouldn't go over very well and then everyone would be curious, not to mention, frightened."

"I'd still like to go." "I would rather you didn't," George persisted.

“I want to thank him for taking me in and helping me ...and them for their prayers and well wishes."

"I don't like it."

“George, I want to go," Paul insisted, and saw the agent about to argue. Before George could say anything, Paul continued, "You and General Wade said I was free, to go where I want and do what I wish. Are you terminating our agreement? Am I free or not?"

Paul had tactfully backed the agent into a corner. George let out a sigh. "No, I'm not terminating the agreement. You are free. ...Alright, I won't stop you, but I do have a suggestion."

"What."

“Show up after the service when everyone's gone and thank him if you must, in private."

“But the congregation... they want to meet..."

George's tone of voice reflected his growing irritation. He never expected Paul would resist him like this. "So relay the message," he said sharply. "Tell him to tell them you and Scott are grateful for everything. Since when are you religious, anyway? Do you even have a religion?"

“Yes, I have a religion," Paul answered calmly, and continued, "not in the same way you do, but both your religion and mine believe in the same thing; you call it God, we call it the Creator."

There was a long pause as George thought about that. He believes in God, like we do.

Paul did not want a confrontation, especially with this man. It was dangerous to argue with George. He took a deep breath and said, "I'll take your suggestion under consideration."

But the agent responded irascibly, "You do that." George started back to the living room to watch the movie, but before he was out of sight, Paul called him again. "Yeah, what?" he asked.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry."

George stood there for a moment, but didn't say anything to Paul. He left the room.

Paul pulled the covers higher and lay awake, wondering if George had accepted his apology. He hoped so. This was their first disagreement, albeit minor, since they were living together. He did want to go to the service, and if nothing came up between now and Sunday, he would exercise his promised freedom and go, regardless of George's objections.

While Paul waited for his son to return, he sincerely hoped not too many more of these disagreements would occur. If they did though, and push came down to shove, he hoped George would not react in anger and take away his freedom.

There was a fine line between allowing someone their freedom, and being controlled, and Paul knew, therein lay the danger. Like it or not, he knew he had effectively been placed under George's control. He hoped George would not abuse it.

It was getting dark by the time Scott and Wylie had finished the snowman. Some of the local children and parents had helped in building it, too. The thing had to be ten feet high.

"That looks great!" Scott said.

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" Wylie replied, slightly out of breath.

"One more snowball fight?" the teen pleaded.

“No, I'm bushed," Wylie said shaking his head. "And look at the sky and the time. Mr. Fox'll kill us if we don't get back. They're probably climbing the walls right now waiting for us."

“Yeah, you're right. Dad's gonna kill me for not studying like he told me to."

"I'll talk to him. C'mon, let's go."

They started back toward the hotel. Twenty minutes later, two frozen icicles walked through the door.

When Wylie and Scott entered, George eyed them with obvious disapproval. "Well now," he said sarcastically, "did you two have fun building snowmen and having snowball fights?"

"Yes, we did," Wylie answered, standing his ground.

As Paul appeared in the living room, George said to his associate, "I wanna talk to you, later."

"Scott, are you alright?" Paul asked.

“Of course I am. What did you think, I was gonna get hurt or something?"

"Yes."

“See? What did I tell ya?" Scott said, looking at Wylie. Then turning to his father, he went on, "Well I'm not hurt, honest. I had a great time. What about you? How did the job interview go? You get more work?"

“No," Paul said hanging his head. Scott pressed his father for an explanation. "What happened?"

Paul looked up and told his son, "Mr. Harmon fired me and told me never to come back."

Scott empathized with his father. "Oh. ...So what now?"

“Tomorrow George and I scout the area and see what's available. Hopefully, I can find something. And I want to talk to you, too. Now."

Paul gestured for his son to join him in the bedroom. Scott glumly followed his father, braced for the chewing out he knew was coming, the same as Wylie expected from Fox. Once they were inside, Paul shut the door.

Paul quietly stood by the door and watched as his son sat down on the bed and began taking off his soaking wet shoes, socks, pants, jacket and gloves. Leaving the wet pile on the floor, Scott went to the dresser and pulled out fresh clothes, returned to sit on the bed and began putting on the dry things.

It was obvious to the Starman that his son wasn't going to offer the awaited explanation without some prodding, so he began. "Why weren't you studying like I told you to?"

“Dad, I'm sick of studying!" the boy exploded. "I studied with Father Schrade all day long, every day, when you were in the hospital. And that's all I'm doing now, too."

"You need your education."

Scott's voice grew more angry, "And I need a little fun in my life! Or have you forgotten that I'm only human? I'm not a computer, you know. I don't work like a machine, processing data and storing it all day. Sometimes you have to throw away the books for a little while and enjoy life! That's all I wanted to do. I don't want to sit here day after day and minute after minute with my nose buried in a book... but you don't seem to see that."

"No room to grow, huh?" Paul asked quietly.

"No!"

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was pressuring you too much. Why didn't you tell me?"

“Because every time I said something," the boy retorted, "you just kept saying 'you need your education.'"

"Well, you do."

"Dad!" Scott cried, exasperated.

Paul reached out and laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "Scott, I understand. I know you're a human being and not a machine. You need rest and play, but I don't want you to forget your education."

"I won't!"

“Alright. Tell you what. Let's start fresh," Starman suggested. "I'll make sure I try to give you enough 'room' and you keep up your studies and tell me if I'm pushing you too hard. Deal?"

“If you promise to listen to me the next time I tell you you're crowding me, then it's a deal."

Paul nodded. Father and son looked into each other's eyes and smiled. Paul began picking up the soaked clothing Scott had thrown on the floor, took them to the bathroom and hung them up to dry.

When he came out of the bathroom, he asked Scott if he was ready for the quiz he'd told him about. Scott gave his father an icy look, replaying in his mind the conversation of a few minutes ago about 'starting fresh,' but backed down when Paul reminded him, "I told you I was going to test you when I got back. Now, are you ready?"

Scott sighed and asked his father for five minutes. Paul agreed and the boy grabbed the history book for some quick cramming. "And I'll give you another astronomy lesson tonight with the sphere, just like we did a few months back. Okay?"

Scott grinned with delight. "Awright!" he quickly replied.

As Paul and Scott went into the bedroom, George jumped on Wylie like a father with an errant child.

“What the hell is the meaning of going to a park and having a snowball fight? You know how old you are? Or do you? You're supposed to be observing the boy."

“So I did!" Wylie retorted. "I watched him. I didn't let him escape and he didn't want to! Didn't you tell me they were free to do what they wanted, and we're here just to observe them? Where does it say in the rulebook that you can't have a little fun at the same time?" Before George could answer, he continued, "Scott was feeling very depressed - angry is more like it. He was sick of studying. All he wanted to do was go outside, take a little break and have some fun. He explained why he couldn't ask his father to do what he wanted. I just thought maybe I would make a good substitute. He said 'yes' and we went out."

"Well maybe you can explain to me why Scott couldn't ask Paul."

Wylie recounted Scott's words in detail while George listened.

George nodded. He understood.

Scott passed his father's quiz and then he and Paul joined Wylie and Fox to watch TV until it was time to turn in for the evening.

After everyone had settled into their beds and George turned out the light, Paul reached for his sphere on the nightstand. "Are you ready?" he asked Scott.

"Yeah!" Scott responded, excited.

"Ready for what?" George asked.

Paul explained he was about to give Scott a lesson in astronomy with his sphere. He tried to reassure George and Wylie that it was nothing to be afraid of and what they were about to see would not harm them. "You might even enjoy it."

"Yeah! Wait'll you see this! C'mon, Dad, do it!"

Paul activated his sphere and the night sky 'appeared' in the room in 3D, the lights of the tiny stars floating in mid-air. Both Paul and Scott stifled back giggles as George gasped, "Oh, my God!", and Wylie followed with, "Amen!" Soon though, both agents were enjoying the star show in the room as much as Scott.

“George?" Paul asked, and added, "You remember me telling you about using math in my profession?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"This is where I used it... my, job, if you will."

"I see. What exactly did you do?"

"I was a pilot, navigator, and map-maker of the stars."

"You mean you made astrological maps?" Wylie asked, astonished.

"Yes. The universe was my playground. I could go anywhere."

"Do you miss it?" George asked, sincerely.

There was a long pause before Paul answered, "Sometimes."

George and Wylie asked Paul if he would reproduce the astrological constellation of their birth month and Paul readily complied, showing them what their 'sign' looked like from different angles as he rotated the stars, simulating how he saw them from space. George laughed as he told Paul he couldn't recognize his 'sign,' "if you were to put it in front of my face," which Paul literally did. It was well after midnight before Paul called an end to the lesson, saying he was getting very tired. Everyone was disappointed the lesson had to end.

George was excited beyond belief at what he'd seen and promised himself to ask the Starman for another lesson as soon as possible. The study of astronomy had never been as interesting as Paul had just made it. Next time, he planned to ask Paul if he would show them his home.

The next morning, George and Ben were still excited by the previous night's lesson. Paul knew George would be putting what he had seen into his weekly report to General Wade. That thought still evoked some inner fears. He hoped these reports detailing his various abilities with the sphere would not jeopardize his and Scott's chances for freedom. He told George as much and added, "I want to emphasize to you, and especially to General Wade, I would never hurt anyone, with or without the sphere. I'm trusting you to make sure he understands this, George."

George gazed into Paul's eyes and knew what he was hinting at. "I'll do my best to see that he does. That's all I can do."

After four days of unsuccessful job hunting, Paul decided it was time to call this city quits. He and George went back to the hotel room. Once more, Scott asked his father if he'd found a job.

“No," Paul replied. "There seems to be nothing here for me. I think it's time to go."

“Yeah, it almost seems like your father's been blacklisted," George told Scott. "No one even wants to get near him. I wonder if Harmon ....?"

"You wonder what?" Paul asked, cutting in.

"If Harmon put the word out to everyone not to hire you. I could... "

"It doesn't matter, George. I can find work somewhere else."

"Okay, if that's the way you want it."

"So where we goin'?" Scott asked.

Paul took a deep breath. "I don't know," he said. "We could pick another city or I can call Liz and see if she can find me something."

Scott became alarmed when his father revealed that secret. "Dad!" he said in a harsh whisper, "Why're you telling them?"

“Scott, they're going to find out about Liz sooner or later. I need a job. I have to support us. We can't go on living on General Wade's or the Government's charity forever."

"Is that Liz Baines in Chicago?" George asked.

"Yes."

"So, she's been with you all along."

“Yes," Paul nodded. "She's helped me get jobs when I couldn't find work. If it hadn't been for her help," Paul paused and looked sadly into George's eyes, then quietly finished, "I don't want to think where Scott and I would be right now."

That evening, Paul picked up the telephone and called Liz Baines and told her of his employment situation. Liz told Paul she'd do her best to try to find something for him. While they talked, she ran possibilities through her mind, and suddenly remembered someone in Chicago needing Paul's talents. She asked him if he'd come. Paul told her to wait a second while he asked his son.

Paul covered the receiver with his hand and turned around to see three pairs of eager eyes awaiting his next response.

"Well?" Scott asked.

“She says she may have something for me right now in Chicago. Would you like to go there and see her again?"

"Yeah! You bet!"

Paul smiled and once again directed his attention to the phone. He informed her Scott had accepted the invitation with delight and without hesitation. "We'll leave here tomorrow morning."

"Uh, I'll send you bus tickets... or plane tickets. Where are you?"

“Thank you, Liz, but it isn't necessary. We'll drive there. It shouldn't take more than a day or two. I'll call you again when we arrive."

“Okay, I'll expect you tomorrow or the day after, but don't take too much longer getting here or that job might go if it isn't taken already. I'll check on it. Oh, it'll be so good to see you again!"

"It'll be good to see you, too. Good-bye, Liz."

"Good-bye Paul."

Paul hung up the phone and turned to face his son and the agents.

"Maybe you should've told her I was coming with you," George said.

"Yes, I thought about that, but I don't know how she'd take the news."

“I guess we'll find out when we see her, but I know what I'm expecting her reaction will be."

"And what is that?"

“Oh, let's just say it'll be something like Nagasaki or Hiroshima in World War II."

Paul looked at George with a puzzled expression. "What was that?" he asked.

"Explosive."

“Oh."

By mid-afternoon the second day of driving, they were in Chicago and

checked into another hotel. Paul promptly called Liz and arranged for a meeting. She suggested her favorite restaurant at six-thirty that evening. Paul agreed, still not telling her he'd be bringing guests.

Liz walked into the restaurant and froze in her tracks when she recognized the two men with Paul and Scott. She was ready to run out, but Paul's smile and a wave of his hand assured her it was all right. She sat down across from Paul and Fox, and next to Scott.

"Hello, ...Ms. Baines," George said.

Liz held her voice down. "Paul? What the hell is going on? What are they doing here?"

“Please, just try to relax, I'll explain." Paul started the long story. "... and that's the deal," he finished.

Liz turned to Fox. "You know what you are, George?" she said.

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"You're a bloodsucking, blackmailing, leech!"

"Am I?" George said with that obdurate smile.

"Yes!"

"Liz, please, I had no choice," Paul said.

"He's right, Ms. Baines. It was either that or... "

“...or you'd've hauled him off and he'd be dead. Just what I said, a bloodsucking, blackmailing leech!"

"Liz, ...please?" Paul begged, trying to calm the woman down.

“Did I ever tell you Paul," she said as she took a bitter breath, "what he did after I helped you and Scott get away?"

"No."

“He ...started prosecution procedures against me for helping you and Scott. He said I made a fool out of him and he wasn't going to forget it. He would've gone through with it, too, except I countered with a little threat of my own. I told him if he did prosecute me, I'd make sure his name would be plastered all over every two-bit tabloid from here to Moscow. I also told him I'm sure the people would love to read about how much money they've wasted funding his alien project to capture you."

Paul was stunned and asked George, "Is that true?"

"Yes," the agent answered.

"And?" Paul asked Liz.

“He backed off and dropped the charges. I shouldn't have. I should've gone through with it and done the article. It was a big mistake on my part."

There was a long silence as the bitter adversaries eyed each other. Neither George nor Liz spoke, and Paul could see the obvious hatred that still existed between the two.

“Paul, mark my words, don't trust them!" Liz pleaded. "They won't keep their promises. Just when you're positive you've got them convinced you aren't a threat, they'll grab you and lock you away somewhere until you die. They have no intention of letting you go, despite what General Wade told you."

“Ms. Baines..." Fox started, but Liz cut in before he could say any more.

“Don't listen to him, Paul. He'll betray you just as sure as we're sitting here, believe me. They're all a bunch of liars. I've dealt with enough of 'em to know."

“Ms. Baines, we're not liars. I'm going to do everything in my power to see that he's not incarcerated. I'm on your side now ...his side. General Wade will keep his promise. I have his word."

“His word!" she exploded. "His word is just as good as yours - worthless! I know how your people operate, Fox. You use people and manipulate them to your own ends."

"Just like you do," George responded defensively.

“The difference is, I don't try to hurt them the way you do. Paul... you can't trust them."

"Liz... I am going to trust them. I have to."

Liz began another verbal protest, but Paul reached across the table and took her hand. In the instant of the touch, he felt her strong fear, concern for his and Scott's safety and her animosity towards Fox and the FSA. Speaking softly, he tried to calm her down. "Trust has to begin somewhere."

“Paul, they haven't shown me a shred of evidence that that trust is deserved. You're taking an incredibly dangerous chance here. It's your life you're gambling with ...and Scott's! If it wasn't for them... you wouldn't be in the position you're in now. I don't want to see anything happen to you."

“Yes, I know. ...I knew there would be some risk, but I have to believe it'll turn out alright."

Liz took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She looked George straight in the eyes with a fire that was hot enough to turn rock into lava.

She began to address the FSA agent in such a tone of voice that they all knew exactly what Liz thought of their 'deal.' "I'm going to believe Paul ...and put my trust in you this one time, Fox, only because he wants me to; but, if anything fishy happens to them, like suddenly disappearing, I'll be pointing my finger at you," she threatened. "And I'll be doing everything in my power to make your life absolute hell. I'll spend my last dime and fight you to my last breath to see you burn. Before I go to my grave, I'll see you there first. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Fox?"

“Oh, very," George smiled that irritating smile, and continued in a tone of voice that dripped with sarcasm, "Just let me say this, Ms. Baines. Before you start taking the road to revenge, it's best to dig two graves, one for your victim and one for yourself. Remember, I can make your life hell, too." Liz was ready to argue with George, but he put up his hand to stop her and continued, "...I do intend to see that General Wade keeps his promise. I give you my word, for whatever it's worth."

"Not much."

Paul could see how much he meant to his friends, both new and old. He didn't like the feeling of being pulled between them. "Liz... George... please, stop. I wanted us to meet here on friendly terms, not declare a war."

Liz and George looked at each other in silence. Liz broke off glaring at Fox and got on with the original purpose of the meeting. "Okay, Paul. That possibility I told you about's been taken. I'll keep looking for something for you, though. Call me tomorrow. You know the number."

"I will, and thank you."

An icy silence fell on the group. As a last-ditch way to try to verify Paul and Scott's safety and keep her own peace of mind, Liz tried another idea.

She spoke to the Starman, but stared at George, "Paul," she said, "I want you to keep in touch with me, every week. Okay?"

Paul first looked at her and then at George. He answered her in his soft voice that radiated reassurance and security. "Okay."

"Be sure to ...every week."

"I will."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

The waiter came by and asked if they were ready to order. Liz stood up and told the waiter to "forget it." She smiled to Paul and Scott and told Paul "some other time," then stormed off leaving the foursome sitting at the table. "Gentlemen?" the waiter asked.

“Give us a couple more minutes," George said. The waiter left. "Quite a tempermental little woman, isn't she?" George observed with a wry smile.

“She cares about me, very much," Paul said. "She was a friend... when I needed one the most."

"Seems you have a lot of friends like her."

"What?" Paul asked, his forehead furrowed in confusion.

“When Wylie and I were chasing you, everyone I interrogated who had contact with you acted just like she did," George explained. "They all lied to me to protect you."

“Perhaps they saw something you missed," Paul gently suggested. "Perhaps they saw me as something good, and not the menace or threat you and the others imagined me to be."

"I guess. C'mon everyone, let's go back to the hotel."

"But what about our supper?" Paul asked.

"I've lost my appetite," George said. "Let's get out of here."

Scott breathed a sigh of relief. "Sounds good to me. I wasn't in the mood for Italian anyway."

"Me either," Wylie said.

They left the restaurant and headed back to the hotel.

That night, Scott slept restlessly as an uneasy vision crept into his dreams. Their former life of constantly being on the run as fugitives once again haunted him. As he tossed and turned, he saw Fox chasing them through the alleys and side streets. Scott's breathing became heavier. "Run, run, run. No, can't stop! Keep running. Can't let them catch us!" he mumbled.

Outside their hotel room a police siren split the night with it's eerie wailing howl. Scott sat bolt upright and screamed, "No!"

Paul also sat up, startled awake by his son's scream as were George and Wylie in the next bed. George turned the light on. Paul spoke gently to his troubled son. "Scott?"

Scott blinked his eyes, looked at his father and then grabbed him, squeezing him as hard as he could.

Paul caressed his son, rubbing his hands up and down Scott's back, and softly crooned, "It's alright, Scott. It's alright."

Tears spilled down Scott's face and onto his father's chest. "Dad..."

he softly cried.

“Shh. Easy." Paul was patient and waited for his son's breathing to relax beneath his touch. He felt the boy's fear begin to ease. "Want to tell me what's the matter?" he asked.

Scott pulled back a little and wiped his face with his hand. "I... I dreamt they were chasing us again... and you and I were running for our lives." Scott turned his head and saw George and Wylie looking at him with concern. "I heard the siren and... I'm sorry."

Paul glanced sadly at the two agents, then at his son, his eyes full of tender compassion, "We understand. Go back to sleep if you can. Okay?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah." He lay down and gazed at George and Wylie. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fox, Ben. I... I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Scott," George said. "Just try to go back to sleep."

They all lay back down again, except George. He sat studying the Starman and his son. Paul returned Fox's gaze and their eyes locked. George knew in the morning, he and Paul were in for a long private talk. He lay back down and turned off the light. Hopefully, they could all get a couple more hours of sleep, if Scott didn't have the nightmare return again.

As Scott's breathing settled into the steady rhythm of sleep, Paul kept an arm around his son to ease and comfort him. He projected sensations of safety and security to the boy.

When the morning came, they sat in the hotel restaurant eating their breakfast. There was an unusual silence in the air. Scott wolfed down the pancakes he had ordered without uttering one word to any of them. That alarmed Paul, as Scott always told his father how much he loved pancakes, no matter who made them. Nor would he look at anyone for long either. Paul felt that deep down, Scott was embarrassed by last night's sudden outburst. As soon as he was alone with George, Paul planned to talk to him about Scott and his nightmare.

They returned to their suite after breakfast. Along the way, George stopped at a vending machine and picked up the morning edition of one of Chicago's several newspapers. Back in the room, they began looking through the classified ads for an apartment. The phone rang and George answered it. The voice on the other end was female. "Paul, it's for you," George said, "...Liz Baines."

Paul took the phone from George who went back to looking at the ads. Liz informed Paul there was an opening on the paper where she worked, if he wanted it, but he had to get there right away. Paul thanked her. She gave him the address and they said their farewells.

Paul relayed Liz's information to the agents and his son. Within ten minutes, he and George were out the door. Before leaving, George gave Ben instructions that they would follow up on the apartment possibilities when they returned and he and Scott should just relax and stay put until then.

As George drove Paul to the newspaper office, Paul was silent and kept his eyes on the road. George found it unnerving. "Alright, out with it," the agent said. "You want to talk about last night, right?"

"Yes," Paul replied, still staring straight ahead.

"I figured as much."

Paul looked at George for a moment, then stared ahead again. In a quiet voice, he said, "You do realize yesterday's conversation, or should I say confrontation, with Liz and you stirred up old memories and fears, Scott and I would rather forget. They are to blame for his nightmare."

"But it's over now. We aren't chasing you anymore... or him."

“He knows that, but his mind won't let him forget those years so easily. I must confess that I sometimes have a little trouble with it myself. Fortunately I realize in time that it's just a dream, so I do not scream and awaken all of you, but to him, well, he's human and still very young. His mind has to sort it all out."

"Do you have nightmares?"

"Yes," Paul answered, his eyes downcast.

“Really?" George replied, surprised. "I didn't think you did, I mean, I guess I sort of thought you were incapable of having nightmares or dreams."

“I dream just like any other human being. I find the phenomena fascinating. The first time I had a dream, it turned into a nightmare and it frightened me. I thought it was really happening. I screamed and woke up. Scott explained it to me."

"What did he tell you?"

“He said dreams were like pictures inside your head. I told him it was like watching TV with your eyes closed. It's true. And he said that not all dreams are bad, some are good. He's right about that, too - do you have nightmares?"

“Yes, sometimes," George responded quietly, "but as you might guess, they're not the same as yours... or Scott's."

Paul looked at George again. "I guess we all need a little time to heal ourselves."

“Yeah, I guess. Funny, until last night I never thought about just how much those past years would've effected Scott, or you ...or me. I guess I should say I'm sorry, to both of you."

"Apology accepted."

“Thank you," the agent said, surprised and relieved the Starman let him off the hook so easily. After a moment he asked, "Do you think Scott will forgive me?"

“I don't know," Paul replied, "you'll have to ask him."

As it turned out, both Paul and George were hired for the assignment, with George signing on as Paul's assistant. Paul explained to the editor, as George had instructed, that it was either the two of them or nothing. The editor really didn't expect or want two people for the assignment, but the prospects of getting 'Paul Forrester' was worth the additional expense of hiring his assistant. They started work immediately.

During a break for lunch, Paul called his son at the hotel and told him he'd gotten the job. He also said he and George were currently working and they would be returning sometime after five that afternoon. Scott was happy his father was employed again and relayed the message to Ben, who was standing next to him, listening.

When Paul and George returned to the hotel room, George suggested that they check on the apartment ads they'd selected that morning. He also told them they could stop at some fast-food establishment for a 'burger or something while they were out. Everyone agreed and George began dialing the phone numbers listed with the ads and making arrangements with the landlords for appointments to view the apartments. There were six suitable possibilities.

While George was busy on the telephone, Paul told his son and Ben his assignment would last at least a month or two, possibly more. Therefore Scott would need to go to school.

Like a typical teenager, the boy pouted a bit because his vacation was over.

After dinner, while everyone settled down to watch TV, Paul borrowed some paper from Scott's notebook, and a pen. Quietly slipping into the bedroom, he took off his shoes, sat up in bed with both pillows propped behind his back, and began to write.

Paul thought about Father Schrade's request once again and their hasty departure. He regretted having to disappoint the father and wrote down his apologies, explaining why he could not be there. He hoped Father Schrade would understand and forgive him. He also asked the priest to thank all the parishioners for their prayers of support for him, and to tell them he would not forget them.

George noticed Paul was not watching TV with them and wondered if something was wrong, or if the Starman might be sick again. He went to the bedroom to satisfy his concerns.

"I'm fine," Paul said. "I just needed some place a little more quiet."

George noticed what Paul was doing and asked, "What're you writing?"

"A letter," the Starman responded simply.

"To who?"

“Father Schrade. I'm apologizing for not being able to be there Sunday, as he asked."

George nodded, then pressed the edge of privacy, politeness and etiquette by asking if he could read the letter. Paul was surprised by the request, but there was nothing to hide, so he let George read it.

Afterwards, George felt ashamed of violating Paul's privacy, mistrusting him, but his job required him to make sure there was nothing that could be considered questionable in the letter. He handed it back and told the Starman, "You have quite a way with words."

“Thank you. The longer I study English, the more I learn how to use it. Do you know where I can get an envelope and a stamp to mail this?"

“Sure, at the post office, but how about waiting until tomorrow morning to do that?"

The Starman smiled and nodded. He put the letter, notebook and pen away, then joined the others to watch TV. The TV watching evolved into a discussion of Scott's enrollment in school.

Scott knew he had to go, and that didn't bother him, but some of George's imposed rules, did. "You mean Ben's going to school with me?" the boy asked, stunned at the idea.

“Yes," George said. "Those are our orders. I watch your father and he watches you." "Isn't that gonna be kinda awkward? I mean, someone his age in school?

How are you gonna explain him in class? Talk about major embarrassment here! Everyone's gonna talk."

"Let 'em. He goes to school with you," Fox reaffirmed.

Scott looked at his father with pleading in his eyes. "Dad?"

“I'm sorry, Scott," Paul responded, "but you know the agreement. If we want our freedom, this is one of the prices to be paid."

“It won't be so bad," Ben added. "Just ignore me - act like I'm not even there."

“That's easy for you to say," Scott laughed and continued sarcastically, "When's the last time you sat in school?"

"More years than I care to count," Ben told him with a smile.

"Well, things have changed."

“I'm sure, but I'll manage." Ben hoped he was right. This assignment wasn't going to be easy for either of them.

Scott shook his head, "Man, I think I'm gonna hate eleventh grade."

"You'll do fine," Paul smiled.

“Yeah, sure," Scott sneered. "What am I supposed to say if someone asks who he is and why he's following me?"

“Just tell 'em I'm your bodyguard, or say it's none of their business,"

Wylie replied candidly.

Scott rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and sank deeper into the chair. "Oh, great. Just what I don't need."

“Tell them what you feel comfortable with," George simply said, "but you may not tell anyone about this deal or that he's with the FSA. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir," Scott answered.

"Then there shouldn't be any problem."

“That's what you think," Scott grumbled under his breath.

The following morning, Paul, Scott, George and Ben walked into the principal's office to formally register the boy in school. George and Ben showed the principal their FSA identifications and George promptly gave the man a limited explanation of their current assignment. The principal asked George why the surveillance was necessary, but the agent only answered, "those are our orders." The principal reluctantly accepted the answer and started making immediate arrangements and informing each of Scott's teachers.

As Scott expected because he had no transcripts, he was told he'd have to take an equivilancy exam. "The test will be given this Friday," the principal said.

"Yes, sir."

Paul smiled and promised his son he'd help him study for the test.

"Thanks, Dad."

With the formalities taken care of, Paul and George left to go to work. "See you tonight," Paul said. "Have a good day."

“I'll try," Scott answered as his father left. He and Ben began their first day at school.

Ben sat in the back corner in each of Scott's classrooms. His presence drew attention. Scott was thankful that attention stayed on the agent and not on him.

No explanation was given by the teachers to the students for Ben's presence. As far as the students were concerned, he was 'just there.' One positive effect of the man's appearance, much to the delight of the teachers, was a return to order, silence and a renewed attention to the subject at hand. All previous rough-housing and horseplay seemed to cease with the presence of a second adult in the room, especially one so large and authoritarian in appearance as this man.

The next couple of days passed by quickly for everyone. By the weekend, the foursome had checked out of the hotel and moved into their new home. It was a spacious garrison house in a quiet neighborhood. The owners had cordoned off the top half of the house and made it into a large apartment. The rent was the real bargain, as it was a couple hundred dollars lower than the monthly average, even with heat and utilities included. When they stepped inside, however, the reason was apparent: the place needed much repair. Due to the older couple's health and the considerable money needed for repairs, they just could not manage it. As Scott had put it mildly to his father after the owner left them to discuss it among themselves, "It's a dump, Dad."

George and Ben had readily agreed, and were going to turn down the place, but Paul had his own ideas. He told them it wouldn't be a dump for long if they were willing to let him fix it up. George wanted to know what he meant, and the Starman pulled out his sphere. George objected to Paul using his 'magic marble,' but the Starman continued, "Look, money is tight right now, and we still need to buy groceries. We're not going to find anything cheaper. Give me half an hour at the most and this place can look almost brand new."

George and Ben discussed it and finally agreed. The two agents took out most of their money and pooled it with nearly all of Paul's cash advance

to come up with the deposit and the first month's rent. They all went down to see the owners to tell them they accepted and to sign the lease.

The four went to the hotel to get their personal belongings and returned to their new apartment. They set their things inside the door, then watched in fascination as Paul went from room to room cleaning, restoring and repairing, if possible, whatever needed it. The first things he fixed were the worn shades and curtains. None of them wanted prying eyes to see what Paul was doing. When the Starman finished, he faced the agents and said, "See?"

“What a difference!" George uttered, awestruck. "You can renovate my apartment in D.C. anytime," he added.

“Yeah, mine too," Ben quietly agreed.

As the days passed, the students in the class learned to ignore Ben's presence and some of the rowdier students even forgot he was there. There still was a certain amount of curiousity among some of the students, but not being able to figure it out, they stopped trying to explain the seemingly unexplainable and just accepted the situation.

During the first few days, as usual, Scott was totally alone and some boys even avoided him when he tried to introduce himself. They had noticed the invisible connection between Scott and the mysterious man who followed at a respectful distance. One boy who was also a loner, began to show an increasing interest in Scott, and during lunch one day, decided to see if he could become friends with this new student. Scott recognized the boy from some of his classes and was delighted to have the company. He was also happy the 'new fish' syndrome was beginning to wear off. He needed and wanted someone, other than Ben, to walk with and talk to. Justin and Scott quickly became friends.

After one of their classes, Justin walked part of the way to his next class alongside Scott. His curiousity drove him to ask his new friend about the man. "Hey," he whispered, "who's that guy who's following you?"

Scott looked embarrassed and tried to answer as simply as possible. "He's uh ...supposed to be watching me."

"You mean a bodyguard?"

"Sort of, but not exactly."

"Why?" Justin asked.

“I can't tell you, honest. Please don't ask." Scott whispered low enough so that only Justin would hear, "It's bad enough he has to be in school with me."

"You mean he's at home, too?" Justin whispered back.

"Yeah," Scott answered curtly.

Justin gave Scott an odd look, mystified at the information, but dropped the subject when Scott's eyes told him he'd be in for trouble if he pressed the subject any further. They parted at the staircase and Justin said, "See ya at lunch, Scott."

"Yeah, bye."

Ben followed several paces behind Scott to his next class. And so the routine went all day long, day after day.

It had been a few weeks and Scott was well-aquainted with his schedule. The guidance counselor informed Scott, he had passed the equivilancy exam with excellent grades, therefore he could continue along with his classmates. He and Justin walked down the corridor at a fast pace, trying to beat the bell before class. As they rounded the corner of the nearly empty corridor, Justin stopped short as he recognized the colors of the Stinger gang members standing there talking to another unfortunate soul caught in their midst. The low-toned conversation turned to silence as the leader spotted Justin. He broke up the impromptu gathering, releasing the boy caught in their hold and ventured over to stand in front of Scott and Justin. He pushed a finger into Justin's chest and spoke tauntingly, "Well, well, it's little ole Justin." With more emphasis, he asked, "Who's your friend?"

"Scott," Justin meekly answered.

"Hayden," Scott finished.

“Scott Hayden, huh." He turned to Justin. "Where's the twenty bucks you owe me?"

“I'll give it to ya later, okay? I gotta go now or I'm gonna be late for class."

"Aw, gee," the leader teased, "he's gonna be late for class, guys."

The other members snickered, then the leader continued threateningly, "You'll be a lot more than late if you ain't got my money! You understand?"

"I said I'd give it to you. Now let me go."

The leader stopped his threatening conversation as Ben stood behind Scott and Justin. He asked the man, "What d'you want?"

"Nothing," Ben replied.

“Then buzz off, old man," the gang leader continued, arrogantly. "This ain't none of your business."

Ben stepped in front of Scott and Justin and told the leader brusquely, "Whatever involves Scott is my business, young man." He looked at Starman's son and said, "Shouldn't you be getting to class?" "Yeah," Scott answered, glad for a chance to get out of an

uncomfortable situation. He started off to the classroom, leaving Justin behind.

“Wait for me!" Justin called out, and he ran to catch up with his friend.

"Lunch, Justin!" the leader shouted. "I'll be waiting!"

Ben stared sternly at the gang leader, then walked away to join Scott.

As they walked down the corridor, Scott asked Justin, "Who was that guy?"

“He goes by the nickname Blade," the boy answered. "I don't know what his real name is. I do know you'd better stay away from him and his gang if you know what's good for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means he's trouble, a lot of it." The classroom bell rang as the two boys walked in. "Just stay away from

him," Justin told Scott before taking his seat.

Ben took his seat in the back of the class. The teacher called for her students' attention as the lesson began.

It was three-thirty in the afternoon when Ben and Scott apprehensively walked into their apartment. Scott half-expected his father or George to be there, since they sometimes came home early. He let out a sigh in relief that neither one was home yet.

“Well," Ben said, "you've got a little more time until your father gets home."

“Yeah, thank God. When Dad sees my face and these bruises on my stomach... "

“Why don't you use your sphere and heal yourself before your father comes home? Or can you?"

“I don't know if I can," Scott replied. "I've never done it on myself before. And this may sound a little corny, but I'd rather not. It'd be dishonest if he didn't see this. I don't want him to know, but I don't wanna lie to him either and tell him nothing happened."

"You're a good kid," Ben smiled. "You know that?"

"Yeah. Dad tells me that a lot."

“Well, he's right. You are. Most kids I know nowadays would think nothing of lying to their parents."

“I used to lie to Dad in the beginning," the boy confessed, "but not anymore. I trust him and he trusts me to be open and honest with him. I'm gonna go and lie down until he comes home, okay?"

“You sure you feel alright?" Ben asked, concerned. "That's quite a beating you took."

“It hurts a little, but I'll be okay," Scott answered as he walked into the bedroom. "Man, how'd I get into this?" he mumbled.

“Don't worry, Scott. It wasn't your fault. Besides, your father is the least of our worries. What I'm thinking of is, wait'll Mr. Fox comes back with your dad and sees you. I can hear him chewin' me out now for this."

"I guess we're both in trouble, aren't we?" Scott chuckled.

"Yeah."

Scott went into the bedroom, kicked off his shoes and climbed under the covers. He was hoping he'd catch a little shut-eye while he waited for the inevitable task of explaining to begin.

Ben turned on the TV, sat down on the couch and waited for his boss, all the while thinking what it was he was going to say.

It had been a long and busy day for Paul and George. Both men were tired and hungry. They looked forward to getting home, eating dinner and relaxing for the rest of the evening. George complained about his aching feet and confessed to the Starman he'd never realized how much footwork a photographer's job involved. "All I wanna do is sit down in that recliner, kick off my shoes, prop my feet up and turn on the tube," George said.

Paul chuckled and told George he'd like to play a couple rounds of the crossword board game with whoever would join him. He'd gotten hooked on the game when Scott picked it up a couple months back and gave it to him as a belated Christmas gift. He found it a challenging and fun way to keep up his study of the English language.

They crept along at a snail's pace as heavy traffic congestion and stop lights slowed the evening commute. The first of the evening stars were just beginning to appear in the sky as George parked the car on the street in front of their apartment.

"Hi, Ben," George called out as he entered the apartment.

"Hello, Mr. Fox," Ben greeted, looking at his boss. "Paul."

"Where's Scott?" Paul asked, not seeing his son.

"He's in bed catching a nap," Ben told him.

The Starman looked at George and then back to Ben. "A nap?" he repeated with a frown. "That's unusual for Scott. Did he have a tough day?"

"You could say that."

As Paul walked to the bedroom, George asked his associate, "You in the mood for some leftover macaroni and cheese tonight?"

“Anything sounds good to me," Ben answered. "I'll set the table."

Paul put his camera bag on the floor next to the bed on his side, then walked to the other side and stood there looking at his son. "Scott," he called softly.

Scott opened his eyes and looked at his father.

"Hi. You alright?"

"No," the boy replied.

Paul immediately sat down beside his son and asked, "What's wrong?"

Scott turned his face so his father could see the bruise on his other cheek.

Paul looked sadly at Scott's face. "How did this happen?" he asked. "Was it another run-in?"

"Yeah."

"Why? Was it for the same reason as the last time this happened?"

"No," Scott answered.

"Then why?"

"I'll tell you later, okay?"

“Okay," Starman sighed. "But I do want to know why. You want me to heal it?"

“Please," Scott begged.

George appeared at the doorway just then, about to ask Paul what he wanted for dinner, and saw Scott's bruises. Paul glanced up at George.

"What the hell happened to you?" George asked Scott.

"He said he'd tell me later," Starman answered.

George called to his associate, loudly, "Wylie! Get in here!"

"Yes, sir," Ben answered with noticable apprehension.

"What do you know about this?" George demanded.

"Uh..."

"I'll tell you all about it later, Mr. Fox," Scott quickly interceded. "Alright. This should be interesting." George noticed Paul reach into

his pants pocket and remove his sphere. "What are you going to do?" he asked the Starman.

“Repair Scott's face," Paul replied as he concentrated on the sphere. It began to glow and soon the ugly red mark disappeared as the sphere both removed the pain and wiped away all evidence of the injury. "There. Better now?" he asked his son.

"Yeah."

Paul began to put the sphere away, but Scott stopped him. "There's more, Dad."

"Where?"

Scott lifted up his shirt and showed his father the bruises on his ribs and stomach. "Here," he grunted meekly.

Paul gently touched the bruises and felt the injured muscles. His throat felt constricted and he cringed at the pain. "Who did this to you?" he asked.

But Scott said, "Later, Dad. Just take care of it, please. It hurts."

Starman complied with his son's request and Scott's face visibly relaxed.

"Thanks, Dad."

“You're welcome." After a moment, he added, "Someday you're going to have to learn to do this on yourself, you know."

"I know, but for now, I'd rather you do it."

Paul just nodded and looked at his son, sorrow and pain still plain on his face. "Why is it every time you go to another school, the other kids pick on you?" he asked. Paul looked at George and Ben. "I'll never understand your human passion for violence. I'll never understand the cruelty people can inflict on one another. Why do people do these things?"

“I'm afraid that's just the way some of us are," George told him, sadly ashamed to admit that flaw in humanity. "I'm sure there's a reason for this," he continued, glaring at Wylie, "which I'll be very anxious to hear. Kids can be very cruel and don't realize it."

"These kids knew exactly what they were doing," Ben told them.

"Then why did they do this to Scott?" George asked.

"You care to tell us what happened?" Paul asked his son.

"Okay," Scott sighed.

Paul remained seated beside his son while Ben and George sat on the other bed to listen.

Scott began the story. "...and then the leader of the Stingers came over at lunch and sat across from Justin and me. Justin seemed nervous and Blade demanded the twenty bucks from him."

"Blade?" Paul asked, confused.

“Yeah, that's what Justin says his nickname is. He doesn't know the guy's real name. Anyway, Justin pulled out the money and gave it to him. Then Blade starts to tell me about the deal he has with Justin and if I didn't join him, he'd make sure I did, one way or another."

"What deal?" George asked.

"What did you say?" Paul asked at the same time.

"I said 'no way.' And the deal is protection money."

"Protection money?" Starman asked. "What are you protected from?" "No, Dad, it's not what you think. They don't protect you from

anything, except them. They threaten you is more like it. Pay up or get the sh-- kicked outta you."

Paul gave his son a disapproving look for using offensive language. "Sorry, Dad. You know how it is in school."

"No, I don't."

George looked at Ben and asked in a sarcastic tone, "Where the hell were you?"

“Eating with the teachers," the agent replied defensively. "I could see Scott and Justin from where I was, but I couldn't see who sat across from them."

“So they're into protection racketeering, are they?" George continued, "Interesting. What exactly did this Blade character say to you?" he asked Scott.

“He said if I didn't pay him ten bucks a week, he'd see that I'd get a taste of what's comin'. He said I could get protection from any of these four or five other gangs he mentioned, or I could get it from him, but one way or the other, I'm going to get protection whether I want it or not. And if I talk to the principal or the guidance counselor about it, he said I'd live to regret it. He meant it. I think they'll kill me if I try to report it. I'm serious, Dad."

"George?" Paul asked, alarmed.

“Seems things have really changed since I last went to school," Fox replied, stroking his chin. "Today's kids are a rough bunch," he went on. "Nowadays it's not uncommon, Paul, to find kids bringing guns and knives to school, not to mention the enormous drug problem."

"So, how did you get the bruises?" Paul asked his son.

“When I told Blade I wasn't gonna pay him or any of the other goons, he said 'okay, Hayden, have it your way. Lesson one, comin' up.' My last class is gym, and when we went to take our showers before dressing after class, a couple of his creeps were waiting for me and they worked me over. They said this was just the first warning. I didn't know who's in his gang and who's straight, so I was caught off guard. They weren't wearing any gang colors."

"Colors?" Paul asked, again confused by the teen terminology.

“Yeah, Paul," George interjected, "Gang members usually have jackets, haircuts, jewelry, or something like that, that all the members wear identifying what gang they're in." George turned to face his associate. "Where were you?" he asked Ben, his tightly controlled anger apparent. "You're supposed to watch Scott at all times."

"Even when he takes a shower, sir?"

"Apparently, it's needed, wouldn't you agree?" Fox retorted.

Ben continued his failing defense. "I was in the locker room waiting for him to come out. When all the other boys had finished and dressed I was still waiting for Scott. I was ready to go back to the shower room when I saw him come out holding his stomach. I asked him what was wrong and he said he'd tell me on the way home, which he did."

“Why didn't you tell your gym teacher what those boys did to you in the shower room?" Paul asked.

“Didn't you hear me before, Dad? These goons don't play around. You snitch on 'em and you're dead! Literally dead!"

Paul was greatly distressed by this news. "There's got to be some way to stop this!" he cried. "This is not what I send my son to school for, to be beaten and threatened with bodily harm, and even death, for money!"

“There's a solution to the problem. We'll find it," George replied.

A burning odor came from the kitchen and they heard the smoke alarm go off. George jumped up and ran into the kitchen with Ben, Paul and Scott right behind him.

“Fire!" George shouted as he thoughtlessly grabbed the skillet handle with both hands and slid the smoking pan off the burner. "Aahh!" he screamed, as his carelessness resulted in painful burns.

Paul wasted no time. He took the sphere which still lay in his hand and concentrated. Around the skillet there was a blue glow, and the smoke simply disappeared! He silenced the alarm as well. The emergency over, he said to George, "Let me see your hands."

The agent showed the Starman his hands which were turning red and starting to blister.

Paul concentrated again on the sphere. George's face visibly relaxed as the pain and the burns disappeared. After a moment when the shock began to wear off, George asked, "What did you do?"

“The same thing I did for Scott. I repaired the damage the heat caused to your skin."

“No, I don't mean that ...what happened to the fire? I've never seen a fire go out that fast before."

“Oh, simple," Paul replied. "Fire needs oxygen to burn. I merely removed the oxygen. No oxygen, no fire."

"You mean you created a vacuum?"

"Yes."

"Well, thank you! With you around, who needs a fire department?"

Paul smiled and let the remark slide by without further comment.

"And thank you for fixing my hands," George added.

"Next time, think before you act," the Starman admonished with a smile.

“Yeah, I'll try to remember that," the agent grinned. "Let's see if we can salvage the frying pan. The macaroni's charcoal by now."

After substituting salad for the ruined macaroni, they sat down to eat dinner. As they ate, they discussed ways to solve Scott's problem with the gang. Many possibilites were suggested, but they finished the meal with no definite solution.

When the table was cleaned up and the dishes were done, George settled down in the recliner and began writing his next report to General Wade. Ben and Paul stayed at the table and played the crossword game, while Scott finished doing what homework he had, then joined his father and Ben for a three-way game.

The atmosphere in the room remained on a melancholy note. George started the report, but put it aside to complete later. He wasn't in the writing mood, despite the fact the report was due on General Wade's desk by the end of the week. He turned on the TV, but watched whatever was on in relative inattention.

Paul, Ben and Scott quit after the second game. Thoughts of today's events impeded each player's concentration and their low scores reflected as much, except for Paul's, who won each game by a substantial margin. Everyone ended up retiring to bed earlier than usual that evening.

During the next couple months, there were repeated attempts by the Stingers, as well as other gangs, to coerce Scott into giving them protection money. After the first attempt, Ben stuck close by Scott's side. Scott made sure he had lunch at a table within open view of the agent, and after gym, he showered within Ben's field of vision.

Precautions were taken to prevent repeated extortion attempts, but the gangs, especially the Stingers, took every opportunity to harrass and intimidate Scott. Garbage, litter and threatening notes were stuffed into Scott's locker, and his books and personal property were damaged or destroyed.

Following his father's and George's strong suggestions, Scott reported each incident to the principal's office, despite his outright reluctance.

Justin warned him repeatedly, "Don't do it Scott. You'll regret it if you do. Believe me, I know."

Ben tried to reassure the teenager. "Don't forget, I'm here to protect you, Scott. You'll be safe. Don't worry."

But Scott did worry. After reporting each incident, Scott could feel the eyes of the Stingers marking him as a target. Scott and Ben were told all the administration could do was impose mandatory suspension sentences or expulsion to those accused, if caught, and so far, no one had been. The gang members had been skillful at avoiding getting caught.

Thanks to Ben, no further physical harm came to Scott during school, but after school, while walking home, Scott's nerves were on edge all the way until he and Ben walked through the door of their apartment.

The first open attack from the Stingers after Scott started pointing the finger at them, came at one o'clock in the morning, startling everyone in the house, including the elderly couple that owned it. Half a dozen fist-sized rocks came flying through the windows of both levels of the house. By the time the lights came on, the perpetrators were long gone. Both the owners of the house and George called the police. When they arrived, the officer in charge took down the accounts of the incident for their reports, and informed everyone there wasn't much they could really do without eye-witness accounts or producing a positive ID. The only thing they said they could do was increase patrols around the area.

After the police left, Paul volunteered to reassemble the broken glass in their apartment with the sphere, but George advised him not to. All George would let Paul do was levitate the glass into a trash can. They all went back to bed, crawling under the covers uneasily. No one could get back to sleep.

In the morning the owners informed their tenants the broken windows would be fixed that same day. Paul apologized to the couple for last night's trouble, even though George pleaded with him not to say anything. The police had questioned the owners separately from their tenants, therefore the poor couple still had no idea as to why their home had been singled out for the aggressive incident.

"Scott's been having problems with a gang in school," Paul explained.

“Gang?" Mr. Jackman repeated nervously. "We don't want any gangs coming around here. We don't want any trouble from them."

“Neither do we," Paul agreed. "I want to assure you, my son is not in any gang. He's being victimized by them because he won't pay them."

“We're sorry to hear that," Mrs. Jackman said. "However," she emphasized, "if there are any more 'incidents' like this, we're going to have to ask you to leave."

“I understand," the Starman sincerely replied. "I hope there aren't any more 'incidents' either. We like it here and we want to stay. If something else does happen, I promise to pay for any damages."

The couple looked at each other, leery of Paul's generousity. They'd heard that promise more than once and each time the result had been the same; the tenants had skipped town. But at the same time they perceived something different about this man. They were uncertain why, but they felt sure he could be trusted.

Their fears were put to rest when Paul took out his wallet and offered the couple one-hundred dollars to cover the repairs. "Please, let me know if you need more," he said.

“Thank you. We will," Mr. Jackman smiled as he took the money.

After the attack, George told Ben it was imperative he keep a closer eye on Scott. Ben promised his boss and Paul, he most certainly would stay close to the boy. Paul knew Ben would do his best to keep Scott safe, but he was still concerned for Scott's safety.

Scott was proving to be a tough case for the gangs to win, especially since he had what they assumed to be his own personal bodyguard. The smaller gangs had discontinued their attempts to 'get' Scott after the first month or so, but the Stingers and the Aces, the two largest and most-feared gangs, persisted with their attempts.

The latest tactic was an attempt at entrapment. When Scott went into his locker between classes to get the next book needed, he was stunned when a small plastic packet of crack-cocaine fell out onto the floor. As if planted there, 'witnesses' summoned the principal and Scott was escorted to the office.

Scott explained that the drugs were not his. He told the principal and the undercover drug officer who was on assignment with the school, who he thought had planted the stuff and why. The officer then questioned Ben about his presence and what connection he had with Scott. Ben pulled out his FSA identification and told him, "He's under Federal protection. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but those are my orders. It's a classified matter. If you want more information you'll have to talk to my boss, George Fox."

Ben went on to testify on Scott's behalf that the drugs were not in the boy's locker the previous hour. He had been with Scott the whole time and had full view of the locker's contents, so the drugs had to have been planted while Scott was in class. Ben assured the principal and the officer that Scott was clean and had never used drugs.

The principal knew of the trouble Scott had unintentionally drawn to himself with the gangs by reporting their harrassment. Since Scott was in the constant company of a Federal agent from the first day of his enrollment, the principal agreed to waive the automatic expulsion rule for being caught with drugs on school premises and dropped all charges. He turned the confiscated substance over to the undercover police officer, then both the principal and the officer began to follow up on Scott and Ben's story.

When the Stingers noticed their trap had not gotten Scott busted, Blade became infuriated. To make matters worse, he and some others of his gang were stopped and searched by one of the undercover officers and promptly arrested for possession of weapons. Some of the other members were arrested for possession of narcotics.

After posting bail and getting released from jail, Blade declared war on Scott Hayden. That evening, very late, the Stingers did a 'drive-by' of the apartment and threw a 'Molotov cocktail' at George's rental car, setting it ablaze.

Scott awakened from a light sleep. He looked at his father and asked, "Dad, you awake?" There was no response from the Starman. Scott shook his father's arm and tried again with a whisper, "Dad, wake up."

Paul opened his eyes. "What is it, Scott?" he mumbled.

"I thought I heard something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. It sounded like glass breaking."

Paul listened. "I don't hear anything," he said. "You sure you weren't dreaming?"

"Maybe I did. Sorry." Scott got out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Paul asked.

"I'm thirsty. I'm gonna drink some milk. You want some, too?"

"No, thank you," Starman replied as he closed his eyes.

Scott opened the door and started down the hall. A flickering yellow light on the wall drew his attention and he went to the living room. Hurrying to the window, he pulled up the shade and looked in horror at George's car which was completely engulfed in flames.

He ran to the bedroom. "Dad!" he shouted as he burst into the room waking George and Ben. "Call the fire department! Our car's on fire!"

“What?!" George replied as he lept out of bed and rushed to the living room window to see for himself. Looking at the sight he fumed with anger and yelled, "That's it! That's the last straw! I've had enough of this. Those Stingers want a war, they've got one. This time they've picked the wrong man to mess around with."

With that, George stormed to the bedroom, put on his bathrobe, grabbed his FSA identification and went outside to wait for the police and the firemen. Ben and Paul decided to follow George. Scott started to get dressed, too, but Paul told his son to stay inside the apartment. Scott protested, but Paul was adamant.

Fire engine and police sirens awakened the landlord and a couple neighbors. As the firemen put out the flames, George, Paul and Ben answered the police officer's questions.

With the excitement over, everyone went back inside and back to bed, but no one could sleep. Scott was too nervous and George was too angry. The agent gritted his teeth and growled in the darkness, "if I get my hands on those kids... I'd like to break their necks."

Paul looked at George, horrified at the thought. "You don't mean that," he said. George did not answer. The Starman spent the next couple hours trying to reassure Scott and calm George down, but ceased his efforts when the agent refused to listen.

In the morning, George made arrangements for the wreck to be towed away and he contacted the rental agency for another car. Neither Paul, Scott or Ben spoke much to George. They saw he was still very angry.

The rest of the week passed by in abnormal quiet. The Stingers had not made any further attempts at harrassment toward Scott and that worried Scott more than anything. None of them believed the trouble with Blade and his gang was over. Ben stayed extra close to Scott and Scott did not object.

While cruising around after school in a van belonging to one of the gang members, Blade spotted his enemy walking home. "Hey look!" he called to his followers. "There's Hayden with 'is babysitter."

"Let's get 'im!" one of the members said.

“We will, but not today. Listen up, guys, I've got a plan." Blade relayed his idea to the members present with instructions for the others. "...Alright, this time tomorrow. You know what to do."

Ben and Scott walked down the quiet street along a row of parked cars on their way home. As they passed a parked van, the side door quietly slid open and a half a dozen or so teenagers quickly piled out onto the street behind the pair. They were armed with baseball bats, chains and knives. Before either Ben or Scott knew what had happened, one of the boys had struck Ben on the head with a bat and knocked him unconscious. Scott was quickly seized and dragged into the van which took off in a hurry with its cargo.

Scott's hands were bound behind his back with tape and his feet, eyes and mouth had also been taped. The van continued towards the warehouse district and pulled off into one of the many dark alleys beside some abandoned buildings.

Ben had been out for a good while and found himself awakening to the concerned face of a doctor and a police officer in a hospital emergency room.

“Well, welcome back," the doctor said. "I'm Doctor Mallory. Can you tell me what happened?"

Ben tried to lift his head and groaned with pain. "I... I got ambushed by some kids."

"A gang?" the police officer asked.

"Yeah, I think so."

“I see," the doctor said. "Now, if you'll hold still for a second and look straight ahead."

The doctor took his penlight and began to check Ben's pupil responses to light stimuli. "That's good. Now, can you tell me your name?"

"Benjamin Wylie." Ben began fishing around for his identification and did not find it

there; but what alarmed him even more was not feeling the familiar weight of his weapon. It was gone.

The officer held out the ID folder to Ben. "Is this what you're looking for? I took it from you when I looked for your ID. Says here, you're an agent with the FSA."

"That's right, Officer, I am. Did you take my gun?"

"No. Your holster was empty when I found you."

"Damn!"

"Did you see who hit you?" the police officer asked.

“No. They came up from behind. I didn't get a chance to see who it was. Did they bring in a boy with me, about seventeen years old? He was with me when I got hit."

“No. You were the only victim we found. No one at the scene mentioned seeing any boy."

“Oh God," Ben groaned, "They must've taken him!" He continued to the doctor, "Look, I've gotta get to a phone."

"That can wait until I've examined you," the doctor said.

“No!" Ben insisted as he pushed the doctor's hands away. "No exam, no questions, no nothing until I find out if the boy made it home safely. If he didn't, I've got to notify my boss immediately. That boy is under Federal protection."

That announcement snapped the police officer into action. "How can I help, Agent Wylie?" he asked.

“I need to call the boy's home. Where's a phone?" he asked as he sat up and grabbed his head. The pain and dizziness returned.

“Sir," the doctor protested, "you could have a serious head injury. You need to be examined."

“That boy was in my care!" Wylie responded explosively. "He was my responsibility! I have a job to do. Either help me or get out of my way!"

The doctor began to protest again, but Wylie cut him off, "Try to stop me and I'll have you arrested, Doctor. Interfering with a Federal officer's duties is a serious offense."

Doctor Mallory backed away from the table as the policeman helped Wylie stand up.

"Where's a phone?" Ben asked.

The doctor showed Ben and the officer a desk with a phone and left them to their jobs.

After he dialed the apartment, the telephone rang and rang. No one answered. Ben rubbed his hands over his agonized face. He was sick with worry about Scott. He turned to the officer standing beside him. "I'm going to notify my boss that the boy's been kidnapped. There's been a threat against his life by a gang. We have to find him quickly. Send a unit by the boy's home to see if he's anywhere around, and have some cruisers check the area where I was found."

"Yes, sir. I'll get right on it. Do you have a description of the boy?"

“Yeah, here's his picture and the address." Ben's heart ached as he pulled out the well-worn photo of Scott he'd used while chasing the boy and his father all those years. He prayed Scott would be found in time and he hoped Scott would forgive him for failing to protect him.

The officer took the picture and the information and started to leave to begin the search, but Ben asked him wait a minute in case he couldn't reach George.

Ben dialed the newspaper office where Paul and George were working and was told they were out on an assignment. Ben explained it was an emergency and he had to contact them immediately. He got the address and the phone number where they were supposed to be and called, but they'd already left. He called the paper again. "Have them contact me at the hospital as soon as they return," he said, then he gave the license number of Fox's car to the officer so the cruisers could help locate Paul and George.

Having done all he could for the moment, Ben returned to the emergency room and let the doctor examine him.

"Now, Mr. Wylie, how old are you?"

Ben told the man. The doctor asked numerous questions, some Ben thought as annoying and stupid, but he continued answering.

“Good," Doctor Mallory said. "I'm just checking to see if you've suffered any memory loss. Such things are common with head trauma and concussion."

"Is that what I have, Doctor, a concussion?"

“Mm-hmm, and a pretty good one. You were out for quite a while. We took you into x-ray and the pictures don't show any skull fractures. You're lucky."

"My head doesn't feel so lucky. It hurts like hell." "I can imagine. Well, I think we'll just keep you here overnight for

observation and release you tomorrow morning."

“No! I have to help search for Scott," Ben growled as he tried to get up.

The doctor looked at Wylie seriously and asked, "Did you notify your superior?"

"Yes."

"And you've got the Chicago police force mobilized?"

"Yes."

“Then it's time for you to take care of yourself, Mr. Wylie. You have a serious concussion. You could pass out while driving and kill not only yourself, but someone else as well. You don't want that to happen, do you?"

Wylie stared at the doctor and weighed his options. He was spared making a decision when the police officer returned.

"Agent Wylie, is your boss named Fox?" the officer asked.

"Yeah."

"He's on the phone and he doesn't sound happy."

"I figured as much. Did you tell him about Scott?"

"No, sir."

“Show me the phone," Wylie groaned as he stood up and staggered.

“Wylie? What's wrong? Why are you at a hospital? Is Scott all right?" Fox asked in rapid succession.

"He's missing, sir."

"What?!" Fox bellowed. "What happened?"

Ben told him the key essentials and that he already had the police combing the area as well as keeping an eye on the apartment in case Scott made it home on his own.

George took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying his best to calm down. "Sounds like you did everything you could. Good job, Wylie."

Ben was stunned Fox praised him instead of giving him a chewing out as he expected. "Thank you, sir," he said hesitantly.

"You said they got your gun as well?"

"Yes, sir."

"How badly are you hurt?"

“They say I've got a concussion, but I'll be out looking for Scott as soon as I get out of here. I was just waiting to hear from you, sir."

“You let the doctor decide if you're up to looking for Scott. I'll get a police-radio-equipped car and Paul 'n I'll join the search."

"Mr. Fox?"

"Yeah, Wylie?"

"Tell Paul... tell him I'm sorry I failed."

"You did your best didn't you?"

"Yes, sir, but..."

“Then that's all anyone can expect of you. You didn't fail. And I know Paul will forgive you. Now I have to figure out how to tell him and the fastest way to get that car. Take care of yourself, Wylie. See you later."

“Good-bye Mr. Fox," Ben replied. He was amazed at Fox's reaction to the news. Living with the Starman and his son had definitely changed George for the better. Relieved of some of his anxiety, Ben quickly rose out of the chair and started for the exit, but passed out and fell to the floor.

The doctor came running when he heard Wylie fall. "Looks like you'll be staying with us after all," the doctor said as he shook his head and examined the unconscious man.

The guys from the van dragged Scott up three flights of stairs and unceremoniously dumped him on the floor of the empty warehouse in front of Blade. One of the Stingers jerked the tape off Scott's eyes so he could see.

“Got 'im!" the member exclaimed proudly. "And look what the other guy had on 'im!" he said as he pulled out Ben's handgun taken in the raid.

“Gimme that!" Blade said, grabbing the weapon and examining it. "Nice. Very nice. I'll just keep it."

The gang member protested the loss of his prize, but quickly ceased complaining when Blade pointed the weapon at him. To keep the peace and loyalty in his band, Blade offered the member his gun as an even exchange. "Here, I'll give you mine. Fair trade?"

The young hood was pleased by Blade's offer and accepted the gun. Blade turned his attention back to Scott. "...So Hayden, you ratted on us to the cops. Yeah, I knew it had to be you. You've been the only one stupid enough to rat on a Stinger. You just don't learn, do you? You know what happens to vermin like you when they rat?"

"We make 'em pay!" one of the members laughed.

"That's right," Blade quickly confirmed. "No one rats on a Stinger."

Scott struggled against his bonds, but his efforts were a waste of energy. The gang seemed amused at his frantic efforts to free himself.

“Why even bother, Hayden?" Blade stated calmly. "You're finished." He turned to the others. "Okay, guys, let's show 'im what happens to rats."

The gang began beating Scott with their chains and bats and kicked him viciously. They stopped when Scott no longer resisted against their blows and lay still.

“Enough!" Blade declared as he pulled out his knife. "This is what you get for tryin' to sting a Stinger," he told Scott as two members held the barely conscious teen between them. Then he thrust his knife into Scott's chest and stabbed him, twice.

“Alright," Blade smiled in grim satisfaction, "take this trash and dump it somewhere far away from here. I don't care if they find 'im, just make sure that no one sees you. Then get back here."

"You got it," one of the members answered.

The two Stingers carried Scott's limp body back to the van and drove a couple miles to a parking garage in downtown Chicago. They cased the place and made sure no one was watching, then opened the van door and dumped Scott's body between two cars. They drove back up to the ground level exit from the basement floor, paid the cashier for the time and headed back to their hideout.

It was early evening when a young woman getting ready to go home after work found the body of a teenaged boy lying in a pool of blood beside her car in the parking garage. The woman screamed, then ran to the emergency phone by the elevator. When the security guard answered, she shouted, "There's a boy lying beside my car! He's all bloody! I think he's dead!"

The guard immediately called the police. They arrived with sirens screaming and asked the woman to show them the victim.

One officer went to examine the boy while his partner began questioning the woman for their report. As the second officer continued asking questions and writing the responses, he was interrupted by the urgent tone of his partner's voice.

"Hey, Rich, the kid's still alive! Call the station for an ambulance." "Okay, Mark," he replied as he rushed to the cruiser. Mark removed the tape that bound the boy as he examined him. The woman

watched as the officer tried to clean some of the blood away so he could see the worst injuries better.

“My God. Who would do such a thing?" she asked. "He looks like such a nice young boy."

“It takes all kinds, ma'am, believe me," Mark responded. "Looks got nothing to do with it. I see more and more of this sort of thing every week. I don't know what this country is coming to. You got something I can put over him to keep him warm?"

“Yes, there's a blanket in my car. Just a second." She hurried and removed the blanket from the front seat. "Here," she offered.

“Thank you." The officer covered Scott's body and sat on his heels, studying the boy's face. "We got a report on a kid who'd been kidnapped," he told the woman. "This could be him, but it's hard to tell with his face all beaten up."

"Poor kid."

They waited for the ambulance.

George and Paul climbed into the front seat of the borrowed unmarked police car. Paul pulled out his sphere and activated it. George watched the shiny object light up in Paul's hand as he started the car. It was at the same time, both fascinating and frightening to him. "What are you doing?" he asked.

“Trying to find my son," Paul replied as he concentrated on the sphere. "I can home in on his sphere with my own and find him." He pointed to the left. "He's somewhere ...that way."

George followed Paul's directions without question. "How does that thing work?" George asked as he drove, attempting to ease the Starman's anxiety and fear as well as his own by momentarily distracting his thoughts.

“It's sort of like your television antennas," Paul answered, never wavering from his concentration. "You point them in a particular direction to get the best reception of the signal. I'm trying to feel for the best reception. Keep going straight."

Suddenly, Paul told George to stop the car. The agent pulled over by the curb. "What is it? Is Scott in this building?"

"No. We're close, but the signal ...it's moving now."

“Which way?" George asked, still fascinated Paul could determine this fact, let alone find the boy.

“It's coming closer to us, rapidly. He must be in some kind of vehicle."

Ahead in the distance, they heard the sudden wail of a siren cut the air. Paul jumped nervously when he heard the noise.

The flashing lights of an ambulance came their way at great speed. They remained parked where they were and watched as the ambulance came closer, dodging around traffic, trying to get to its destination as fast as possible. Behind the ambulance a police cruiser was also traveling at great speed with its lights and siren blaring.

The ambulance and police cruiser sped past them going in the opposite direction. Paul concentrated on the sphere once again while George watched in fascination.

Paul quickly looked up and then back at the receding red and blue flashing lights. Suddenly he squeezed his eyes shut, gasped and clenched the sphere as if he were in pain.

Alarmed, Fox asked the Starman, "Was Scott in that ambulance?"

“Yes," Paul choked out. "He's been hurt." Starman put the sphere back in his jacket pocket and looked at the agent with great anguish and fear in his eyes.

“Alright, hang on," George said as he made a tire-squealing u-turn and started after the ambulance, much to the annoyance of the other drivers who were slamming on their brakes and leaning heavily on their horns as they tried to avoid a collision.

"Aw, shut up!" George shouted. "I didn't say anything," Paul responded.

"Not you, them!" George yelled as he raced down the street.

The traffic lights were turning yellow and red, but George pressed on, gunning the engine past a 'yellow' and ran through the next light on a 'red.' The action didn't go unnoticed, however. A police cruiser began to chase their car and close in.

George saw the flashing lights in the rear-view mirror and the officer inside motioning for him to pull over. George reached for the radio mike and asked the dispatcher at police headquarters to patch him through to the other officer. "...I would appreciate a priority escort," he said.

“You got it, Mr. Fox." The police officer sped ahead with his lights and siren blazing. George fell in behind.

George parked the car in the emergency entrance parking lot. As Paul got out and ran to the entrance, the police officer walked up to Fox.

“Thanks for the escort," George said as he let the officer examine his FSA ID more closely.

“Glad I could help," the officer said as he returned it. He left as the agent hurried inside to find Paul.

Fox found Paul at the emergency admissions desk, where the head nurse was giving the Starman the runaround. "Let me handle this," he said.

"May I help you?" the nurse asked.

"Yes. That ambulance that just brought in the boy..."

"Oh yes, the 'John Doe.' There was no identification on him."

“We believe that boy is his son," George nodded toward Paul. "We'd like to see him if we could."

"May I ask what makes you think that boy is your son, sir?"

“He was kidnapped by a street gang this afternoon," Paul answered. "This is his picture."

The nurse examined the photo. "Well, that does look a bit like him. Alright, wait here and I'll check and see if I can get you in." She handed the picture back to Paul and went through the doors to the examining room.

George walked over to some chairs in the waiting lounge and suggested Paul come and join him, but the Starman was too anxious to sit still.

The ER admissions nurse returned and told Paul a nurse would come to talk to him soon. She advised him to just try to relax. Paul looked at her and nodded, but in his heart he knew that would be impossible.

After what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened and one of the nurses walked over to the admissions station. Paul and George watched her.

There was a brief, low-voiced discussion, which neither Paul nor George could hear. Paul watched keenly as the admissions nurse indicated him to the ER nurse with a nod. The ER nurse walked over to the Starman.

"I understand you think that might be your son in there?"

Paul found he could barely squeak out his response. "Yes," he answered with a dry throat.

“Then would you come and identify him right now? If he is your son, we need your permission to do emergency surgery on him."

"How bad is he?" George asked, concerned.

“He's been stabbed and severely beaten. We're prepping him for surgery right now. He's in room four. This way," she gestured.

Paul and George followed the nurse. Standing outside the door to room four was a police officer.

“This gentleman," she indicated Paul as she addressed the officer, "believes the boy in there might be his son. We're going in to make a positive ID."

"And who are you?" the officer asked Fox.

"I'm George Fox. I'm with him."

“Are you the FSA Agent Fox who was searching for a kidnapped boy?" the officer asked.

"Yes."

“We wondered if that was the boy mentioned in the APB. He's so badly beaten we can't be sure."

At that comment, George noticed Paul turned pale and began to shake. He felt faint himself.

The nurse told George he would have to wait in the corridor and she led Paul and the officer into the room. There was a whirlwind of commotion with doctors and nurses working frantically over the patient lying on the table. Paul could not see the patient's face yet because the medical team blocked the view.

"Doctor Singh," the nurse called.

"Yes?" the head doctor answered, looking up.

“Doctor, this gentleman may be your patient's father. We'd just like a moment to look." "Very well, but make it fast. We're almost ready to send him up to

surgery."

Paul nearly fainted as he saw that the cruelly battered young man on the table was his son.

"Well?" she asked.

"Scott," Starman called in a breaking voice.

The nurse took charge once more and began to usher Paul and the officer out of the room, "Okay, c'mon. Let's give the doctors some room. You need to sign that consent form and we've got some questions for admitting."

"Yes, and I've got some too," the officer added.

“No!" Paul protested as he tried to move closer to the table. "I want to stay with my son!"

The nurse felt sorry for this man. He was in shock, obviously heartbroken over his son's condition. "I'm sorry," she said. "You'd just be in the way right now." She led him to the door.

“Okay, let's get him upstairs," the doctor said to his medical team. "Nurse," he continued, "get another unit of blood, and send it up to OR two, stat."

Paul overheard the call for blood. "Scott and I have the same type blood. I want to give him mine," he told the nurse.

"Doctor..." the nurse called.

“I heard. Take him to the donor room, get a unit, type and crossmatch. Tell them to bring it to operating room two."

"Yes, Doctor. C'mon, sir, this way."

Paul, the officer and the ER nurse came out of the room. George looked anxiously at the Starman. "Well?" he asked.

No words were necessary. The pain and sadness were clearly written on the Starman's face.

The nurse led them towards the blood donor room. Inside, the ER nurse told the lab assistant to prepare Paul for donation and to send the blood to OR immediately if it matched. She then told Paul she would be right back with the consent form and left.

"I'd better call Wylie and tell him we found Scott," George said. "I'd like to ask you some questions, Mr. Fox," the officer said.

“I'll be back in a few minutes," Fox told the man. He started to leave, then turned back to the policeman and asked the officer to notify the station and call off the search for Scott Hayden. "And please thank everyone for their cooperation and assistance," he added.

“Yes, sir," the officer answered and left to call in Fox's message while George left to call Ben.

The lab assistant beckoned to Paul. "If you'll come with me, sir."

Paul followed the woman to a lounge chair. As instructed, he removed his jacket and lay down, then rolled up his sleeve. The assistant tied the rubber tubing to his left arm to distend a prominent vein. She assembled the necessary equipment for the task and swabbed one of Paul's veins with a cotton ball saturated with alcohol. He watched as she inserted the needle and released the rubber tubing.

"Now just keep making a fist and releasing it."

"Why?" the Starman asked.

"The muscle action will draw the blood faster."

Paul nodded and the assistant went to her desk. The nurse returned with the consent form which Paul signed. She noticed the difference in the names and asked the Starman about it.

"It's his mother's name," Paul replied. She nodded and asked the Starman further questions for Scott's

admission. Having gotten all the information she needed, she returned to her station.

The police officer returned and started his questions, but Paul cut the officer short. "All I know is, when George and I returned from our assignment, there was an urgent message waiting for us. George's associate, Ben Wylie, called us to tell us my son was missing. I don't know anything else. Please," Paul begged, "can you tell me what happened to Scott?"

“Right now all we know is a woman discovered your son's body in a parking garage and called the police. When the officer examined the body and discovered your son was still alive, he called for the ambulance. That's it."

The officer asked Paul if he knew any reason why someone tried to kill his son. Paul explained about the trouble with the gangs in school beating on Scott after he refused to give them money.

George returned at that moment, presented his credentials to the officer who examined and returned them.

"What's the FSA's interest in this?" the officer asked.

"I'm sorry, but it's classified."

"What about him? Is he with the FSA, too?"

“No, he's a photographer. He and I are working together on a special project."

"I see."

The officer questioned George about Ben's message and asked the agent if he would kindly elaborate further.

“My associate was with the boy and was injured when Scott was kidnapped."

"Oh? Please, continue."

“My associate, Ben Wylie, told me he was walking home with Scott after school when they were ambushed by some kids," George said. "They knocked Wylie out and took Scott. He woke up in another hospital a couple of hours ago and called me to tell us what happened and that Scott was missing. An officer questioned him there. Why don't you compare notes with him?"

“I'll do that," the officer said. "Now these kids, this gang, do you know them? Could you identify them?"

“I'm not one hundred percent positive, but it was probably the Stingers. They've caused Scott the most problems and they've threatened his life a few times. Wylie told me he didn't get a good look at them."

“Okay. I think that'll be enough. I'll get in touch with the other officer and see if he's learned anything." As an afterthought the officer asked Fox, "You wouldn't happen to know what the officer's name was or his badge number?"

“No, sorry," George replied, then told him where Ben and Scott were ambushed. He knew the officer could determine the precinct from the location and get a copy of their report. "Whoever attacked them also stole Wylie's service weapon, so treat them as armed and dangerous," he added.

“Thanks for the warning," the officer said and continued, "Mr. Forrester, if your son is able, I'll be by to talk to him tomorrow."

Paul nodded.

The officer left the room and the lab assistant came back to disconnect the needle and tubing from Paul's arm and place a small bandage over the puncture. Paul started to get up, but she stopped him.

“Not so fast, Mr. Forrester," the assistant told Paul. "Lie down a while longer before you get up. If you feel dizzy, lie down again, wait for a few more minutes, then try again. If you feel okay, you may go. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to deliver this to OR immediately," she said and left the room.

George brought Paul a cup of orange juice and a package of crackers that he insisted Paul eat before leaving. Ten minutes passed and Starman's concern for his son would not keep him in the donor room any longer. He stood up slowly as the assistant had instructed and put his jacket back on.

"Let's go to the operating room now," Paul said.

"You feel alright, not weak or dizzy?" George asked.

"I'm fine. Let's go."

"Okay. C'mon."

Paul and George walked out of blood donor room, got directions and went up to the waiting lounge for the operating rooms. Paul moved with the speed of urgency and worry.

While they waited, George placed a hand on the Starman's shoulder, trying his best to offer the Starman some comfort and support.

Paul drew in a shaky breath and closed his eyes, rubbing his face wearily. George sensed Paul's deep distress and noticed his trembling hands. He went to get Paul some coffee from the vending machine and offered the steaming brew to the Starman, but Paul did not want it.

"Go on, drink it," George insisted. "It'll make you feel better."

Paul accepted the coffee and slowly did as he was told, mainly to please the agent. He knew it would not make him feel any better at all; nothing would until he could see his son and find some way to use his extraterrestrial power to help Scott. Paul did appreciate George's gesture however. George continued to try to console the Starman.

More than an hour had passed since Paul and George began waiting in the lounge. They lifted tired faces and directed their attention to the doorway when they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. It was the surgeon. "Mr. Forrester?..." he asked, looking at both men. Paul stood up.

“How is Scott?" the Starman asked, his heart pounding and anxiety written on his face.

“He was in pretty bad shape," the doctor started. "He lost a lot of blood from cuts and internal bleeding. We've managed to stop the bleeding. His right lung was punctured twice. His kidneys, stomach and heart are bruised, and he has a concussion and several broken ribs. The bruised organs are the most serious problem at the moment. He came through the surgery fine, but you won't be able to see him for a while yet. First we'll make sure he's stabilized and then we'll send him to recovery. After the anesthetic wears off you can see him. Why don't you just try to relax. I'll tell the nurse you're here."

Somewhat comforted by the information, Paul said, "Thank you."

“You're welcome," the doctor replied, then he lightly squeezed Paul's arm and added, "It's going to take a lot of time and rest, Mr. Forrester, but I think your son will be okay." The doctor gave the Starman a reassuring smile, then walked off.

Paul sat down again, relieved his son had pulled through the surgery, but pained to hear the extent of the injuries.

"I'm going to tell Ben, Scott's going to be okay," George said.

"Where is Ben?" Paul asked. "Didn't you tell him Scott's been found?"

“Yeah. I'm sorry. With all the commotion, I forgot to tell you he's still in the hospital. Seems he passed out after he talked with me. They admitted him."

"Is he going to be alright?"

“Ole hard-head, Wylie?" George smiled. "I'm sure he'll be fine," he answered as he got up and went to make the call.

Quite a while later a nurse walked into the lounge and asked which one of the men was Scott's father.

"I am," Paul replied.

"Your son is awake. We've moved him to post-op. You may see him now."

Paul anxiously jumped to his feet.

"Come with me please."

They followed the nurse and she showed Paul his son's room. Starman walked in the dimly lit room and stood beside his son's bed, watching him. The boy's eyes were closed. With a trembling hand, Paul gently stroked Scott's face, tenderly smoothing the dark hair off his forehead. He fought back the lump in his throat and tried to project sensations of safety and security to the boy while softly calling his son's name.

George quietly stood by the doorway and watched.

"Scott, can you hear me?" Paul asked in a very soft voice.

There was no immediate physical or verbal response, but Starman 'heard' Scott's mind desperately cry out to him. Paul called his son's name again and the boy whispered, "Dad?"

"Yes, I'm here," Paul answered.

Scott opened his eyes, and in the fuzzy haze that clouded his vision, called again to his father.

Paul gently squeezed his son's hand and was delighted as he felt Scott's weak reponse to the gesture.

Scott smiled a little and closed his eyes once more, this time falling into a restful, healing sleep. Paul continued to send sensations of love, warmth, security and trust to his son as he watched Scott's chest rise and fall in the slow steady rhythm of sleep. Paul gently returned Scott's hand to his side, then he withdrew his sphere from his pocket.

George saw Paul's intention and quickly stepped in and whispered for him to stop. "No. You can't."

"Why?"

“It would raise too many questions. Look, they've got him hooked up to all kinds of monitors. You'll start every alarm ringing."

"I can take care of that."

"No, please don't."

But Paul was insistant. "I am going to heal my son. I will not let him continue to suffer."

George knew he was fighting a losing battle and relented. "Alright. But can you heal just the inside and leave the wounds showing on the outside, so when the nurses go to change the dressings they won't suspect anything?"

"Yes, but..."

“I know," the agent sympathized. "You want to heal him completely, and you can... later. Right now, just do it partially, and when Scott is released you can finish the job. Trust me, okay? I'll cover for you. How much time do you need?"

“As much as possible. Draw the window shade and close the door, please."

"Okay. I'll just tell them you want a little privacy with Scott."

Paul smiled at George. "Thank you."

As soon as George drew the shade down and walked out, shutting the door behind him, Paul took Scott's hand, activated his sphere and began healing his son's wounds from the inside out. His heart desperately ached to finish the healing, but he understood George's concerns and stopped short as he'd promised.

There was a knock on the door and Paul quickly replaced Scott's hand beside his body and pocketed his sphere. The door opened. It was George with the nurse.

“I'm sorry," the nurse said, "He needs to rest. We'll take good care of him and we'll contact you if any changes develop. Did you leave a number where we can reach you?"

"Yes," George answered.

But the Starman did not want to leave his son. He stood unmoving. "I'm staying with Scott."

“You know our agreement, Paul. I have to stay with you and I don't think they'd allow both of us to stay in the room. Besides, I think it'll be better for you at home." George took the Starman lightly by the arm, gently trying to coax him out. "Let's go."

The Starman remained steadfast. "You go if you want. I will not leave my son," he told the agent politely, but firmly. With finality, Paul sat on the edge of Scott's bed and took his son's hand.

“Gentlemen, it's perfectly okay if both of you stay," the nurse said. "You can sleep in the lounge."

"No, I want to stay in here," Paul told her.

By the look on the Starman's face, the nurse could see his determination to remain by his son's side. She relented and left the room.

George ceased trying to persuade the Starman to leave and sat in the chair.

Paul suddenly remembered Scott's sphere and asked George to look in Scott's clothes for it.

George went to the locker and checked through the boy's jeans. "Here it is," he said as he gave the object to the Starman.

Paul placed the sphere in the palm of Scott's hand and closed his hand around Scott's. "I want him to have it with him," he told the agent. "When he's holding it, then he's holding me."

George nodded, touched by Starman's love for his son. He sat in the chair again. It was going to be a very long night.

As the hours passed, George found it increasingly harder to stay awake. Despite his best efforts, the events of the day caught up with him and he drifted off to sleep, slumped in the chair, his head resting on his shoulder.

Paul smiled as he looked up at the agent, but stayed by Scott's side, tenderly holding his son's hand. The Starman continued the vigil.

At dawn, George awakened to see the Starman still sitting by Scott's side. He yawned and stretched the cramped muscles in his neck and back. Quietly he asked Paul, "Have you been awake all night?"

"Yes," the Starman whispered.

“How's Scott doing?" he asked as he stood up and walked to the opposite side of the bed from which the Starman sat.

"Okay."

"And you?"

"I'm fine."

Paul looked at his son again and noticed a slight movement. "Scott?" he called.

Scott groaned a little and opened his eyes. He smiled when he saw his father. "Dad," he whispered.

“Hi," Paul answered, elated to hear his son's voice. "How do you feel?"

Scott didn't answer, but weakly lifted his arms toward his father.

Mindful that his son was not completely healed, Paul embraced Scott lightly, being careful not to hurt him. Paul sensed his son's joy at seeing and holding him, but just as quickly, the fear and pain overwhelmed Scott. He began to cry as his father held him. "I couldn't reach my sphere, Dad! They nearly killed me! I almost... died!" his voice trailed off in sobs.

“Shh, easy. It's alright, Scott. It's alright. You're safe now," Paul crooned.

But Scott's sobs continued as he hung on to his father's neck. George watched in silence as Paul patiently waited until the boy's crying stopped. Paul gently let his son lie back down, then he took a tissue and dried Scott's tear-streaked face.

Scott looked at his father and George. "Where's Ben?" he asked, still sniffling back the last sobs.

George looked at the Starman, not sure if he should tell the boy of Ben's whereabouts.

Scott repeated the question.

Paul nodded subtly, silently prompting the agent to answer.

George took a deep breath. With great resignation, he told Scott, "He's in another hospital."

Scott's eyes welled up with tears again and George quickly attempted to calm the boy. "Take it easy. He's okay. Your father 'n I are going to pick him up this morning, right, Paul?" he said and looked at the Starman, silently pleading with Paul to play along, even though it was the truth.

"Right," Paul answered, getting the hint.

“He's got a concussion," the agent continued, "but it's nothing too serious," he lied. "You know how thick-headed Wylie is."

“Yeah," Scott said, his voice still choked from crying. "You sure he's okay?"

“As soon as he's released," George answered, "we'll bring him here so you can see for yourself."

That seemed to satisfy the teen and George silently breathed a sigh of relief. With the suggestion made, he asked Paul, "What do you say we go get him now?"

The Starman looked at his son and Scott nodded. "I'm alright, Dad," the boy answered.

Paul stood up. "We'll be back as soon as we can," he told him.

The nurse came in then to check Scott's vital signs and record the information on the charts. It was just the distraction George needed to lure the Starman out of the room. "C'mon. Let's go get Ben," he repeated and gently grabbed Paul's arm. They left.

Paul and George walked into Ben's room and found the agent frantic for news about Scott.

“He'll be fine, Wylie," George assured. "Paul healed his insides before we left him."

Ben turned to the Starman, anguish written in his eyes. "I'm sorry Scott got hurt, Paul. It just happened so fast. Before I could..."

“I know you did your best to protect him," Paul answered with a kind smile. "Don't blame yourself," he added.

Ben started to sit up straighter in bed, but the pounding in his head returned with a vengeance and he let out a groan of pain. Paul immediately turned to help. "Where did they hit you?" he asked.

Ben reached back and held his hand over the area. "Right here," he said.

Paul gently put his fingers on the spot and felt the lump on Ben's head. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the sphere, holding it in his open hand.

"What are you going to do?" Ben asked.

"I'm going to make you well again. Now just relax..."

Wylie gazed at Paul. "Will it hurt?" he asked, worried.

“No," the Starman answered with a reassuring smile. "You'll just feel a warmth and a tingle," he continued, "like when your foot wakes up from falling asleep."

"Okay, but wait a second. Mr. Fox, would you close the door?" George did as Ben asked. Everyone was silent. Within a few minutes

Ben's pain and nausea was gone and so was the bruise. The agent's eyes opened wide with amazement. "It's gone! The headache's gone!" he exclaimed. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome. Now's let's get back to Scott," Paul said to George.

“Of course," the agent answered, "but how about a little detour to our apartment first? I don't know about you or Ben, but I could use a shave and a shower. I'd like a fresh change of clothes, too."

Paul reluctantly agreed, discontented with the delay and anxious to return to his son's side.

George went to see about Ben's release.

Paul lay on the bed as the two agents took their turns in the bathroom shaving and showering. George walked into the bedroom. As he dressed, he asked the Starman if he called their boss, Mr. Shearman, yet.

"No," Paul answered.

“Well, I'll call him right now and tell him you and I are going to be a little late this morning reporting to work." George picked up the receiver and dialed the newspaper office.

When Ben came out of the bathroom, he saw the cold fury written on his

boss' face and concluded something was not right. George's raised voice proved him to be correct. Instinctively, he backed away.

“Of all the... I don't believe the nerve of that guy! I'm trying to tell him we'll be a little late this morning because we've got to go to the hospital to see your son, Paul, and he tells me he's sending someone over there right now to get an exclusive interview with Scott! And he wants you, Paul, to take pictures for the story!"

“Just what you didn't order, publicity. He's all heart, isn't he?" Ben said.

"Yeah, right," George said with disgust.

“George..." Paul began, "I've been thinking. Maybe what we need is more publicity. Maybe by going public with Scott's story, we can help bring about a stop to the gang violence in his school."

“Maybe. In any case, let's finish up here and get going. I wanna be there when that reporter shows up for the story. I don't want Scott talking to any reporter without one of us being there."

As soon as Ben dressed they all left for the hospital. Paul skipped the shower, changing and shaving. He told the agents he'd take care of personal hygiene later-right now he just wanted to get back to his son.

Paul, George and Ben walked into the hospital room. Scott smiled, happy to see his father again, and relieved to see Ben. Paul and George listened as Ben and Scott traded apologies.

"I'm so sorry, Scott..."

“You couldn't help it, Ben. They caught us off guard. It happened too fast."

"I know, but it's my job to protect you...I'm sorry."

Ben and Scott fell silent, unsure of what else to say. Finally, Ben asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"I am now, thanks to your dad."

Scott looked at the agent for further elaboration when Liz Baines walked into the room. By her expression, they could see she was shocked. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands at the sight of Scott's badly bruised face. She turned to the Starman. "I just heard about Scott. Shearman was going to send someone else here for the story. I overheard and demanded it. Why didn't you call me last night and tell me what happened?"

"He was quite shaken, Miss Baines," George said.

Liz looked at the Starman with searching eyes and could see the terrible pain still etched on his face. "I'm sorry, Liz," was all he could say.

Liz turned to the teen and gently touched Scott's face. "How're you doing?" she softly asked.

"Okay, I guess. Parts of me hurt, though."

Paul reached in his pocket for his sphere just as the police officer who'd questioned him earlier walked in. The officer introduced himself to Scott, Ben and Liz, then immediately started with the questioning.

The Starman took a deep breath. He hated the thought of asking his child to remember the horror and pain, but it was necessary if they were to learn all the facts. "Scott," he began softly, "tell us what happened."

Scott looked at everyone and froze in silence.

Paul sensed the fear and took his son's hand. He attempted to reassure him, "It's okay. Tell us what happened. What do you remember?"

The room was quiet for what seemed like an eternity, when Scott slowly began to recall the kidnapping and beating, detail for bloody, painful detail. No one interrupted him as he described the abduction, the one-way conversation and the beating. Scott was crying again as he finished recalling the account. "I'm scared, Dad!"

Paul hugged his son, gently holding him and crooning comfortingly to him. He reassured Scott it was over and things would get better, but inside, Paul felt sick as he recalled Scott's words and felt the terrible lingering fear. This kind of cruelty was incomprehensible to him.

As soon as Scott quieted down some, the policeman asked if he could identify his assailants and Scott mumbled, "yes." He hesitated to give any names at first, remembering Justin's warnings. Justin had been right. The Stingers' threats had materialized into harsh reality. But his friends' encouragement, combined with Paul's words of reassurance, convinced Scott to tell the officer one of them was Blade, the leader of the Stinger gang.

He named a couple other members of the gang as well.

The officer told Paul arrest warrants would be issued on those Scott had named. As he left, he promised to notify Paul when Scott's assailants were apprehended.

Liz leaned over and gave Scott a tender kiss on his cheek. "I'm so sorry this happened to you," she told him softly. "The police will get those creeps. They'll see that those Stingers get put away for good. Now you get well, okay?"

Scott looked at Liz and nodded, grateful for her friendship.

Liz straightened up and Paul stood facing her. She told Paul not to worry, kissed him, then left the room.

With the painful questioning over, George informed the Starman, "It's time you and I got off to work. You still have a job to go to, you know."

“Yes, I know," Paul sighed. He looked at his son apologetically. "I guess I'll see you later," he told him.

Scott nodded.

Ben asked George and Paul to give him a lift to the school so he could pick up Scott's assignments for the day. The Starman couldn't help grinning as he heard his son express his displeasure at not escaping homework. "It's too close to final exams to fall behind on your studies," Ben reminded the boy. "We'll do only as much as you feel up to though, okay?" Scott had to agree with Ben's logic.

Paul gave his son a farewell hug and took one picture, then everyone left.

Scott closed his eyes, clenching the sphere firmly in his hand. He tried to go back to sleep again, taking advantage of what time he had before Ben returned with his lessons.

Justin looked around for Scott in school. He'd gotten quite nervous when Scott hadn't shown up for any of the classes they shared together. He dared not ask around, figuring it could draw any of the gangs' attention. He had to content himself with doing the only thing he could think of, keep his eyes and especially his ears open for any news. He prayed that perhaps Scott was just sick today.

It was afternoon when Justin overheard what he'd been suspecting. During study hall, he distinctly heard Scott's name a couple of times and something about 'the problem being taken care of last night.'

Justin began to get an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. This wasn't supposed to happen, he thought. As soon as the last class was over, he quickly made his way to the nearest pay phone that was also out of Stinger territory. At first he tried calling Scott at the apartment on the chance Scott was home, but there was no answer. Not knowing what else to do, he began calling all the hospitals in the city. He hoped with all his heart he would find his friend.

His third try was successful and Justin found out Scott was in the University of Illinois Hospital. He caught a city bus and headed there.

It had been a long day for Paul. All day, concern for Scott destroyed his concentration on his work. As he and George approached the entrance to the post-op ward, they noticed a boy around Scott's age just standing there looking in the door window. They walked up to him.

"Excuse us, young man," George said.

The boy stood aside. "Oh, uh, sorry."

George held the door open as Paul passed through, then spoke to the boy. "You waiting for someone, son?"

"Yeah," the boy replied. George dismissed the boy with a curt nod and followed Paul into Scott's

room.

Justin continued to look in the post-op ward doors, but did not enter.

Paul smiled at his son as he walked in and promptly sat down on the edge of Scott's bed. He greeted Ben and Scott.

"Hi, Dad."

"Well, how've you been doing since this morning?" Paul asked.

"Okay," Scott answered with a big grin.

But there was something Scott was not telling his father and Paul read it in his son's face. Paul cocked his head just a bit to one side and lifted his eyebrows, displaying that familiar questioning glance.

Scott read his father's look and told him, "I'm bored, okay? I wanna get out of here."

Paul ran his fingers through his son's hair and smiled. "I know how you feel. I want you back home, too."

"So why can't you heal me and get me out of here?" Scott whispered.

“Patience, Scott," George said. "You know it would look too suspicious if you were healed overnight from such serious injuries. How would you like to try and explain an instant recovery to the doctors and nurses that worked on you?"

“Yeah, I guess you're right," Scott replied, looking a bit disappointed at not being able to go home.

George leaned over slightly, and speaking in a soft voice, informed the teen, "Your father did heal you last night... partially anyway."

Scott immediately looked into his father's eyes for confirmation. Paul smiled slightly and gave a subtle nod. He took his son's hand,

squeezing it gently, and quietly told him, "I couldn't risk losing you. You're my life."

Scott felt tears creeping out of the corners of his eyes. He instinctively reached out to his father. Paul took his son into his arms and hugged him.

George and Ben watched in quiet regard as they observed the intensity of love between the Starman and his son. Scott finally let go and lay back down.

Changing the subject, Paul asked George, "When do you think Scott can come home?"

"I don't know for sure," the agent answered, "but maybe in a week."

"A week!" the boy groaned.

Paul tried injecting some humor. "I thought you'd enjoy a vacation from school," he teased. "You certainly put up enough of an argument every time I make you go."

“Yeah, but I don't want to be stuck here!" he protested. "This is not the kind of vacation I was thinking of!"

Paul laughed and tousled his son's hair again. He loved teasing Scott.

Paul directed his attention back to George. "You said a week?"

“Probably. I'm just guessing. If Scott's doing well," he grinned, "as we know he is, then they'll be amazed at his progress and maybe let him out in a week to ten days."

Paul noticed Scott had done some of his homework, and offered to review the subjects with his son, but the boy declined, saying he was too tired and had had enough for today. Starman heard sounds coming from the hall and looked up to see a hospital volunteer pushing a large cart containing the patients' dinners. As the wonderful aromas of the food drifted into the room, Scott caught a whiff and said, "I'm hungry. When are they gonna give me something to eat?" he asked his father.

Paul looked at his son and sympathized with him. Since the surgery, Scott was being fed intraveneously. The Starman looked to George for help and an answer. The agent took the hint.

“I'll see what I can do," George said. "I'll go talk to the nurse and see if they'll let him have something." He left the room.

A few minutes later George returned and told Paul, "they're going to send up some broth and Jell-o."

Scott looked disappointed. He hardly considered broth to be 'real food,' but at that moment he'd settle for anything.

When Scott's dinner arrived, Paul offered to help feed his son and Scott readily accepted. As Paul watched Scott eat, he, too, felt the strong pangs of hunger. Worrying all day about his son, Paul had lost his appetite and had skipped lunch. Now his body demanded sustenance.

George felt hungry, too. Ben had gone to the cafeteria while Paul and George visited Scott. When Ben returned, George suggested to Paul, "Let's go get our dinner before I starve to death. What do you say?"

“I think I'll wait until we get home," the Starman told the agent. "No offense, but if the food in this hospital tastes anything like the food I had when I was in the hospital, I think I'd rather pass."

That brought a chuckle from Scott. And judging his son's reaction to 'dinner,' Paul knew he'd made the right decision.

Paul, George and Ben stayed with Scott until almost 9:00 PM, the end of visitation. George noticed Scott's yawns increasing in frequency and quietly told the Starman, "C'mon, I think we'd better go and let Scott rest. He's looking tired."

“Yes, I think you're right," Paul said. He then took his son's hand in one of his and combed his fingers through Scott's hair with the other. "Good-night, Scott. I'll be by every chance I get tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, Dad," the boy smiled. "Good-night."

Paul drew the covers up higher over his son, gave him a farewell pat on the shoulder and then the three men left the room. As they neared the entrance doors to the post-op ward, George once again noticed the same young man standing on the other side of the doors looking in. Paul and George each opened a door and walked through. Ben followed behind and stopped as he recognized the boy. "Justin. You here to see Scott?"

"Yeah," the teen replied.

"Why didn't you come in?" Ben asked.

"Justin..." George mumbled, "...is this the same kid..."

"Yes, sir," Ben replied, "he's Scott's best friend at school." Paul smiled as he heard that, but the expression on his face quickly

turned to one of confusion as he saw Justin lower his head and close his eyes in what appeared to be guilt, or was it shame?

Paul put a hand on the boy's shoulder and asked, "is something wrong?"

The boy didn't say anything, but looked up at the man with the gentle blue eyes that seemed able to see inside him.

Paul sensed the unspoken "who are you" from the boy and introduced himself. "I'm Paul Forrester. Scott is my son."

That information only seemed to make the boy withdraw even further.

Very gently, Paul said, "Tell us what's bothering you."

"It's all my fault," Justin said in a very soft voice.

"What's all your fault?" Paul asked. "I should be the one in there," the teen blurted out, "not Scott! It's

all my fault!"

All three men were taken aback. Once again, in a calm and gentle voice, Paul asked Justin, "Why do you

think it's your fault? What happened?"

But George interrupted before the boy could begin. "Not here. Let's go down to the car," he suggested, "...or back in Scott's room."

"No! I can't go in there!" the teen cried.

"Alright, the car then. Let's go."

They headed for the elevator and down to the parking lot, then got inside the car, George and Ben in the front and Paul and Justin in the back.

“Alright, young man," George began, "You want to start explaining what you said up there?"

Still afraid, Justin said, "I... I think it's all my fault." Tensely, he continued, "Scott 'n I ...we saw some Stingers sellin' crack just outside the guys' restroom between classes. It was late. The bell was ready to ring any second and there wasn't anyone else around 'cept for Scott 'n me. They knew we saw 'em. Then the leader of the Stingers..."

"Blade?" George interrupted.

"Yeah. How do you know about 'im?" Justin asked, surprised.

"Scott told us," the agent answered, "but never mind, just continue."

“...well, Blade comes over and tells both of us we'd better keep our mouths shut or else."

"Or else what?" Paul asked.

“What d'you think, man?" the boy exploded. "Dead, that's what!" Calming down, he continued, "Anyway, Blade said it more to scare Scott than me. I've kept my mouth shut 'cause I've seen what happens to someone who rats on a Stinger."

"What did you see?" George asked.

Justin nervously eyed the three men. Paul once again placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and said, "Go on, tell us."

Reluctantly, the boy started. "There was this kid in my class a while back. His name was Joey. Anyway, Joey saw a sale go down and he called the Stingers on their threat. He testified in court against one of 'em. Well, Joey... had an accident. Only it wasn't an accident! Blade ordered him killed and one of the Stingers took 'im out!"

"Can you prove that?" George asked, shocked.

“No," Justin answered dejectedly. "An' the police couldn't prove it either. Not enough evidence. But I know they did it! They killed Joey an' got away with it! Ever since then..."

Paul was horrified at what the boy was saying. He could barely bring himself to speak. "And Scott...?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the explanation.

“They thought it was Scott who ratted on 'em about the crack sale we saw," the boy answered, "but I know for a fact he didn't!"

George began to get an uneasy feeling. "How's that?" he asked.

"'cause."

"Because you did?" Ben finished.

"Yeah," Justin said, hanging his head in misery.

“I thought you just told us you keep your mouth shut about such things," George said.

“I do... I mean, I did," the teen replied defensively. "Look, you think I like payin' that creep forty bucks every month for so-called protection? I don't! I hate it! But I'm stuck! I tried to break the cycle, but it didn't work out the way it was supposed to an' Scott was the one who got hurt."

"Why did you choose to try to break the cycle now?" Ben asked.

“Because of Scott. Ever since I first met him, he's been different. He's not a coward. He stood up to 'em. He got beat up and he still stood up to 'em, and the other gangs, too!"

“Maybe that's because Scott's got something you don't have," Ben said quietly.

"Yeah, guts!"

“No, me," Ben told him. "I believe Scott once told you I'm his bodyguard."

"Yeah, but he told me he couldn't say why."

“Perhaps that's why Scott's stood up to the Stingers, because he knew I was around to protect him."

“Yeah, maybe," Justin nodded, then continued, "Look, I wanna stop payin' those creeps an' not get my guts kicked in or get killed. I thought if Scott had you, an' I were Scott's friend, maybe you could protect both of us an' get me out of this."

"I'm not a bodyguard for hire."

"Look, I'll pay you the forty a month," Justin begged. "Please!"

"I'm sorry. My job involves protecting Scott, not the whole school."

“Never mind that for now," George jumped in, "get back to your story. Just what did you do?"

“I told the undercover narc' about the sale. I told him who had the stuff in their lockers and who was buyin' or sellin' it."

“How did you pick out the undercover officer?" George asked. "They're supposed to blend in."

"Are you kidding man? After a while you can tell. Y'just know."

"So what happened?" Ben asked.

“The narc caught 'em dealin', called in the fuzz an' arrested 'em. Anyway, I saw 'em today struttin' around outside school, the Stingers that were arrested. They were out of jail like they'd never been in."

"Posted bail," George replied flatly.

"Yeah, I guess."

"So how did they come to pick on Scott?"

“They cornered me yesterday in the shower room. A couple of 'em pulled out 'pig stickers' and they accused me of rattin' on 'em. Of course I told 'em it wasn't me. So they knew if it wasn't me, then there was only one other person around who's been dumb enough to rat on 'em.

"Scott," Paul said, a pained expression written on his face.

“Yeah. I'm sorry, Mr. Forrester. I'm sorry I lied, but I had to! They would've killed me!"

"So instead they've tried to kill my son."

"I'm sorry," Justin cried.

Paul pulled the boy into his arms and tried to ease his guilt for trying to do the right thing, but having it come out all wrong. "Shh. Take it easy." A few moments later he asked, "George, what can we do? This has to stop. Scott could have died."

“I agree. When the Stingers realize Scott's still alive and can point the finger at them for attempted murder, they'll try again, you can bet on it. These gangs don't seem to be afraid of the law at all." Exasperated, he groaned, "God, what have our children turned into?"

No one offered an answer.

"So what now?" Justin asked.

“Now we go to the police," George advised, "and you tell them everything you just told us. Then we work with the police and try to get these guys, the whole gang, if possible."

"What good's that gonna do? The police can't do anything!"

“Oh yes, they can, Justin. You just have to have a little faith. You do want to see the gang out of your school and you want to do the right thing, don't you?"

"Yeah."

“Well, trust us," George said. "We'll get these Stingers. The police already have an arrest warrant out on Blade and some of the others."

"They do?" Justin asked.

"Yes," Paul replied. "Scott identified him."

"Scott told you guys Blade did it?"

“Yes," Paul answered again and he saw Justin's face turn white. Both Paul and Justin could feel the fear increasing inside themselves and with good reason; for Justin because he knew Blade would try to 'ice' Scott for ratting on him, and for Paul, because if what George said had any truth at all, Scott was in mortal danger at this very moment.

“Let's get down to the police station and tell them what you've just told us," George said.

“Ok," Justin replied meekly, "but I'm scared. If any of 'em find out I've been talkin' to you or the cops... I'm dead."

“We'll just have to make sure they don't find out."

Ben returned to Scott's room while George drove to the nearest police station where Justin related all the information he had told George, Paul and Ben. The officer took his statements for the record and a second arrest warrant was issued for Blade.

At George's request, the police agreed to guard Scott's room around the clock until the boy's release. An officer followed them back to the hospital and relieved Ben right away. Ben joined his boss and the Starman by the car and told them Scott was sleeping soundly the whole time he was there.

George offered to drive Justin home, but Justin refused, saying it would be too risky if he were seen in the car with them. "We understand," George replied.

"Why don't you come see Scott tomorrow?" Ben said.

"I can't, man!"

"Why not?" Paul asked, confused.

Justin stared at Paul in disbelief. "Are you stupid or what?" he asked, unashamed of the question. "When you tell Scott why he got kidnapped and beaten up... he's not gonna want me as a friend."

“I think Scott will forgive you," Paul said. "I'm sure he will. It would mean a lot to him if his best friend would come and see him."

“I...I don't think so," Justin said as he started backing away. "I gotta go."

Justin ran off into the darkness as the Starman and the two agents watched.

“Paul," George called as they climbed into the car to head home, "I wouldn't be so sure about Scott forgiving Justin..."

George parked the car and they all got out, walked up the two flights of stairs and stopped in front of the door to their apartment. With no overhead light to help him see, George grew increasingly frustrated as he tried several times to insert the key into the lock, and missed. Before George's irritation erupted into anger, the Starman reached for the knob and touched it with his finger, unlocking the door in his own unique fashion.

“How did you do that?" Fox asked, surprised by yet another of the Starman's alien abilities. "Never mind, don't answer that," he said before Paul could reply. He opened the door and entered the apartment. Paul followed the agent in and walked straight to the bedroom, took off his leather jacket and threw it on the corner of the bed. He lay down heavily and stared at the ceiling, his thoughts focused on his son and the horrible things Justin had told them. Paul closed his eyes and tears spilled down the sides of his face. George was mumbling something from the kitchen, but he paid no attention. George walked to the bedroom doorway and called the Starman again when he received no answer the first time.

"What is it?" Paul asked, his eyes closed.

George looked at the Starman and noticed his tears. Very gently he repeated the question. "I asked you, would you like an egg salad sandwich for dinner?"

"No, thank you. You eat what you want, I'm not hungry anymore."

George fully understood the reason for the Starman's lack of appetite and sympathized with him, but he was not going to let Paul starve himself to possible illness. He tried to express his concerns to the Starman as gently as possible. "Paul... you just got out of the hospital not long ago. We don't want to see you in again. If you don't eat to keep up your strength, you won't be any help to Scott. He needs you strong and healthy. Now c'mon and eat."

The Starman let out a sigh and gave in to the request. "Okay, I'll join you in a couple minutes."

George went back to the kitchen to set the table. He told Ben about seeing Paul cry. "I think we'd better keep a close eye on him," George quietly suggested, "especially in his present state of mind."

Ben agreed. The agents understood the Starman's natural parental concern for his son, but George worried that Forrester's concern might cross over into acute depression. He made a mental note to comment on his observation of Paul's behavior in his report to General Wade. He wondered if the Starman even understood the emotions he was feeling or how they could effect him.

"Go easy with him," Fox told Ben. The big agent nodded.

Paul came out of the bedroom, slowly walked to the table and sat down. He had to force himself to eat the sandwich George had prepared for him; not that it was bad, but his mind just wasn't on food.

Dinner was quiet, unnervingly so, and George decided to do something to break the silence. Quietly he called the Starman's name.

Paul looked up.

“Don't worry," the agent told him reassuringly, "Scott's in good hands. You healed the worst of his injuries. He should come home in record time."

"Yes... I know," Paul answered quietly.

“Then please try to pull yourself out of this depression." In a softer tone George continued, "I know how much this must hurt, but if you continue to dwell on it, you'll end up making yourself sick. I'm worried about you."

“I'm sorry," Paul replied. "I didn't mean to alarm you," he tried reassuring the agent. "I'll be fine," he added and gave a slight smile for George's benefit.

But George knew the pain the Starman was feeling, and Paul's attempt to dismiss it was failing. "Alright, talk."

"About what?"

"About what's on your mind; about what's troubling you."

Paul put down his coffee cup, but held onto the sides with both hands. "I keep thinking...," he began as he stared at the steam rising up from the cup, "why would someone do that to Scott? How could someone do that to someone else?" He felt a lump forming in his throat, took a deep breath and continued, "We've been to other cities and other schools...all over the country, and yes, he has had occasional trouble adjusting to being 'the new kid on the block' as he calls it, but it's never been as bad as this. The most he's ever had to suffer from the other boys is some cruel teasing and once he got a black eye, but he's never been beaten like this, or stabbed."

“He's been lucky so far," George said. "I've just heard the latest statistics over the radio and last year in this city alone, there were over one hundred homicides. Most of them were drug-related. You have any idea how many children die every year in our schools and streets because of drugs, gangs and guns? It's frightening. It's a national epidemic, and a national disgrace as well."

“But Scott's not into drugs, gangs or guns!" Paul responded with controlled anger.

“I know. He's just another victim caught in the crossfire. Listen, the police will get those Stingers, then we'll take them to court and get a conviction."

“Yes," Paul replied calmer, "but as I've heard you say, 'for every one you get, ten more are out there waiting to take their place.' ...I can't wait until Scott comes home and we can leave."

George and Ben were surprised. "Where are you going?" George asked.

Paul's voice still hinted his anger and sadness. "Anywhere away from here, perhaps to some small town somewhere. I just never want to come back here. You can keep these vicious, savage... children, away from my son. There are many places we've been to, far less violent than this city. I want to return to one of those places and maybe settle down for a while, in peace."

"But what about your job?" Wylie asked. "Are you finished yet?"

“No, but Scott and I aren't staying here. I can find another photography job somewhere else. I'll wash dishes or sweep floors if I must until one comes along, but as soon as Scott's released, we're leaving."

There was silence, when Ben thought about one other point he felt he needed to remind the Starman about before the Starman definitely decided to undertake his current plan of action. "Paul," he tried reasoning, "the school year is almost finished. Final exams begin in a few weeks. I can only imagine how you're feeling right now because of what's happened, but if you pull Scott out... Please, at least let him finish the year."

Paul didn't say anything immediately, but hung his head down and nodded. "Yes... you're right. I should've thought of that."

Seeing the meal and conversation were coming to an end, George asked the Starman, "You wanna watch some TV with us?"

"No," Paul replied. "You go ahead. I'll take care of the dishes."

"Okay." George nodded to his partner. "C'mon, Ben."

Ben followed George's lead and both of them left Paul to the dishes and his own thoughts. Ben settled down in the tiny living room to watch a baseball game already in progress while George alternated between watching the game and writing his next report to General Wade. Occasionally, one of them would glance over to the kitchen and sneak a quick look at the Starman. They were both still worried about him.

Paul finished doing what few dishes there were and retired directly to the bedroom. He hung up the jacket he had tossed on the edge of the bed earlier, then undressed and climbed between the sheets. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, thinking how he missed the warmth and comfortable weight of Scott on the other half of the bed, then he closed his eyes and began to shut out the noise of the TV in the other room and let his mind drift off. Soon his efforts were successful and he was asleep. He began to dream... of Scott.

Ben turned off the TV before the game was finished. Neither man seemed to be enjoying it as they usually did, and so, decided to retire for the night.

They entered the bedroom, quietly, and were somewhat relieved to see the Starman soundly asleep and wrapped up like a cocoon in the blankets.

Ben considered watching the rest of the game, but he had felt his body's calling for rest. He changed into his pajamas and joined George, who was already changed and in bed. George turned off the light, said good- night to his partner and they both closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Sometime during the night, Paul's pleasant dreams of Scott turned into a nightmare. His breathing increased, like that of a runner out of breath, and he began mumbling 'no.' He tossed his head from side to side, then suddenly sat bolt upright, his arms hugging his body, and shaking as cold shivers ran through him.

As with previous experiences with nightmares, he had caught and held back the loud awakening scream that would have instantly startled George and Ben in the next bed. He continued to sit upright staring at the cold empty blackness in the room and began to calm his rapid breathing.

George didn't know what caused him to awaken. He hadn't heard the Starman mumble or toss and turn, but he opened his eyes and looked in the Starman's direction, partially propping himself up on one elbow. "You okay?"

he whispered to him.

Paul was startled by the voice breaking the foreboding silence. With a sudden intake of breath, he quickly turned his head in the direction of the voice and saw the shadowy silouette in the next bed. When he did not answer immediately, the whisper once more broke the silence.

"Paul, you alright?"

"Yes," the Starman whispered.

"What's the matter?"

“Nothing. It was just a bad dream. I'm sorry I awakened you. Go back to sleep."

"You sure you're okay?" George asked, still concerned.

“Yes," Paul replied with an unseen smile in the dark. "Go back to sleep," he repeated.

But George did not relax until he saw Paul lie back down and pull the covers over himself. Only then did George also lie down and follow the Starman's suggestion.

Paul remained awake, however. The memory of the horrible nightmare was still with him. Sleepless, he stared at the ceiling in the blackness of night. He lay that way as the hours dragged on until the light of dawn finally began to enter the room.

George woke up before Ben, and decided to get up. He carefully got out of the bed so as not to awaken his partner, put on his slippers and started to walk to the bathroom. As he passed by Paul's bed, he stopped short, startled to see that the Starman was awake and watching him. George sat down on the edge of the bed. "Good-morning," he whispered.

Paul gave him a faint smile.

"You manage to get back to sleep alright?"

"No," Paul whispered.

"You mean you've been awake since the middle of last night?"

"Yes...I didn't feel like going back to sleep."

"That dream? Was it that bad?"

"Yes."

"Wanna tell me what it was about?"

Paul flatly said no, and noticed George wasn't satisfied with his answer.

A few more moments passed and George finally took the initiative. "It was about Scott, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me about it."

"No!"

"Okay, but listen, he is going to be alright. You'll see."

"I know."

"Then forget the dream and c'mon and help me make breakfast."

Paul took a deep breath to clear his mind. He closed his eyes and tried to erase the painful image. "Okay," he said after a pause, "but I'll never forget that dream." He got out of the bed as George stood up. They both went into the bathroom. While George shaved, Paul showered. When Paul finished, the two men traded positions.

The Starman finished shaving, and still wrapped only in the towel, returned to the bedroom. Ben was still asleep. Paul quietly dressed, then went into the kitchen to start breakfast. It was George's turn to cook, but Paul decided to make his son's favorite morning meal, pancakes and syrup. He wanted things that reminded him of his son, and he also was in no mood for the cold fruit, nut and grain cereal that George liked, no matter how nutritious it was supposed to be. He began to assemble the necessary ingredients.

George emerged from the bathroom wrapped in his towel. Seeing his partner still soundly asleep, he put on his underwear and then threw the damp towel squarely on Ben's face.

Ben was startled awake by the wet cloth and sat upright in an instant. He gave George a sour look when he discovered it was his boss who had thrown it.

"Get up. Paul's makin' breakfast and I'm gonna go help him."

"Yeah, okay," Ben mumbled. As an afterthought he asked, "How is he?"

"I'm not sure yet."

George finished dressing and Ben got out of the warm bed to take his turn in the bathroom. George went into the kitchen.

"Can I help? It's supposed to be my turn to cook, you know."

“I know," Paul told him, "but I don't want cereal. Would you set the table please?"

"Sure. What're you making?"

"Pancakes."

George absentmindedly set the table for four, then went to the refrigerator to get the syrup and other items. He sat down and watched Paul as he cooked, not noticing his error.

"You want to tell me what your dream was about now?" "Okay," Paul sighed. "If you must know, it started out nicely enough.

I was dreaming of all the places Scott and I have been to and the things we've done and shared."

"What happened to turn it into a nightmare?"

“I don't know. All of a sudden I just saw Scott in the hospital with all the machines monitoring him and the bottles and tubes dripping stuff into him... and I saw his wounds and felt his pain again. It... made me feel sick."

"And how are you now?"

“I feel alright, not sick, if that's what you want to know, but it hurts me to think of him like that."

"Yes, I can see that."

George felt something was still missing though. By Paul's anguished look, he felt the Starman was holding something back and decided to press further, "Was that it, or was there more to the dream?" He hoped that Paul would tell him the rest.

Paul looked into George's searching eyes. "There's more," he choked out.

When Paul didn't continue, George's face softened with compassion for the Starman. "Please, tell me," he prompted kindly.

Paul considered refusing, but he also felt the need to vent his bottled-up feelings. Softly, he started, "I heard Scott..."

"Yes? You heard what?" George asked gently.

Paul's voice seemed to be on the verge of breaking. "Scott..." he took a shaky breath. "Scott accused me. He said it was all my fault that this happened to him. He blamed me for not listening to him or caring enough about him to leave this city when he asked me to at the first sign of trouble." Scott's stinging words from a previous time came back again to haunt him in thought. Oh, it's okay to leave when you have a problem, but it's not okay when I have one. "He's right. When I think of how close I came to losing my son..." he choked, "and he came to losing...his life... I should've listened. We should've left. It is my fault."

“Now wait a minute!" George said, immediately stepping in for the defense. "Last night... that was just a dream talking to you, your subconscious! It is not your fault! This could've happened to anybody. Even if we had left this city, it still might've happened."

"And maybe not."

“Okay, maybe not, but you can't say for sure, none of us can. And as for not caring about Scott, Ben and I can see you do care about him, very much. Don't put yourself down. Scott loves you and he knows you love and care about him."

"I know, but that still doesn't change how I feel."

"Don't blame yourself! It's not your fault! Do you hear me?"

"Yes," the Starman answered quietly.

George didn't say any more and Paul went back to cooking. Each stayed silent until Ben came out of the bedroom and joined them at the table. It was then that George noticed the extra setting for the first time. The sight hurt everyone, but Paul the most. "I'm sorry," George apologized. "I guess it was just force of habit."

Paul accepted the apology. They ate breakfast in near silence, speaking only when necessity demanded it. No one was in the talking mood.

With all the pancakes eaten, Paul volunteered to clean up again and they let him. Ben went into the living room to read the paper while George decided to help Paul with the dishes.

"Just as soon as you're ready, we'll go to the hospital," George said.

They were putting on their coats when the telephone rang. George answered it. Paul and Ben listened.

“That was General Wade," George told the Starman and his partner. "He got the message I left on his machine about Scott. He called to 'find out what the hell is going on,' as he put it."

"Uh-oh," Ben responded, a look of foreboding on his face.

"You heard me explaining."

"Yes... And?" Paul asked.

“Consider yourself lucky he isn't flying out here. He was none too happy, especially with you," George looked at Wylie, "...but he did tell me to tell you, Paul, he's sorry about what's happened to Scott. I think maybe he's beginning to understand and believe you... and me. Let's go."

After George, Ben and Paul walked into Scott's room, Paul told his son about running into Justin the previous night outside the ward and their subsequent conversation. At first, as George had predicted, Scott's reaction was extreme anger.

“He sold me out," Scott raged, "just to save his own skin! I never want to see him again!"

"You can't mean that," Paul said, shocked. "He's your friend."

"You just don't get it, do you?" Scott shouted at his father.

“What I understand," Paul said calmly, patiently trying again, "is he tried to stop these Stingers, but his idea didn't work."

Scott's face still showed his anger. Ben tried reasoning with him. "Scott, I think you might've done the same thing if you had been cornered and had no choice."

"Justin never meant for you to get hurt," George added.

Scott silently considered what he'd been told. They were right, even if he didn't want to admit it. Given the choice of implicating oneself and certainly dying, or lying and living, he knew he would've chosen exactly as Justin had. Still, he felt angry his friend had dumped him so easily. Scott looked up at his father and the two agents, torn between his anger and compassion for Justin.

After a long pause, Paul asked Scott, "Will you forgive him?" and waited for his son's reply.

Scott didn't say anything, but cast his eyes downward and nodded ever so slightly. Paul smiled.

George glanced at his watch and told Paul, "If we don't get going, our boss is gonna chew our butts. C'mon, let's go finish that assignment."

Paul nodded and gave Scott a farewell hug.

"See ya later, Dad."

George and Paul left.

The Stingers gathered in their hideout after school. Each member gave his or her protection money take for the day to Blade. Blade divided the money among the gang, keeping fifty percent for himself. No one in the gang dared to defy this policy as Blade had earned his nickname by knifing anyone who stood in his way.

After distributing a hundred or so dollars per member, Blade's right hand man passed out the crack cocaine for each member to sell. As they were about to leave, Brian, the only member among them who liked to read, shouted to the others to stop. He showed everyone Scott's picture in the newspaper.

The gang all gathered around as Brian began reading the story. "Hayden's still alive?" Blade roared before Brian was finished. Blade stood up and begin pacing the floor, then stopped and pulled out his pistol, toying with it. He turned to the two members who had taken Scott's body and dumped it in the garage, then pointed the gun at their faces and began chewing them out.

“Hey, take it easy!" one of them shouted. "We didn't know Hayden was alive! You're the one who said he was finished! We just dumped him like you said."

Blade thought about that and grudgingly backed off. He's right. I should've checked. "Okay. All we gotta do is 'ice' 'im before he can drop a dime on us."

"If he hasn't already," someone pointed out.

"He has," Brian said. "Just listen to this..." Blade was fuming again by the time Brian finished the story. "I want

Hayden dead!" he shouted. "Smoke, you're gonna 'ice' that little mutha."

"Why me?" the teen protested.

“You want to stay a Stinger?" Blade threatened, pointing his gun at the boy.

"You know I do, man!"

"So 'off' Hayden. Just call it... a reconfirmation of your loyalty."

Smoke nervously looked around the room as the other members watched him. "Okay. It'll happen."

“That's right," Blade said as he leaned over Smoke. He continued in his threatening tone, "but you remember our code if you're caught. Breathe so much as a whisper..." Blade looked at his band.

“I know, man! I know!" the teen replied as he saw the others pull out their various weapons. "But, you got any ideas on how to do it? That bodyguard's with 'im all the time."

"Do I gotta think of everything for you?" Blade complained.

Smoke didn't say anything but just looked blankly at his leader.

“Okay," Blade told everyone, "we need a foolproof way to terminate Scott Hayden once and for all. Let's hear some ideas."

One by one, each member voiced their plan.

George and Paul had just finished work for the day, and were walking down the hospital corridor on their way to see Scott. They spotted Justin again, just standing in the corridor lobby. The teen was ready to run when he saw the men, but changed his mind and stood there instead, waiting for them.

“Justin, come with us," Paul said. "I'm sure Scott would like to see you."

"He's not mad?" Justin asked.

“Well, he was this morning when Paul told him," George replied, "but it's all straightened out now. C'mon."

"You sure?"

“Yes," Paul smiled, then quietly reached out and put his arm around the youth's shoulders. "C'mon, let's go."

Justin let Paul steer him and they walked down the corridor and into Scott's room.

“Hi, Justin," Ben called out as the boy walked in. "Paul, Mr. Fox..." The boy smiled, then looked at Scott... and the man in the Army uniform.

George and Paul were taken completely by surprise and stood beside Ben, who was seated at the foot of Scott's bed.

“General Wade? What are you doing here?" George asked. "I thought you said you were going to stay in Washington."

“I changed my mind, Fox," Wade replied. "I decided I wanted to find out firsthand what was going on."

"And what did Scott tell you?" George asked.

"Everything," Scott replied.

Paul and George looked at the teen.

“Forrester...," the general started, looking at the Starman and getting his full attention.

“Yes?" Paul asked nervously, wondering if the general had decided to terminate their agreement and arrest him and Scott.

"That's quite a boy you've got there."

"Thank you," Paul replied, relieved. All the adults having had their say, and the sudden silence in the

room, left Justin feeling it was his turn. In a guilt-ridden voice, he said "Hi" to his friend. Then as tears threatened to come, Justin began spilling his apology. "I'm sorry, Scott," he said in a faltering voice. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way."

"I know. Dad told me everything."

The two teens relaxed more and began talking. The adults watched the boys and listened carefully as they discussed what had happened and what was supposed to have happened. Paul eyed Scott nervously as Justin finished explaining how he lied when the Stingers cornered him in the gym.

"So why didn't you tell them it wasn't me?" Scott asked angrily.

“What was I supposed to do?" Justin snapped back. "Tell 'em the truth and let 'em kill me?"

“You could've stuck up for me," Scott retorted. "That's what friends do."

“If I said anything, they would've known I lied. You know they would've worked me over 'til I told them everything. I couldn't tell 'em it was me, and I couldn't tell 'em it wasn't you, so I kept quiet about it. I'm sorry."

Scott was ready with another stinging response, but suddenly stopped as he noticed his father watching him. He took a deep breath and apologized to his friend. There was a long silence before both boys continued discussing what happened in much quieter tones.

George resumed his conversation with General Wade about the purpose of his visit. Paul found he had double-duty monitoring his son's conversation for signs of further hostilities while keeping track of his own conversation with the general and George.

While George was talking to the general, Paul glanced at his son and noticed he was getting tired. "It's getting late," he told everyone as he looked at his watch. "My son needs his rest. I think we should go," he added as he stood up. Everyone followed Paul's lead. George and Ben each told Scott good-night. "It's been a pleasure to finally meet and talk with you, son," Wade said as he shook Scott's hand. "You take care of yourself."

"I'll try to, sir," the teen smiled. Paul gave his son a farewell hug.

Scott looked at Justin. "Thanks for comin'," he said.

"I'll come again tomorrow if you want?" Justin asked.

Scott smiled and nodded, then closed his eyes and pulled the covers up over his shoulder. Paul turned off the florescent lamp above the bed for Scott and they all left the room, telling the policeman by the door good- night as they passed him.

The group walked down the corridor, Paul and Justin in the lead, with George, Ben and the general following. As they neared the elevators they heard the familiar ding indicating one of the elevator cars had stopped at their floor.

The elevator doors opened and a young man dressed in worn denims stepped out. Justin froze in his tracks as he recognized the teenager.

Paul sensed Justin's sudden fear and looked at the boy in alarm. "What is it?" he asked.

Justin tried to back away, but George, Ben and General Wade were in his way. He pointed at the teen who had stepped out of the elevator and shouted, "He's a Stinger!"

His discovery now making his plan a failure, the denim-clad Stinger quickly pulled out a pistol and fired once, then turned and ran down the emergency exit stairs beside the elevator. "Get him," George ordered Ben, and the agent took off in pursuit. Paul's face was stricken with horror as Justin fell to his knees. He

caught the boy under his arms as the youth sagged to the floor. Paul saw the bloodstain spreading across the front of Justin's shirt and he placed his hand over the wound to try and slow the bleeding. The boy was moaning in great pain. The bullet had entered his upper chest.

The quiet corridor was filled with sudden pandemonium. The gunshot had brought all nurses and doctors in the vicinity. Paul tried to ease as much of Justin's pain as he could with his touch. He held him until someone showed up with a gurney, then helped lift Justin onto it. The boy was wheeled into the elevator and down to the emergency room.

Paul was still trying to get a grip on himself. "George, I have to see if Scott's alright," he told the agent. "If he heard the gunshot...."

"We understand," George replied and they headed back to Scott's room.

George quickly explained to the officer guarding the room what had happened and warned him to stay alert in case the Stinger managed to give Wylie the slip and returned to try to get Scott. The officer agreed and pulled out his two-way radio, calling in the incident to the station.

When Paul entered the room he noticed Scott was indeed awake and frightened. Paul told his son what happened to his friend as Scott stared in terror at the drying blood on his father's hands.

"Dad," Scott began in a cracking voice....

Paul held his son in his arms comfortingly. "Shh," he whispered. "It's okay. I'm here. The officer is here, too. See? He won't leave you unguarded."

"I don't care, Dad!" Scott cried. "I want you! Please don't go!"

"I won't leave you," Starman crooned.

“Neither will I," George added as he stood by the door with the officer.

"I'm staying too," General Wade said.

As the boy calmed down, Paul broke the embrace and opened the nightstand drawer beside the bed. He reached for Scott's sphere and placed it in his son's hand. He knew as long as Scott held it, it would protect and give Scott peace of mind. It would also alert him instantly if Scott needed him.

Paul went into the bathroom to wash Justin's blood off his hands.

Ben ran after the Stinger who was gaining an increasing distance on him. Age affected the agent's agility to some extent. He couldn't keep jumping the last four stairs down to the next landing like the Stinger, but he followed the teen with steely determination.

The Stinger burst through the emergency exit doors on the first floor and ran down the now-empty corridor, not sure where it led. A scant few seconds later he heard the man come through those doors and continue the chase. The boy reached an intersection, turned left onto another corridor and kept running.

Ben reached the corner the Stinger had rounded, and, spotting his target, shouted for the boy to stop.

Smoke had no intention of letting this man capture him. As he kept running, he twisted around and took a wild shot at Wylie.

With barely a second to spare, Ben dropped to one knee in a defensive firing stance, took quick aim and fired. The boy fell to the floor, the gun flying out of his hand. Ben quickly rushed up to stand over him, his weapon still pointed at him.

Smoke was clutching his thigh as he yelled obscenities at Wylie.

Ben unsympathetically rolled his captive onto his stomach and held him down with one knee in his back. He holstered the loaned police service revolver and took out his handcuffs, grabbed one of the boy's hands and cuffed it, then secured it to the other wrist. He then took out his Miranda card and began reading the young hood his legal rights. The hospital security officers arrived, and, after assessing the situation, called for a medical team to come to the scene. Smoke was loaded onto a gurney and wheeled into an examining room.

Ben waited for the police to arrive. When they did, he showed them his FSA identification and told them what happened. After getting all the information they could from the agent, an officer returned with Ben to Scott's room to take Paul, George and General Wade's statements as well.

"Ben, you okay?" George asked as his partner walked in.

"Yes, sir."

"Did you get that kid?"

“Yes, sir. He took a shot at me and I returned fire. Got him in the leg. The doctors are working on him now. They'll move him to the security ward when they're done."

"Good work," George said.

"Thank you," Ben grinned proudly.

Paul was horrified at the thought of hurting somone and calling it 'good work,' but he chose to remain silent.

With Smoke under arrest and currently undergoing surgery, Scott's anxiety turned to wondering about Justin's condition. He asked if his father or one of the agents would go find out how his friend was doing. Starman looked at George.

Everyone was still aware of the danger and the possibility of another Stinger attack. "General Wade and I'll stay here," Fox told Paul and Ben.

Paul smiled and told his son, "We'll be back just as soon as we can." The two men left for the emergency waiting room.

The police notified Mr. and Mrs. Wiest their son had been hurt and the officer in charge of the case gave them a limited account of the shooting. When the Wiests arrived at the hospital, a nurse informed them their son was still undergoing surgery to remove the bullet, and they were to wait in the lounge until the operation was over.

After giving the admitting staff all the insurance information they needed and signing the admission forms, Justin's parents walked into the room and saw two men sitting on the couch. They assumed these were two of the four men the officer told them were with their son when he was shot. They walked over and stood facing the men, anger and fear on their faces.

“I'm Justin's father," Mr. Wiest said. "Were you with my son when he was shot?"

"Yes," both men answered.

"What was Justin doing with you?" Mr. Wiest asked.

“Visiting my son," Paul calmly told him. "Your son and mine go to school together."

"Who are you?"

"Paul Forrester."

“Paul Forrester..." Frank repeated slowly as he tried to place where he'd heard the name. Recognition suddenly dawned, and he looked at the Starman. "Your son's the one who was shot by some gang yesterday! It was in the paper."

"Yes," Paul answered sadly.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Wiest said.

But Justin's father came to the wrong conclusion. "You keep your kid away from my boy!" he threatened loudly. "Justin's never had any trouble with gangs before and he's not gonna start now! Just keep your boy away from my son! You understand me?"

“Justin's already in trouble with gangs," Paul said calmly as he looked into Mr. Wiest's eyes.

"What d'you mean by that?" Mr. Wiest snapped.

“I said what I meant. Justin's in trouble with the Stinger gang. He's a victim of their extortion scheme."

“That's a lie!" Frank roared as he lunged forward and grabbed Paul's jacket by the collar with both hands.

Ben immediately sprang into action and pulled the angry man off Paul before he could hurt the Starman.

Paul shrunk back as far as he could into the couch, stunned by the unexpected attack.

"That's quite enough, Mr. Wiest!" Ben shouted.

"Frank! Stop it!" Mrs. Wiest pleaded.

“He's a damned liar!" Frank said as he attempted another lunge at the Starman. "Justin's got nothing to do with those punks... or he didn't until he got mixed up with his kid!"

"I'm afraid that isn't true," Ben said.

Both of Justin's parents were stunned to silence. Frank glared at the tall man and asked, "Who are you?"

“I'm Benjamin Wylie," the agent began. "What Mr. Forrester said is true. Justin's been paying extortion money to the Stinger gang for quite a while now. They tried to make Mr. Forrester's son pay them, too, but he refused."

“No! You're wrong! Justin's a good kid! He wouldn't have anything to do with gangs!" Mr. Wiest replied.

"Yes, he is good," Paul said, "but he's in trouble, too."

“I take it Justin's never told you he's been paying forty dollars every month to the Stingers," Ben said. "He even offered to pay me to get the gang off his back."

"I don't believe it! What kind of lies...?" Frank cried.

“It's not a lie," Paul said. "When he's able to talk, why don't you ask him?"

“Frank, listen to them," Mrs. Wiest said. "Maybe they're telling the truth. Maybe Justin is in trouble."

"I'm afraid he is," Ben repeated.

There was a long silence as Frank Wiest let what he had been told sink in. He still did not want to believe it. "Is that why they shot my boy?" he finally asked.

“No," Ben said, and he went on to explain his position and the circumstances of the shooting. He told them of Scott's troubles, and his beating and stabbing. "Since Scott's still alive and can name those who attacked him, we're pretty sure this was a another attempt by the gang to kill Paul's son, not Justin."

“Justin just happened to recognize the boy and wrecked their plan," Paul told them. "In a way, he saved my son's life."

Mr. and Mrs. Wiest were silent. They didn't quite know what to say. Paul got up from his seat and offered the couch to Justin's parents. They sat down. Ben led Paul to some chairs on the other side of the room. Neither the Starman nor the agent talked further with Frank or Mrs. Wiest until the nurse arrived.

Some time later, one of the surgical nurses walked into the lounge and asked for Justin's parents. She told them they could see their son now and asked them to follow her.

Before they left, Paul told them, "I'm sorry this happened to Justin. Will you let us know how he is?"

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Wiest replied.

Frank remained stone-faced and gave them an icy stare.

Paul and Ben returned to Scott's room.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. In the morning, General Wade told everyone he had to return to Washington. "Keep me informed, Fox."

"Yes, sir."

The general said good-bye and left the room.

Scott and Justin were put in the same room where they enjoyed each other's company for the next few days as they recovered from surgery. The only problem was the resentment Justin's father harbored towards Paul, Ben, Scott and George. On the first night when everyone was there, Frank tried to assault the Starman again when he overheard Paul mention the connection between Justin and the Stingers. Paul dropped the subject, sad that Frank would not discuss his son's problem or even admit to it.

At the first opportunity when Justin was asleep and his parents were not there, Scott asked his father, "Would you heal Justin like you did me?"

Paul grinned proudly at Scott, pleased that his son thought enough of his friend to ask for the favor. "I'll do what I can," he told his son.

"Thanks, Dad," Scott smiled.

Ben volunteered to stand guard by the door to warn Paul of any potential interruptions while George watched Paul perform the healing.

Paul stood next to Justin's bed and activated the sphere, then he gently laid his hand on the boy's head. "I'll keep him asleep," he said. "He won't know anything about this. Remember that, Scott," he warned.

Seeing his son nod in assent, Paul began. George watched in fascination as the blue light coalesced around Justin's body like a ghostly halo.

“Justin's parents are coming!" Ben said. Paul quickly deactivated the sphere and put it away, but not before remembering to release Justin from the deep sleep he'd put the boy in. Paul sat on Scott's bed while George and Ben quickly seated themselves in the visitors' chairs.

“How much were you able to do?" George quietly asked before Justin's parents arrived.

“Enough," Paul reassured him with a smile as Mr. and Mrs. Wiest entered the room.

Paul, George and Ben offered hushed greetings to Justin's parents.

Mrs. Wiest smiled at the men as she and her husband moved to either side of their son's bed. They saw he was sleeping. Frank was tempted to wake Justin, but Mrs. Wiest stopped him. "No, Frank, let him sleep," she whispered.

Ila Wiest moved away to talk with the Starman, his son and the two agents. Frank still exhibited bitterness toward everyone, but most especially to Paul, so he remained by Justin's bedside, preferring to ignore the three men and the teenager.

George stood up and offered his seat to the woman. "Please, sit down."

“Thank you," she said as she accepted the chair, and asked, "How are you doing, Scott?"

“Fine," Scott said with a smile. "The doctor said I can go home in a couple days."

"That's wonderful."

“Yes, it is," Paul agreed. "I'll be glad to have him back. It's been lonely without him. I've missed him."

They all looked at Mr. Wiest as he grunted sourly in response to Paul's remark.

“Hey, man, what's your problem?" Scott whispered angrily at Justin's father. "It's like every time you see me or my father, or if Dad, Mr. Fox or Ben say anything, you wanna belt us! Why?"

"That should be obvious," Mr. Wiest replied flatly.

"Well it isn't, so why don't you just spell it out!"

"Scott!" Paul whispered, admonishing his son. "That's enough!"

But Scott felt otherwise. "No, it isn't, Dad! I'm sick of his attitude

towards all of us! He comes in here, and looks as if he wants to spit on you and me every time he sees us! If Justin and I can get along, then what's his problem?"

“If it wasn't for you, boy, my son wouldn't be here now!" Frank sneered angrily.

“For your information, Mr. Wiest," Scott replied with icy control covering his anger, "Justin's problem with the Stingers started long before I showed up, so why don't you lay off takin' it out on me! It's not my fault he didn't, or couldn't, tell you about it. If anything, you should've noticed something was wrong and tried to help him!"

That stung Justin's dad. It was bad enough to have his pride in his son shattered by the wild accusations of Justin's giving in to extortion demands, but to imply he had failed as a father protecting his child, and have the insult come from this teenager.... He fought every impulse to walk over and strike Scott.

Paul felt saddened this man still blamed him and his son for Justin's injuries, but that was no excuse for rudeness. "Scott," he said reproachfully, "that was uncalled for. I want you to apologize to Mr. Wiest for that remark."

But Scott was silent and defied his father's order as he steadily stared at Justin's father.

"Scott!" the Starman repeated, "I'm waiting. Apologize right now." Tense seconds passed with no response from Scott. Everyone's attention

was drawn by a movement from Justin. The boy had awakened. "Scott doesn't have to apologize, Mr. Forrester," Justin said, "I do. It's not Scott's fault. I'm sorry, Dad, I just couldn't tell you about the Stinger problem, the extortion money."

“Why not, son?" Frank asked, obviously heartbroken that what he'd been told about his son was true.

“I was afraid to. I was scared of what you would think of me, and I was scared of them. I tried to handle it myself, like I knew you'd want me to. That's what you've always said, 'Be a man. Handle the problem by yourself.' Well, I tried to," he began crying, "but it got out of control! I'm sorry, Dad! I'm sorry!"

“But that's when you should have come to me," Frank told his son gently. "I'm proud you tried to handle it, but when you needed help, you should've asked me."

“For what? There's nothing you could've done, unless you went to school with me as my bodyguard like Mr. Wylie does with Scott. Nothin' can stop those guys."

“That's where you're wrong, Justin," George interjected. "This time we've got 'em, well, the one that shot you anyway. Now we just have to wait for the court date."

"Huh?" the boy sputtered.

“Didn't the district attorney explain? You're the star witness, Justin," George began, "Wylie, Paul 'n I will testify, too, but you're the key. You want to see the Stingers out of action for a long time, don't you?"

Justin looked at his father for support and Frank nodded. "Yeah," the boy answered.

“Well then, you're going to have to testify against that punk. That's the way the system works. The same goes for you, too, Scott."

"What?" Scott asked.

“When the police catch Blade, you're going to have to testify against him. That's the only way to make sure he and his band go to jail."

“That is until some bleedin' heart judge let's 'em off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist," Frank snorted sarcastically. "I'm telling you, they won't serve one minute behind bars."

"I'll do my best to see to it they do," George told the man.

"What's the hold-up in arresting Blade?" Ben asked.

“I'm not sure," George answered. "I wouldn't be surprised if that weasel got the word from his gang that he's hot and he's gone into hiding. Whatever the reason, I'll touch bases with the cops and find out."

In the lull of conversation, Starman remembered he had not heard the apology from his son. He was not going to allow Scott to get away with his earlier rude remark. He spoke to his son and gazed at him discerningly.

Scott looked at his father and those piercing eyes. He knew what the Starman was waiting for. He looked at Justin's father. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier, Mr. Wiest," he began softly. "Please forgive me."

Paul smiled at his son.

Everyone watched as Frank looked intently at the Starman's son, then without saying anything, nodded.

“Hey, Scott, guess what?" Ben asked, trying to lighten the tense mood that filled the room.

"What?" Scott replied.

“I meant to tell you sooner, but with everything that's happened lately I never got around to it." He looked at Scott's friend. "This'll be news to you, too, Justin." Ben turned his attention back to Scott, but spoke to everyone. "Since the story came out about your 'incident,' there have been some major changes at school."

“Like what?" the teen inquired. Everyone else listened intently as well.

“First let me tell you what I learned from talking with your teachers. After your story appeared in the paper, the parents, some teachers, and students held a sort of protest march against the violence and gang trouble. I guess your beating and stabbing were the last straw. People were angry and decided they'd had enough. So the mayor, parents, teachers, the school committee and board, held a special emergency meeting to discuss the problem and what to do about it."

"Yeah, so what happened?" "Well, as a result of the meeting, and effective immediately, all

students must pass through a metal detector. Right now the police are using hand-held units until the permanent ones are installed, but that's not all. The dress code's been changed, too. No gang jackets or 'colors' are allowed anymore, and no overly-expensive jewelry or clothing is permitted. The locker searches will continue as before, but at least twice a week, at random, drug-sniffing police dogs will be brought in to aid in the search. It's gonna cost this city quite a bundle, but everyone agreed something had to be done."

"All that because of what happened to me?" Scott asked, surprised.

“Yup. And you'll be interested to know that a few other students came forward as well to testify against the Stingers and the Aces. The police have made a few more arrests.

Scott was released from the hospital and four weeks later, returned to school in time to take all his final exams. The principal, teachers and students welcomed the teen back, which made Scott happy. Scott noticed the changes Ben told him were in effect and being enforced. He could sense the change in the school's atmosphere. Some of the fear was gone. It felt safer now. He told Ben, "Y'know, I wish all this had been in place before I got hurt."

"Me, too," the agent replied.

"I'm glad it's working."

"So am I. I'm just sorry you had to suffer to make it happen."

And it was working. The principal, mayor, school board and committee, and parents were astounded to see how many drugs and weapons had been confiscated and turned in to the police. Thirty-seven students were expelled or turned over to the state for treatment and rehabilitation.

Justin was released from the hospital a week after Scott and took his final exams at home, under the supervision of a tutor.

School was officially out until fall, but Paul, George, Ben, and Justin and his parents were kept busy meeting with the district attorney. The DA notified them the date for Smoke's trial was set for the latter half of August.

Blade and some of the Stingers were arrested for drug dealing, gun running and Scott's beating and attempted murder during the first week of summer vacation when a police stakeout of a major drug dealer paid off. Blade sat in the county jail awaiting his trial and would continue to sit there until then, and would spend many years thereafter in prison with any luck.

The police notified Paul of Blade's arrest, and Paul, Scott, George and Ben met with the DA. George used his government position to influence the prosecuting attorney, who convinced the judge at the preliminary hearing to deny bail to Blade. The court set very high bail for the other members of the Stinger gang. Most of the Stingers could not meet the bail amount required to spring them, and some of their parents refused to pay the bail, so they sat in jail along with their leader. It was fitting justice.

Paul's photo assignment was finished and he promptly tendered his resignation. The chief editor offered Paul another choice assignment. "Choose anything you want from the list, Paul, and it's yours," he said, hoping Forrester would change his mind and stay, but the Starman declined.

"You quit?" George asked.

“I said I was leaving when this assignment was finished and Scott was through for the year," Starman told him. "I meant it. This assignment is finished and Scott is out, so we're leaving. I don't care about the job or the money," he added, "I just want to live somewhere where it's peaceful and quiet. We've had no peace since coming here ...and I think cities are much too noisy. I'm beginning to feel cooped up staying in this place for so long."

“Okay, okay, I understand. Itchy for your travel legs, hmm?" George teased, knowing the real reason they were leaving was to protect Scott. "So where are we going?" he asked.

“I don't know yet," Paul replied. "I'm going to let Scott choose our next destination."

"Scott?" George repeated, surprised.

“Yes. He's complained we always go where I tell him we have to, never where he wants to, so I'm going to let him choose this time. I think it's only fair and he deserves it, especially considering what's happened to him here."

"But the trials start..."

“So, we'll make arrangements. Scott will do his duty as a citizen and testify against Blade as we will against Smoke. Justice will be served."

"Yeah, you hope," George mumbled under his breath.

Later that evening after everyone had finished eating supper, Paul told Scott and Ben about what he'd done.

"You mean it, Dad?" Scott asked excitedly, "I get to pick where we go?"

"Yes," Paul answered, smiling. "Anywhere you want."

Suddenly Scott's face clouded with concern. "But what about the trials?" he asked.

“That's no problem," George said, jumping in the conversation. "I'll inform the DA where we'll be and when they need us, we'll fly back."

"So where do you think you want to go?" Ben asked the teen.

“I don't know," Scott answered, looking at the agent and his father. "I kinda got used to staying here."

“Do you want to stay here?" Paul asked sincerely. He waited quietly as his son considered his reply.

“I'm not sure. Now that we don't have to run from them," Scott looked at Ben and George, "I like the idea of staying here, but it feels strange now that you've asked. One part of me wants to stay, and another part is itchy to keep moving."

Everyone remained silent, then Scott asked, "Can I have some time to think about it?"

“Sure," Paul replied. "How about to the end of this week? Let me know by Sunday night what you've decided so I'll know if I need to apply for another job on Monday, or see if I can get the job I just quit, back. That fair?"

“Yeah," Scott smiled.

That evening Scott could not sleep. The clock said twelve-thirty and he was still wide awake thinking about moving or staying. He turned his head to his father and softly asked, "Dad, you awake?"

"Yes," Paul whispered.

“I don't have to think about it any longer," the teen said. "I've decided."

"Yes?" Paul asked as he looked at his son.

"I want to go," Scott told him.

"Do you know where?"

"Yeah. California, San Leon."

"What's in San Leon?" George asked, surprising Scott and Paul.

They looked at the agent.

"I couldn't sleep either," he told them. "Well?"

"Kelly," Scott said with a sheepish grin.

"Who's Kelly?" the agent asked.

Scott looked at his father and Paul smiled. "Kelly was Scott's first girlfriend," he answered for his son.

"I see," George said. "Young love, hmm?"

"You know, Scott," Paul started, "she may have someone else by now." "Maybe, but I'll take that chance," Scott said. "If she does have

someone else or it doesn't work out, no big loss. I'll find someone else, too. Or we can keep on going. Whatever happens, I just want to see her."

“Okay," Paul answered. "San Leon it is. We'll leave tomorrow. Good- night."

Scott and George both said good-night and tried to go to sleep, but Scott was too excited. Ben slept through the whole conversation.

The next morning Ben was told of Scott's decision and where they were going. Scott blushed a bit when George told Ben about Kelly, and teased the boy about having a crush on a girl.

After breakfast they spent the rest of the morning and half of the afternoon packing. George called the rental agency and exchanged their car for a larger vehicle. Settling down had allowed them to accumulate personal belongings, something which Paul was proud of. For the first time, he and Scott had more than just the clothes on their back and an extra set. They actually had a small wardrobe.

Scott called to say good-bye to Justin. That in itself was something new for him. Whenever he'd left before, there was rarely a chance to say good-bye to anyone. How many friends had he left suddenly? He couldn't even give them a forwarding address, afraid that it could somehow get traced and lead Fox to them. But everything was different now. "I promise I'll keep in touch," he said, not feeling so brokenhearted this time at leaving. There was even the possibility of coming back. He didn't have to lose his friend forever.

Paul called Liz to tell her of Scott's decision and to say good-bye. "Are you sure there's no way I can get you to change your mind?" she

asked sadly.

“I'm sure there's a way," he told her sympathetically, "but I promised Scott we'd abide by his choice this time. I'm sorry."

“I'm sorry, too.... You always were footloose and fancy free," she teased. "God, I'm gonna miss you!"

"Me, too."

“Do you still want me to handle your business like before?" she asked, hoping to keep even a small tie to the Starman.

“I'll let you know," he said. "I'm going to try to find something on my own first, okay?"

“Okay," she acceded. "But don't hesitate to call me if things don't work out."

"I won't."

"Good luck, Paul. I'll let you know if I hear anything from Jenny."

"Thank you."

"Bye," she said tearfully and hung up the phone.

“Good-bye, Liz."

Late that afternoon they began their journey to California.

Paul applied for a photographer's job at his former employer's. The editor was more than surprised and just a bit angry to see the Starman. He didn't want to re-hire Paul, not after the way Paul left town, and him, high and dry, but he gave in. He needed a good photographer and Paul Forrester still was the best. George explained it was a 'both of us or nothing' deal to the man and reluctantly Paul's former boss hired him as well, at minimum wage. George gritted his teeth at the insult, but accepted the job.

As it turned out, Kelly gladly welcomed Scott back, much to his delight. Then the expected questions began. "What happened?" she asked, "Why did you disappear like that? They looked everywhere for you...."

Scott started the long explanation. It was awkward with Ben standing there, or perhaps it was easier. "This is gonna be hard for you to understand," he said, "but Dad 'n I, we were... on the run."

"On the run? You mean like fugitives?" she asked, surprised.

"Yeah."

"From the police?"

"From the government actually."

"Why? What did you do?" she wanted to know.

“We didn't do anything," Scott answered and looked at Ben. The big agent remained quiet. "They wanted my father for questioning," Scott finished.

"Why?"

“It's all rather complicated and I really can't give you the details, honest. Maybe someday, but not right now. Okay?"

“Why not? What's the big secret?" Kelly persisted. "What did your father do, have connections with some major underworld drug lord or something?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Then what?" she asked agitatedly.

This was fast becoming a sticky situation. Scott looked again at Ben, torn between keeping the secret and laying all the cards on the table.

“It's your decision, Scott. I can't stop you," the big agent told him. "You can tell her if you want, but I must remind you, we'd prefer the fewer people who know the better, if you know what I mean."

"Know what?" Kelly asked, obviously curious.

If I want to have any kind of relationship with her, I'm going to have to tell her, Scott thought. Sooner or later it'll slip out and she'll find out. It's better I let her know, now. "I'm gonna tell her, Ben," he said as he gazed into Wylie's compassionate eyes. "I have to."

The agent nodded.

"Tell me what?"

Scott took a deep breath. "That my father is an alien from space and I'm half like him."

"Cut it out, Scott! Don't make up stories...!"

"I'm not."

"That's not funny. Tell me the truth."

"I just did," Scott answered calmly.

"That's it! I'm leaving," she said angrily and started to get up.

“You don't believe me?" Scott challenged, "Ask him," he indicated Ben. "He'll tell you. He's one of the government agents Dad and I were running from."

She looked at Scott and then at Ben, silently seeking confirmation.

"He's telling you the truth, Miss Jordan," Wylie replied.

"This is nuts, and I don't believe one word of it!"

“Show her your ID, Ben," Scott said, desperate for a way to convince her.

As Ben reached into the suit jacket's inside pocket, the jacket opened just enough to reveal his recovered automatic pistol in its shoulder holster. Kelly's eyes locked on the weapon and then she gazed at the FSA badge Wylie held for her to see.

"You're serious, aren't you?" she asked Scott.

"Yes."

"You're... from... out there?" she gestured skyward.

“No, I'm from down here," he smiled. "My mom's from Wisconsin. My father's from up there. I said it was complicated."

"Yeah, but I never expected this. This... this is wild!"

“And it's also top secret, Miss Jordan," Wylie said. "That's why you cannot and must not tell anyone else about this," he emphasized.

"Not even your parents," Scott added.

“That's right," Wylie agreed. "If people were to find out, there would be such a panic.... Do you understand?"

“Yeah, I think I do," she said softly. "This is incredible." She turned to Scott. "So, how different are you?"

“Not that different," Scott shrugged. "Physically, I'm just like any other normal kid," he replied. "The only thing that's different is, I can do some things other people can't."

"Like what?"

“Well, sometimes I can make things happen by thinking about them." He tried to choose his words carefully and not frighten her. "It's kinda like telekinesis; you know, make something move just by thinking about it."

"You can really do that?" Kelly asked, astonished.

“Yeah. I need my sphere to do it, but I'm not very good at it yet. Dad's been teaching me. He's the expert."

"Will you show me?"

"Yeah, but not out here in public," Scott answered.

"Can you do anything else?"

“I once healed a black eye my dad got. I don't know what else I'm capable of doing. Dad says someday I'll know, but I guess I'll just have to find out as time goes on."

“Is that why he's with you?" she indicated Wylie. "Are you and your dad under arrest or something?"

“No, we're under round-the-clock surveillance," Scott replied. "It's kind of a truce Dad struck with the government when they caught us. In exchange for our freedom, they get to observe us."

“That's terrible!" she cried. "That's blackmail! It's," she fumbled for the words, "it's invasion of privacy!"

“You get used to it," Scott blushed. "It's not so bad. Ben's kind of like a big brother to me now. Besides, I said, we didn't have a choice. Either we agreed with this plan or they'd lock us away in a government laboratory, forever."

“That's not fair!" she exclaimed with a resentful glare at Ben. "You're not criminals." She looked at Scott again sympathetically and quietly said, "No wonder you ran."

Scott tried to lighten the dark mood. "Wanna come to our apartment and meet my dad and Mr. Fox?"

"Fox? George Fox?" she asked at the mention of the familiar name.

"Yeah."

“I remember him!" she snapped. "That nasty little creep kept asking me where you'd gone. When I told him I didn't know, he accused me of lying and he threatened to arrest me if I didn't cooperate."

"He threatens to arrest everybody," Scott joked.

"Don't let him hear you say that," Ben laughed.

“You'll get used to him," Scott said. "I did, and I hated him, but he's okay. What d'you say? Wanna come?"

"Well...," she hesitated.

“There's nothing to be scared of," Scott assured. "My father won't hurt you ...and neither will I. Mr. Fox sounds rough 'n tough, but his bark is worse than his bite."

"Okay. I gotta get home by supper though."

They went to the car and Wylie drove to the apartment.

“Hi, Dad, Mr. Fox," Scott called out as he walked in and saw his father and the agent. "Kelly," he began the introduction, "you remember my father, Paul Forrester, and of course, Mr. Fox."

"Yes. Hi," she feebly responded.

Paul stepped forward and offered his hand. Hesitantly, she took it. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Kelly," he said, smiling.

“Yeah, you, too," she said, and mumbled, "I can't believe this. I'm shaking hands with a man from outer space!"

George and Paul turned surprised faces to Scott and Ben.

“Uh, I told her, Dad," Scott explained. "The conversation kind of went that way and I figured I'd better tell her...."

“I see," Paul said. "Please, sit down, Kelly. Now, how much did Scott tell you....?"

By the time Kelly finished, her and Scott's relationship took off again on new ground. Scott subtly hinted to his father and the agents that he wanted to be alone with her. "Uh, Dad, Mr. Fox," he asked, "Would it be okay if I walked Kelly home?"

In the five months or so that the Starman and his son had been under surveillance, this was the first time George decided to forego the mandatory accompaniment of their charge and grant Scott some true privacy. He knew Starman's son could be trusted now to return. "It's fine by me," George said.

"Me, too," Paul smiled.

“Thanks," Scott grinned as he and Kelly headed for the door. "I'll be back in a couple hours," he added.

“It was... nice, to talk to you, Mr. Forrester," she told the Starman as she joined Scott. "Bye."

“Good-bye, Kelly. It was nice talking to you, too," Paul said. "Please, come again."

“I will."

As Scott and Kelly walked down the sidewalk, they began talking of their months apart and how much they missed each other. Scott gently reached for her hand and Kelly gladly took his without hesitation. It was going to be a pleasant summer.

When August came, Paul, George, Ben and Scott returned to Chicago. Starman, George, Ben and Justin were called as witnesses for the prosecution at Smoke's trial. Scott testified a few weeks later at Blade's trial.

Tried as adults, Smoke was found guilty of attempted manslaughter and Blade of attempted murder. Each received the maximum allowable penalties under the law. Because of Blade's conviction of other crimes for which he was charged, his sentence was given with no hope of parole.

After the verdict was read at Smoke's trial, Paul, Scott, George and Ben invited Justin and his parents for dinner that evening. The Wiests accepted. Paul, Scott and the agents noticed Justin had become much closer to his father since Scott's memorable conversation with Mr. Wiest in the hospital.

As Scott and Justin walked out of the courtroom, everyone smiled as they watched the two boys raise their arms in a 'high-five' and shout in unison, "We did it! We stung the Stingers!" It was a small victory, but an important one.

In the morning, Starman, his son and the agents would return to California and their now-peaceful and quiet life, but tonight; tonight was for celebrating, and celebrate they did.

TO BE CONTINUED...?

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Written by Zena Uzep.