FRIENDS OF MY FATHER

(A sequel to "A STAR BY ANY OTHER NAME") by Nina M. Pan

"Scott--" Jenny opened the door about an inch.

"Mom!" he exclaimed, grabbing a long T-shirt to cover himself. He'd been sitting on his bed in his underwear trying to use the sphere. "I'm not dressed."

"Sorry," she apologized, shutting the door briefly. She'd knocked, but he apparently hadn't heard her. "Okay now?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "What?"

She ignored his tone. "I just want to say good night. I'm going to bed now."

"Okay," Scott responded, still not really listening.

"Um--" Jenny began tentatively. "Next time you have friends over, I'd appreciate if you guys would leave the living room a little neater. It's not fun sleeping on a couch full of crumbs and hot rod magazines."

"All right, all right," he muttered impatiently.

Jenny started to snap back at him, then thought better of it. She supposed she should be thankful that for once he actually had friends. Instead, she reached over to brush hair out of his eyes and said gently, "It's late and tomorrow's a school day. Try to get some rest."

"I will, Mom," he assured her. "Just a few minutes more."

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

"Good night," he added in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone. Being alone with either parent so much was intense and wearing for both of them at times, but he'd learned it didn't pay to stay annoyed for very long because they were stuck with each other.

Jenny squeezed his shoulder silently and left the room.

Scott turned his attention back to what was now a nightly ritual-- trying to find his father. It had been almost a month since he and Jenny narrowly had escaped the FSA while trying to free Paul from a safehouse on the Illinois border. They knew he was no longer there, but had no idea if he'd been moved, killed, or had managed to get out. Scott called Liz Baynes often, hoping for news, but so far there was none. His sphere could offer no solace either. He thought back to his brief stay in Leland Hall when he'd called his father from galaxies away without even realizing it. Why couldn't he do that now? He put the sphere in a drawer, flicked off his lamp and flopped back on his bed in frustration.

o o O o o

Jenny stood in the living room methodically rearranging the pull-out couch so she could go to bed. All the little details weren't absolutely necessary, but the activity helped her focus. Scott was basically a good kid, sensitive and wise beyond his years. In the weeks they'd been together, she'd learned to recognize the source of most of his occasional moodiness and back-talk-- missing his father and dreading what the future held. It was the same longing and uncertainty that kept her awake at night and left her with a perpetual headache, though she tried to hide the worst of it from Scott. She'd taken to sleeping with one of Paul's shirts so that she could feel the fabric against her skin and smell what was left of his scent. She was tempted to drink and smoke her brains out the way she had after Scott Sr. died, but nearly two decades and several lifetimes later, she knew it wouldn't help. Besides, she had young Scott back now. He was the Starman's love, hope and trust in her, a second chance after almost fourteen years. She was determined not to blow it this time.

Their journey had ended for now in central Pennsylvania, in a non-descript, working-class hamlet east of Williamsport. In the long succession of places she'd passed through over the years, she'd often counted on the geographic isolation and unjaded, protective kindness of small, close-knit communities. Of course, these towns also had their share of gossipy neighbors suspicious of outsiders, but thankfully, so far it had been more of the former. Scott was in school as Shane Colby. With that name, he was a bit more confident about socializing with his classmates, and to his and Jenny's delight, already had made three good friends: Josh Schulze, Andy Harrell and Nate Gendron, whose father was Scott's English teacher. Jenny had a job at a sportswear outlet where people knew her as Margaret. She'd also begun wearing her wedding ring again. Her story when she was pressed was that "David" was completing a tour of military duty overseas. It explained her son's "delayed" transcripts and medical records, discouraged romantic overtures and most importantly, allowed her and Scott to miss without pretense the man they loved. If it weren't for the huge hole left in their lives by Paul's absence, they'd actually be happy.

Done rearranging, she kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed but didn't sleep.

o o O o o

"Is there any banana bread left?" Scott asked, inspecting the contents of the refrigerator.

"No, we finished the last of it yesterday," Jenny replied, a mug of coffee in her hand as she searched for something. "Have you seen my keys?"

"On the table with the mail, Mom," he told her. He indicated the remains of the previous night's dinner. "Well, I guess I could eat this."

"Cold pizza for breakfast?" Jenny inquired, unimpressed.

"Dad let me," Scott said.

"Oh, really--" she commented. .

"For the first couple months anyway, until somebody told him it just wasn't done," Scott added with a laugh. "You know what Dad said, right?"

"It must have been 'Why not?'" Jenny guessed, affecting Paul's innocent tone.

"You got it," Scott said, pouring cereal into a bowl.

"I have to work late tonight, so call me when you get home," she told him.

"Mom, I'm not eleven," he reminded her patiently.

"I know," Jenny said.

"Nate and I might stay after and shoot hoops for a while."

"That's fine," she said, deciding not much could happen to him in the school gym with a teacher's kid. Nate was a polite boy and his father was respected among the parents and students alike for being attentive and involved. She gave him a small smile. "Just make me feel better, okay, Scotty?"

"Okay, Mom," he said.

"There's plenty of food in the freezer that you can heat up for dinner," she went on. "I should be back around eight-thirty." Though she preferred to be home for him, one of the women at the store was on maternity leave, they were short-handed and as the newest employee, she usually drew the evening shift.

"Don't worry, I'll manage," he said as the doorbell rang. "There's Josh."

Jenny went to let him in. Scott heard her say, "Good morning, Josh," and his friend's reply, "Hi, Mrs. Colby." Momentarily, Josh was in the doorway. "Shane, you ready?"

"Yeah, in a second," Scott said, quickly finishing the last spoonfuls of cereal and putting the bowl in the sink. He grabbed his backpack. "Bye, Mom."

"See you later," Jenny replied. "Put some gloves on. It's cold out."

Scott sighed heavily, chagrined, but said nothing as he put on his jacket and gloves. Once the boys were out of earshot, Josh said, "It's okay. My parents are a drag too."

Scott shrugged.

o o O o o

"Smile, Colby!"

Scott was putting something in his locker when he looked up to see Andy coming down the hall with a camera. Quickly he turned away, protesting, "No!"

"Oh, come on," Andy cajoled, leaning directly into Scott's face and already snapping away. "Don't be shy."

"Andy, quit it, man," Scott said. Then more sharply, "I said no."

"Okay," Andy retreated. "What's your problem, Shane?"

"Give me the film," Scott told him.

"I can't. The roll's only half finished."

"All right," Scott conceded. "But promise me you'll give me any prints or negatives that I'm in as soon as you develop it. No pictures in the yearbook or anywhere else."

"Why?"

"Just because," Scott replied. "It's really important, Andy. You've got to promise."

"All right, I promise," Andy said.

"Good." Scott sighed nervously. He hoped he could trust his new friend, because if any of those pictures got out, he and his parents were dead meat.

o o O o o

The Starman heard the sound of keys turning in three separate locks and smiled to himself. Those locks weren't keeping him in; only keeping the FSA agents out. Fox knew the Starman could open doors without his sphere. That's why one of them was almost always with him and why they kept him well shackled when he had to be left alone.

The door swung open and Casey, Fox's newest deputy, entered. He put down the meal tray with a clatter and came over silently to take off the restraints that kept the alien from straying more than a few feet from his cot.

"Thank you," the Starman said politely, though he knew there would be no response. He walked to the table and sat down for the usual cold, lumpy oatmeal and tepid black coffee. Bad food was bad food all over the universe, but he ate it. He didn't expect Stella Forrester's pancakes. Casey just stared at him stonily.

"Where's Wylie?" the Starman inquired. He hadn't seen the other agent in a while.

"I'm here right now," Casey replied vaguely. There was bravado in his voice as if he were hurt by the mere question. In contrast to Wylie, who was loyal and well-meaning, but nowhere near as harsh, Casey was intent upon following orders and generally making the alien's life miserable, but the Starman noticed that Fox didn't seem to respect Casey at all. It was all rather puzzling. The young agent looked only a few years older than Scott.

The Starman chewed a mouthful of oatmeal thoughtfully. Long ago, Jenny-hayden had taught him about table manners. It was impolite to talk with his mouth full. He swallowed and asked, "How old are you, Casey? Nineteen?" It seemed a reasonable guess.

"Twenty three," the young agent corrected automatically before he caught himself and became expressionless again.

"I see," the Starman said. "My son is almost seventeen. His name is Scott. Do people call you Jim, Jamie or James?"

Casey gulped hard. "How do you know my name?"

"It's on your badge," the Starman said calmly, pointing at the floor where Casey had dropped it on the way in.

Casey snatched it up quickly. It had fallen half open, but there was no way anyone could have read it from that distance. He didn't like this. The alien was staring at him. He wasn't supposed to talk to it, didn't want to talk to it, but something compelled an answer. "James."

The Starman detected a disquiet that he didn't think was entirely because of him. "You're afraid," he observed.

No kidding, Casey thought. This-- thing was weird.

"There's something hidden about you," the Starman said. "Something deep inside."

Casey had had enough. "Get up! You have ten minutes to wash, then Mr. Fox wants to see you."

"I mean you no harm, James-casey," The Starman was trying to reassure the young agent, but his language, which sounded to Casey as if it came out of the Stone Age, only made things worse.

"Quiet!" Casey barked, raising his arm in what he hoped was a menacing gesture.

The Starman drew back and said nothing more as he was led out of the room and allowed to wash. Casey stood over him the entire time. Somehow they'd decided he was dangerous in men's rooms since he'd passed out in one in the safehouse in Illinois. Yet, they hadn't even realized he was using his sphere then. They'd only taken it after the fire.

He finished and Casey took him downstairs where Fox was waiting.

"Good morning, Forrester," Fox said.

"Good morning," the Starman returned.

"Did you sleep well?" Fox inquired cordially.

The Starman knew Fox really couldn't care less. "I suppose."

"Are you ready to talk today?"

"Of course," the Starman said. "About anything you like." Whether it was anything Fox would want to hear was an entirely different matter.

"Casey," Fox addressed the deputy.

"Yes, sir," Casey snapped to attention.

"Get over here and let him out of these things so he can sit down. What did you do, use every restraint in the book?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Casey said quickly, pleased to be doing something right for once.

"Well, it's overkill," Fox said bluntly, his voice rising in crescendo "Unnecessary unless he's unattended, which he shouldn't be unless it's unavoidable and it's not unavoidable unless I say so."

"Yes, sir," Casey said meekly, rushing to comply. He didn't know who scared him more, the alien or Fox.

According to personnel files, Casey was one of the FSA's brightest new agents, but Fox couldn't see how. He was conscientious enough but was trying too hard and his judgment left much to be desired. He struck Fox as a kid playing war games. Fox hoped Casey would get it together soon or he'd have to have him transferred, which he was loath to do given how shaky his own reputation already was. In the meantime, he reserved anything important for himself and Wylie. Wylie might be a little dim and tend to slack off occasionally, but he was predictable, relatively harmless and after so many years together, basically knew what he was doing.

"Now," Fox said, turning his attention back to his prisoner. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Where's the boy?"

"I don't know," the Starman replied. It was the same answer he'd given them since day one. If he'd ever known, he certainly didn't now. He hoped Scott and Jenny were still together, but he kept that thought to himself. No matter how long the agents did this, he was not going to lead them to his family.

o o O o o

"Margaret, do you know what happened to Mrs. Novak's special order?" Jenny's co-worker Dori asked, coming out of the storage room. "She called about it earlier, but I couldn't find the slip."

"I think the supplier was out of her size," Jenny said, refolding a pile of shirts. "Ask Pat when she comes in whether she back-ordered though."  Then,  "Did my son call yet?"

"No. It's only two-thirty. I'll let you know."

"Thanks."  Jenny smiled apologetically. "He's old enough to take care of himself, but I'd still rather be there, you know?"

"Sure," Dori agreed. "You can't be too careful these days with all those nuts out there. Your son's a nice boy though. Smart too, my niece says. They've got a class together. How old is he, fifteen?"

"Sixteen and a half. We've moved around a lot so his education's been disrupted."

"Yeah, some of those military base schools aren't the greatest. My brother-in-law was in the service, so I know. What branch is your husband?"

"Air Force," Jenny answered, picking the one closest to the truth. "He's a pilot."

"God bless him; that's no easy job," Dori said. "Will he get leave for the holidays?"

"I hope so," Jenny said. "We miss him." Then to change the subject, "How's Kay?"

"Had enough of this last I heard," Dori said. "She's due any day. I don't envy her right now."

"I know," Jenny said, recalling the last days of her own difficult pregnancy.

"Twice was enough for me," Dori went on. "But for all they put you through, children are truly a gift."

"They are," Jenny agreed. "That reminds me-- I meant to buy a present--"

o o O o o

"Mom, are you almost finished?" Scott asked, looking around self-consciously as they stood in the children's department.

"Just about," Jenny said, sighing at the selection of bland pastels. She finally settled on a cute, colorful sweatshirt that was relatively inexpensive. "I guess I should get something for the older child too."

"Boy or girl?" Scott asked.

"A little girl. She's three or four, I think," Jenny told him, moving on to the toys. She glanced at the price for a doll and quickly put it down. Fifty-nine ninety-five for a piece of plastic! "Oh, look, you had one of these, remember?" she asked, indicating what looked to Scott like a jack-in-the box.

"Not really," he said.

"Maybe a book," Jenny mused.

"Oh, no, Mom," Scott advised quickly.

"You don't think so?"

"Books are too educational," he explained. "Parents give those."

Jenny looked down and grimaced. "Oh, alphabet books. You had one too, but I finally had to get rid of it because you got hysterical and ripped out a page."

"Why?" Scott inquired curiously.

Jenny leaned close to him and said in a low voice, "F is for Fox."

"Oh," her son responded in understanding.

Going on to a more pleasant topic, she added. "You were very articulate for your age. Before you were even out of diapers, you could hold these incredible conversations. You must have gotten that from your dad."

"Which one?" Scott asked.

"Paul," Jenny replied, whispering again. "Fifty-four human languages were on the gold disk that went up with Voyager II. From Scott, you got sheer physical energy. Grandpa Hayden hoped you'd be a star running back like him."

"Well, I did run track for a while," Scott said.

"You did?" Jenny smiled. "You never told me that."

"Do I still have grandparents somewhere?" Scott asked.

"Not on my side,"  she told him. "They're both gone now. The other ones are still in Wisconsin, I guess. I don't really know. It's been years."

She was quiet for a minute before continuing almost inaudibly, "All of them went through a lot because of--everything-- and they didn't always understand, but they adored you. They paid dearly for my choices and so did you."

Scott saw the emotion in his mother's face and instantly felt guilty. He touched her arm. "Sorry, Mom--"

"It's okay. You have a right to know." She rubbed her eyes with a quick gesture.

"You know what, Mom?" Scott asked quietly.

"What, baby?"

"F is for Forrester too."

Jenny looked at her son, who was now taller than she, and impulsively kissed him. "Yes," she said. "It is."

o o O o o

The Starman lay very still on the gurney, connected to all sorts of machines monitoring his brain waves and vital functions. Casey leaned against the wall by the Starman's feet. He'd been very silent, rebuffing periodic attempts to engage him, so the Starman had given up for now.

These tests didn't seem bad compared to the ones at Peagrum, where he'd quickly gotten claustrophobic in that plastic box.  If it weren't for the incessant beeping of all the machines now, he might be able to sleep.

Suddenly, the pungent, antiseptic odor of cleaning fluid hit the Starman's nostrils through the vent. He coughed, inadvertently disconnecting one of the leads. A shrill alarm sounded from the monitor in question.

Casey came to the side of the gurney and pressed a button. When that didn't work, he banged the offending machine, looking nervous and lost.

"There," the Starman directed him quietly, indicating the spot where the lead had fallen against the white sheet. When Casey stared uncomprehendingly, the Starman lightly grasped the young agent's wrist and guided his hand. Casey picked up the lead, but stopped, his shaking fingers hovering a fraction of an inch above the Starman's bare chest.

"You can touch me," the Starman told him. "It's all right." Again, he guided Casey as best he could. He saw the young man shudder, then visibly sigh in relief as the alarms finally stopped.

"Why do you work for the FSA, Casey?" the Starman asked, seizing the opportunity before the agent had a chance to turn away.

"Mr. Fox says to make the world safe for humanity," Casey replied mechanically.

"What do you think?" the Starman asked.

Casey said nothing.

"The initials stand for Federal Security Agency," the Starman said. "Am I really a security risk? Surely there must be far greater threats."

"You're a leftist who burned flags, stole draft records and harbored criminals," Casey said.

"No, that was the guy who had this body before me," the Starman corrected. "Where I come from, I was a map maker and a pilot, but down here I'm mostly a dad. It's not an easy or glamorous job, but it's very important because it's from parents and those around them in their early years that children develop skills and the capacity to love or hate." He looked deeply into the young agent's eyes.

Casey blinked and stared into the distance.

o o O o o

"Hey," Nate greeted his friends, sliding into a bench at the cafeteria table.

"Hi," the boys mumbled.

"Shane, you're studying during lunch?" Nate teased. "Wow."

"Finishing something for your dad's class fifth period," Scott admitted, scribbling hurriedly. "Don't tell."

"I'm not a snitch," Nate assured him quickly, with derision in his voice.

"He's a good teacher," Scott told him.

Nate shrugged. "I guess. I'm not allowed to have him."

"Well, isn't that a good thing?" Andy exclaimed with a laugh. "Man, if I had to sit in class with my father-- we'd both die. Right, Josh?"

"I don't want to think about it," Josh replied flatly.

Scott said nothing. He liked Nate's dad. Mr. Gendron was a demanding teacher, yet very low-key and approachable. In many ways, he reminded Scott of his own father. Scott was missing Paul a lot lately and it was the main reason he'd put off doing the assignment as long as possible. Mr. Gendron had asked the students for essays on a turning point in their lives. Scott really wanted to write about the moment in the park almost three years before when he'd first realized he had a father or that instant outside the safehouse just over a month ago when he understood that Paul was gone. But of course he couldn't do that. Instead, his paper with Shane's name on the top line was some boring story about a father-son camping trip-- superficially drawn from his real memories of Paul, but essentially as much a fiction as Shane and David Colby.

"Shane--" Nate interrupted his thoughts. "There's Zoe. Are you going to ask her to the dance?"

Scott shook his head. "I can't dance."

"Ask her out anyway," Nate said. "To the movies or something."

"Come on, Shane," Andy urged. "You like her, don't you?"

"Isn't she going out with Derek?" Scott asked.

"I think she just dumped him." Josh informed them.

"Oh, that's nice," Scott grimaced sarcastically. "So we know she knows how. She can just turn around and do it to me."

"She might not," Nate pointed out.

Scott sighed. "I don't know, guys."

o o O o o

"Did you see that horror movie on the Sci Fi Channel last night?" Josh asked as he and Scott sat in the kitchen working their way through a plate of nachos

"No," Scott said. "We don't have a TV."

"You don't?" Josh exclaimed. "Why not?"

"My dad thinks it's a distraction," Scott told him. "And we move around a lot--it's kind of heavy." Lame as it might sound, it was more or less true.

"What is he, one of those right-wing censorship types?" Josh asked.

"No," Scott said. "Just kind of back to basics."

It wasn't the first time Josh had noticed how little stuff there was in the Colbys' apartment or how Shane hadn't heard of a lot of music, movies and things. Not that his own family was rich either, but most people at least had a TV. Shane's father was supposed to be a big shot officer who Josh assumed was on some secret mission. Weren't people always complaining on the news about the over-inflated defense budget? The Colbys couldn't be that poor, but he knew it wasn't polite to ask. "So what do you do instead?"

"Read a lot, listen to the radio, travel with my dad-- and mom," Scott said

"That must be fun going to different places," Josh said.

"Sometimes," Scott said. Actually, he wished he had a TV, VCR, CD player and a computer like everybody else. "Um, my mom will be home soon and she's been getting on me about neatness. Let's go in my room."

"Sure," Josh said.

As the boys walked by, Josh noticed a futuristic-looking painting hanging in one corner of the living room. "Awesome picture."

"What?" Scott asked. "Oh--thanks."

"Who's KI?"

  Scott practically choked at the question. "Um, a friend of my father's."

  o o O o o

"Okay, people, settle down," Mr. Gendron said. "Boy, you're all wired today. What did everybody have for lunch?"

"Cap'n Crunch," Bruce, the class clown, informed him.

Mr. Gendron laughed. "That would do it. Where's Sara, still sick?"

"Yeah," one of the girls responded.

"That's too bad," Mr. Gendron said sympathetically. "She's missing all the fun."

A collective groan emanated from the class.

"What, you don't enjoy the sacred canon of English literature?" the teacher ribbed them. "I know; grammar's boring, but you'll like this next thing .You're going to break into groups of four or five, and pick a scene or set of scenes from a play. I'll give you a list of choices. Then you'll  research the historical background and the playwright, write an analysis, and then put on the scene at the end of three weeks. What do you think?"

"Why do you always make us work so hard, Mr. G.?" Bruce asked.

"Because that's what teachers do," Mr. Gendron told him.

"I can't act," Bruce whined.

"You, Brucie?" Mr. Gendron teased. "I'd doubt that. Seriously folks, it's not about acting or getting nervous. It's about learning and having fun. Just try it, okay?"

"Do we get to pick our own groups?" a girl asked.

."Actually, to make them as fair as possible for everyone, let's try counting off this time," Mr. Gendron suggested.  "Hilary-- one--"

Scott hated group projects. In any other school, he would have welcomed counting off at random, as he was always the odd man out, but not here. He had friends now, people with whom it was safe to be himself-- or as close to it as he could get. Starting over with a new group of kids, even for a class project, was intimidating.

The count reached him. As he said, "three," he looked around nervously to see who his partners were. A girl named Melissa. She seemed okay. Andy-- good, at least he'd have one of his pals. He couldn't believe the next voice he heard. Zoe Dettmer? He turned in her direction. Andy was grinning broadly and flashing him thumbs up signs.  There was a God.

Mr. Gendron caught his eye and smiled at him. Scott felt himself starting to blush, but it was Nate's dad and he was cool. At that moment, life was the best.

o o O o o

"Careful where you put that down," Jenny warned. "Grape juice stains."

Scott sighed. How did she have time to think of these things? "Mom, who cares? It's not our table anyway."  He'd found it discarded on a sidewalk the week after they'd moved in. Whenever they moved out, that's where it would go again.

"It is now," she said. "Do you want more salad?"

Scott shook his head. "I'm late. Mr. Gendron got them to open the auditorium today so we could practice our scenes. My group's meeting at two."

"Do you want a ride?" Jenny offered.

"Nah, I'll take the bus," he said.

"All right," she said. "Call if you need one later though. I'm going out to drop off something for Kay, but otherwise I'll be here. How long are you going to be?"

"Until five or so, I guess," he said. "I need money."

"I gave you some the other day for emergency," Jenny said. 'What happened to it?"

"I spent it at the arcade," Scott said shamelessly.

"That's an emergency?" Jenny asked.

"Well, the guys were creaming me," he defended himself weakly.

Funny how his definition of an emergency had changed lately. She and Scott Sr. had pumped their share of quarters into jukeboxes and pinball machines when they were dating, but now that was laundry money. "Scott, an emergency is if you're sick, hurt, stranded somewhere, the place is on fire or the FSA's anywhere in the vicinity. Not vaporizing little green men."

"Saving the galaxy, Mom," he corrected. "And they're not little, green men."

"Whatever. Hand me my bag."

When he did so, she inspected the contents of her wallet and withdrew a ten dollar bill. "Here. That's all you get for now. I don't get paid until next week. From now on, I'm giving you a phone card."

Scott took the money without saying thank you. "You know, Mom, we can always go to Atlantic City."

"Yeah, right," Jenny said.

"Dad and I were in Reno once. He won big." He neglected to tell her that they'd only gone there because Dusty had stolen the car and that she'd lost most of Paul's take at the blackjack tables, leaving them deep in hock on Paul Forrester's line of credit.

"Well, I can't make all the bells ring like your father," Jenny muttered, remembering her own inadvertent detour to Las Vegas with the Starman just after Scott was conceived.

"I can," Scott pointed out brightly.

Jenny just looked at him. "Goodbye, Scott."

o o O o o

"Line--" Andy said.

"You've asked for the same line six times," Scott informed him. "If you'd stop laughing, maybe you'd remember."

"Like you're any better at it?" Andy retorted, pretending to put Scott in a head lock.

"Hey, hey-- peace," Mr. Gendron called quickly as he saw Andy almost back off the stage accidentally. "Take five, guys."

"I wasn't really hurting him," Andy told him.

"I know, but you were about to drop into the orchestra pit and I don't want any explaining to do," the teacher advised. He put two large grocery bags on one of the seats. "Have a cookie.  Refreshments, folks!" he called to the groups on the other side of the auditorium.

"Wow, thanks, Mr. Gendron," somebody said as the teenagers clustered around.

"You're welcome," he replied. "It's the least I can do after making you come to school on Saturday."

Scott sank down in the front row with a cup of popcorn when Zoe caught his eye. "Want a soda, Shane?" she asked.

"Um, yeah, that would be nice," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. As she handed him the can, he felt a rush of connection. "Thanks."

"Sure," she said, taking the seat beside him.

"You were--um-- good up there," he said.

"I guess," she said. "The only thing I've ever been before is a candy cane in the second grade. How about you? Any juicy roles?"

"Oh, nothing much," he said. Only every day, he added silently. He picked up a kernel of popcorn and smiled reflectively.

"What are you laughing at?" Zoe asked.

"I was just thinking of my dad," Scott said. "He called popcorn 'noisy food,'"

"You mean when you were little?"

"Yeah," Scott said "We liked the sound of it popping and watching the foil on the Jiffy-Pop thing blow up. It was cool. So, um, you like potato chips, huh?"

  o o O o o

Jenny's heart dropped back out of her throat when the door opened.

"Hi," Scott said

She didn't know whether to hug him or strangle him. "Where have you been, Scott?"

"What?" he asked innocently

"You told me you'd be home two hours ago."

"Oh," he groaned. "Sorry. We went to Melissa's afterward and I lost track of time."

"Next time call me before you go, all right?"

"I forgot, Mom."

"How could you forget? We had a conversation about it just before you left,"

"Because nobody else has to call their parents," he said matter-of-factly. He wasn't being snide; it just wasn't the routine. He was the only one doing it and after three years on the run, it seemed counterintuitive--not to mention uncool-- to draw attention to himself.

"Scotty, I didn't know if you got kidnapped or run over by a bus--" She was trying not to be accusing, but if the FSA could grab Paul off the street, they could very well do it to her or Scott. "Remember how worried we were when your dad didn't come home?"

He'd been trying to forget. They hadn't even had twenty-four hours with Jenny when it happened. Suddenly, his dad, his whole world for the past three years, was gone and he was alone with a near stranger who said she was Mom. "Yeah--" he said almost inaudibly.

"I don't mind if you hang out. Just let me know where you are. Please?"

"Yeah--" he repeated.

She couldn't tell if his sudden distance was from boredom, anger or contrition. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, going past her into the bathroom.

As he finished and reached out to turn off the light, he remembered something else about popcorn. He and his dad had made it together the night before the FSA lured them to Lindero with hopes of Jenny. The memory of Angela's voice still made him seethe with rage at its manipulative falseness. She had taken his mother away from him, forever made him wary of another sick game. Now he studied his own face in the mirror, comparing it to the worn photograph in his wallet and then to the woman sitting outside. His dad had once told him, "You look like them-- Scott and Jenny.  I gave you soul, but they gave you life. You'd be nothing without them." But try as he might, Scott couldn't see it yet.

o o O o o

"Five five four two," the voice on the other end of the line said with clipped efficiency. FSA staff were trained to answer the phone by extension numbers only. They never knew whether it was for security or mystique.

"Hi, Edna, it's me," Fox said. "Any messages?"

"Good morning, Mr. Fox," Edna greeted him. "You have seven."

"Fine, go ahead."

"Six of them are from General Wade's office, sir."

Fox grimaced. "What now?"

"Message number one: 'Where's your spring quarter report?'" Edna read.

"I submitted it in the spring," Fox enunciated, sighing. "Tell them to look again."

"I did, sir, but then you got message number two. Same thing. Should I fax a duplicate over to headquarters?"

"Yes, pronto. I hope you have the original messenger receipt."

"I pulled it out of the file to photocopy as soon as the call came in, sir," she assured him.

"You're way ahead of me, Edna," Fox told her. "Go on."

She understood that as praise, which with him was always oblique. "Thank you, sir. Message number three: 'Why did you requisition five hundred boxes of paper clips?'"

"I didn't," Fox replied. "Some peon up there obviously punched the wrong key on the wrong line."

"I thought as much, sir," Edna said with understated professionalism. "Message number four: In reference to your inquiry yesterday afternoon, further long distance travel for Mr. Wylie is not authorized until they receive the spring report."

"Well, you're taking care of that," Fox dismissed it..

"Message number five: You were supposed to complete Form 86-974 three weeks ago so they could update Mr. Casey's clearance."

Suppose I don't want him to have clearance? Fox thought sardonically. Aloud he said, "I don't even know what an 86-974 looks like, Edna. Do you?"

"Yes Mr. Fox. It's four pages and comes in triplicate-- white, pink and canary yellow. I'll have it prepared for your signature when you return."

"Thank you, Edna."

"Are you ready for message number six, sir?" she inquired.

"Should I be?"  he asked rhetorically.

"Message number six: 'Who the hell is trying to be reimbursed for three bags of snack size peanut butter cups?'"

"Peanut butter cups?" Fox repeated. He didn't think his assistants were that stupid, but Edna deservedly prided herself on accurate messages.

"The General himself called that time. It's a direct quotation," she advised.

"I'll look into it," Fox sighed. "Did Ted Jarvis call back with anything on the Baynes woman?"

"That's message number seven, sir. She's in Bolivia at the moment."

"What's going on in Bolivia?" Fox asked.

"Apparently she's on assignment. That's all he knows," Edna relayed.

"Do you think she took Forrester's kid with her?" Fox mused.

"I don't know, sir," she replied non-committally. It wasn't her job to know, but she'd been with the FSA for thirty years and with 617-W since year three, before even Mr. Wylie. She knew the agents counted on her for moral support even if she couldn't express her true opinions.

"Put a call into the State Department for passport records and let me know as soon as you reach a real person."

"Will do, sir, " Edna said. He could hear her pen scratching as she made notes. "Anything else?"

"Not right now. I'll check in later. Bye."

Fox disconnected and rubbed his eyes. He was halfway to the prize now, closer than he'd been in nearly two decades. All that remained between him and his glory now was a mere sixteen year old boy. But for some reason, he wasn't very excited.

o o O o o

"Scott, I'm leaving now," Jenny said. "If you want a ride, you'd better be ready."

"I'm coming--" he sighed.

As they left the apartment building, a neighbor's dog began to bark loudly.

Scott groaned. The dog was just like its owner, Mrs. Derkowski, who was nice enough but a bit of a busybody with a tendency to talk a lot. He and his mother had learned quickly to steer clear. "Chill out, Sparky," he called, putting out one hand toward the mutt. "It's too early for that."

Sparky immediately quieted.

"Damn!" Jenny exclaimed from outside the car.

"What?" Scott asked.

"The doors are jammed. The locks must be frozen."

Scott came down the walk and around to the driver's side. He pulled off one glove and touched his index finger to the keyhole until there was an audible click.

"Thank you," Jenny said, opening the door. "Handy little talents you've got there."

Scott shrugged. "Simple physics, mostly-- knowing how to direct energy."

"Can you do everything your dad can?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "Not yet anyway, though Dad says eventually I probably will. It takes a lot of practice so I only do little things myself. The big stuff is kind of dangerous so I only try when Dad's around to fix it if I mess up--" He stopped short, thinking of all the powers he might never perfect if Paul never came back to teach him.

"Sweetie," Jenny began gently, "It's okay to miss him. I do."

Instead of answering, Scott just stared out the window. It looked dreary as if it were about to rain. Then he whistled. "Ooh, Mom, did you see that Mustang?"

"What color?" she asked.

"Silver. Oh, man, she's a beauty."

"I know. I used to have one. Orange and black."

"Really?" Scott turned to look at her, surprised she knew anything about cars.

"Your dad and I drove to Arizona in it. Later the FSA impounded it for evidence-- what was left of it after it blew up, anyway. I hated to lose that car."

"Mom, if I do really well in school, can I have one for my birthday?" Scott asked.

"You want a Mustang for your birthday?" Jenny repeated.

"Yeah."

"Do you think I'm a Rockefeller or something? You don't even have a driver's license," Jenny reminded him.

"I'll get one," Scott assured her.

"No, you won't. Fox will find you in about ten minutes."

"How's he going to do that if I sign Shane Colby?"

"Yeah, what happens when you're not Shane anymore?" his mother asked.

Scott was confused. "What do you mean?"

"Do you think we can keep this up forever?" Jenny asked.

"Why not? They've got Dad. Nobody was after me before he showed up."

"Because I gave you away so they couldn't find you," Jenny reminded him.

"Well, if you won't let me get a license, I'll just buy a fake I.D." Scott concluded.

"How do you know about fake I.D.'s?" Jenny inquired.

"Artie and Naughton, these con men Dad and I met in L.A.--"

"Don't tell me," Jenny interrupted him, muttering, "I'm lucky to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table and you want a fake I.D. and a Mustang."

"Mom, everybody has a car."

She knew that was just teenage hyperbole. Josh wasn't driving yet either and Andy and Nate had just gotten their learner's permits. Certainly neither one of them had a Mustang, though the boys pored over car magazines for hours. But she only said the words that as a teenager she'd sworn she'd never use as a parent. "You're not everybody."

"Mom," Scott protested. Then, mischievously as a thought occurred to him, "Hey, what did you do about your license?"

"Never mind what I did or didn't do," Jenny said.

"Let me see--" he persisted, reaching for the glove compartment where he knew she kept her wallet.

"Scott, quit it," Jenny snapped. She put out one hand to stop him and narrowly missed a car that was turning in front of her. She managed to slow down just in time. "See what happens when people get distracted doing stupid stuff in the car?" she demanded sharply, still shaken. "You're not ready to drive."

Scott pursed his lips sullenly. How did she know whether he was ready or not? She hadn't seen him since he was three. He'd heard the line about Fox from his father too, but Paul did let him drive once in a while on isolated roads where there was no traffic and little chance of being stopped. That was the difference between his parents. With his dad, he was more of an equal while Jenny just wanted him to stay her baby. Though he liked the idea of having a mom, he hated when she did that. "I do know how to drive, Mom," he said a bit haughtily. "Dad taught me."

"He did, huh?" Jenny said non-committally.

"He's a good driver and he thought I was okay."

"Oh, yeah?" Jenny muttered, recalling her first argument with Scott's father: her furious and terrified, "You said you knew the rules," and the Starman's hurt, bewildered, "I do know the rules."  When a few years later, Scotty had piped up from the back seat of the car out of nowhere, "Red light stop. Green light go. What's yellow light, Mommy?" in the distracted way of parents hearing the five hundred and twenty seventh question of the day, she'd nearly blurted, "Yellow light go very fast."

They were about a block from his school now. "You can just let me off here, Mom," he told her casually.

"Why?" Jenny asked. Then she understood. "Oh, so everybody doesn't see your mother dropping you off when they drive up in their Mustangs?"

"Um--" was all Scott could say.

Jenny sighed heavily. "All right." It wasn't worth the battle. She pulled up to the curb. "Have a good day. Call me when you get home."

"Okay," Scott said mechanically as he got out and shut the door.

o o O o o

"Oh, there you are," Fox said, as Wylie walked in the door. "Any luck in Ithaca?"

Wylie shook his head. "Sorry, Mr. Fox. Wrong kid."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, Mr. Fox. It's a fourteen-year-old local. The family's been there for five generations."

"Damn!" Fox exclaimed. "I could have sworn it was ours."

"He wasn't even sure where the Cornell campus was, sir," Wylie went on apologetically. "And Mark Shermin hasn't been there in years. After you got him washed out of SETI, he tried to go back to Cornell for a while, but there was an ugly tenure fight and he lost. Nobody knows where he is now."  Wylie had thought the lead far-fetched from the moment they'd received the clipping from a 4-H magazine, but Fox had insisted.

"All right," Fox sighed dejectedly. "Thanks anyway for going, Wylie. Any jet lag?"

"Not really, Mr. Fox. I could use some coffee though."

"There's a fresh pot over there," Fox said. "After that I need you to relieve Casey. The alien's in with the psychologist."

"Anything new?" Wylie asked.

"No," Fox sighed.

Wylie filled his spill-proof mug with coffee and walked downstairs. A bored Casey sat in the hallway guarding the room as the Starman had his session. "The alien's been weird since you left," he reported.

"Weird how?" Wylie asked. "Fires, blown-out windows, blue lights in the sky?"

"No," Casey said, "it asks questions."

"Oh, that," Wylie waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry; he's like that. Just ignore him."

"What kind of alien is it anyway?" Casey asked. "I mean, does it have scales or gills or antennas?"

"No, nothing like that," Wylie said. "That's the problem, you see. You can't tell until he does his alien things. But you know what, Casey? Once in a while when he's talking, he actually makes sense."

o o O o o

"Where are you going? Jenny asked as Scott came out of his room zipping his jacket. She was on the couch massaging her feet, which ached from standing all day.

"Out," Scott responded tersely.

"You'll have to do better than that," she informed him.

"Josh called. He wants me to listen to a new CD he got."

Jenny shook her head no. "Not at this hour, Scott."

"Mom--" he protested.

"There's plenty of time for you to do that after school or on the weekend. Not now. Don't you have a math test tomorrow?"

"I studied," Scott said. "Come on, Mom."

"Scotty, I just got home. It would be nice for you not to go rushing off for once."

"Why?" he asked. "So you can yell at me?"

"I'm not yelling at you." Jenny said.

"Well, it sure feels like it," he retorted.

"Scott," she sighed. "I'm tired and my feet are killing me. I don't feel like arguing any more than you do. I just don't want you walking all the way to the other side of town and back in the dark to listen to some CD."

Scott made a face. Like he'd never been in the dark before? "Actually, I was going to call Liz on the way."

Jenny relented slightly as he knew she would. They still hadn't heard anything from Paul and they were intensely worried. Wary of the phone in the apartment being traced, they used pay phones whenever they called Liz. "That you can do, but be back in half an hour. Did you put away the dishes?"

She knew from his face that he'd forgotten.

"I'll do it when I come back," he said.

She stopped massaging and beckoned to him. "Come here."

Oh, no, Scott cringed, What now? He walked over to the couch cautiously.

"Look at me," His mother's voice was quiet but firm.

He raised his head slowly.

"No act, right?" she asked. "You're going to the pay phone to call Liz then you're coming straight home and putting away the dishes the way you're supposed to?"

Scott was unnerved. He knew better than to lie to his father because Paul could sense other people's thoughts. Though Jenny wasn't an alien, she was having the same creepy effect. "No act, Mom," he said finally.

"Good." Jenny said

Scott couldn't resist a parting shot. "Dad was more fun," he said, closing the door behind him before she could answer.

He went downstairs and into the night air. He'd told Jenny the truth. It wasn't an act tonight, though sometimes it was. He'd say he was somewhere with his friends then just wander around town or go to the deserted athletic field at school to run off energy, to be alone, to get away.  Being cooped up in the apartment with not much more than his schoolbooks was positively claustrophobic. But what was he getting away from? Hadn't he dreamed about this for thirteen years? Wasn't this where he would and should have been if Fox hadn't had his way-- with his mom? Then why wasn't he happy? He knew deep down that Jenny was trying, but it was so-- too late-- and small comfort without his dad. He shoved his hands in his pockets, a handful of change in one and the sphere in the other.

o o O o o

"Come in here for a minute," Fox motioned to the two deputies. "Both of you."

"What about the alien?" Casey asked.

"The technicians will be in there another hour at least," Fox told him. "He's not going anywhere."

"Oh," Casey said. "Okay." He followed Wylie and Fox into the office and settled into a seat around their conference table.

"Don't get too comfortable," Fox warned. "Now-- which one of you vouchered for peanut butter cups?"

"That was me, sir." Wylie held up his hand.

Rather than being incensed as they expected, Fox was simply bemused. "Wylie, you've been with the FSA for twelve years. Don't you know that's a personal expense?"

"It was for the dog, sir." Wylie told him.

"What dog?"

"Remember the nasty one in St. Louis that kept chasing us? One day Casey dropped his peanut butter cup by mistake and we found out it likes them. Never bothered us again!" Wylie explained triumphantly.

"You've been bribing dogs with peanut butter cups?" Fox was still processing this.

"Just that one, sir."

"You two are federal agents. You mean to tell me you're afraid of a little poodle?"

"Rottweiler, sir," Wylie corrected.

"Casey?" Fox looked expectantly in the direction of the junior deputy.

Casey shrugged. "Whatever works, sir. It was an ugly brute."

"We can't call off dogs like the alien can, sir," Wylie added

             True, Fox admitted to himself.  He gave them a half smile. "You know, it probably wasn't too good for the dog."

"I know, Mr. Fox," Wylie replied. "It made him happy though."

Fox regarded the agent for an instant with affectionate pride he didn't know he had. Then he asked quietly, "Got any left?"

"I don't think so, sir," Wylie apologized. "We do have some really good beef jerky though. Would you like some?"

"No, thank you," Fox said. Then, self-consciously lapsing back into his official tones. "You didn't charge that to the expense account, did you? Tell me now before I have Washington on my back again!"

o o O o o

"Mom!" Scott exclaimed in a panicked voice as he entered the dark apartment. Jenny had all the blinds drawn and was lying on the couch in the middle of the afternoon.

"Oh, God, Scotty, close the door," she said weakly, turning her head away from the light in the hallway.

He put down his backpack and went to her. "What's wrong?"

"It's a migraine," she told him. "It'll go away eventually."

Scott had heard of migraines but had never seen anyone having one. "Should I get you something from the drugstore?"

"No," she said. She'd been through every over-the-counter remedy on the shelf. Nothing helped.

"Do you need a doctor?" he asked anxiously.

"No!" she winced in pain and disagreement. Doctors wanted insurance cards and asked sticky personal questions.

"How about water or tea or--" he tried, desperate to be helpful. In his mind, he pleaded, Please don't die on me; don't let her die on me.

"No, baby, thank you for asking."

He cringed at "baby", but under the circumstances let it go.

She tried to smile. "I just need to sleep. Just keep your music down, okay?"

"Sure, Mom," Scott said, still not reassured. He thought of trying to lay on hands like his father, but he was afraid he'd make a mistake and give her brain damage. He settled for turning off the ringer on the phone and going to his room, praying all the while that she was right.

o o O o o

"Casey, you're dripping all over the place!" Fox snapped. "You're also late." Since he'd sent Wylie out to check on something, he'd had to sit with the alien for an extra twenty minutes until Casey got back from lunch.

"Yes, Mr. Fox," Casey said almost inaudibly. "I'm sorry. I had personal business to take care of."

Fox sniffed. Since he hadn't had a personal life in eighteen years, he couldn't conceive of how anybody could have business outside of 617-W. "Well, all right," he said finally as Casey pulled off his drenched poncho, rolled it into a ball and tossed it into a corner with the rest of the agents' umbrellas and rain gear. "I'll be returning phone calls if you need me. Dr. Tomasheff will be here shortly."

"Yes, sir," Casey said.

As soon as Fox had left, the Starman asked, "Do you like football, James-casey?"

"Why?" Casey sighed. The small talk got on his nerves, but he was getting used to it now. If he didn't humor the alien sometimes, it would never shut up.

"Your poncho says 'Chicago Bears,'" the Starman said.

"Somebody gave it to me," Casey said. "Surplus."

"I see," the Starman said. "Tell me something. Why are so many sports teams named after animals? Bears and falcons and seahawks don't chase little balls around a field."

Casey merely snorted. Then, as he saw the alien smile, "What?"

"You have the scent of nature on you," the Starman told him.

Casey looked aghast, thinking the alien was commenting on his hygiene.

"The smell of new rain on the trees-- " the Starman continued. "It's nice. My son and I walk in the woods often. He likes me to show him plants and tell him about the clouds and the stars-- They're quiet times, but ones which make us feel happy and closer to one another. Are there things like that which you enjoy?"

Casey shrugged, shifting nervously in his seat.

"You don't like talking very much, do you? " the Starman observed.

"Why do you care?" the agent retorted.

"Why not?" the Starman responded matter-of-factly.

"What's with the Twenty Questions anyway? You're the one who's being psychoanalyzed and all that."

"What's wrong with questions?" the Starman inquired. "Are you afraid of the answers?"

o o O o o

"Scott, put those away and turn off the music please," Jenny said, as he sprawled on the couch with a pile of car and video game magazines. "We have to talk."

"Okay," he complied. "What?"

"I was just at the laundromat," she began. "Why do your clothes smell like smoke?"

He shrugged. "Hanging around the arcade, I guess."

"There's a cigarette hole in your jean jacket," she informed him bluntly.

Oh, shoot, she noticed.  He thought fast. "Um, yeah, Mom, I kinda had a little accident with the sphere--"

She knew he was lying, which almost bothered her more than the smoking itself. He'd gotten far too comfortable with stretching the truth. "No, Scott, that's a cigarette burn," she corrected pointedly. "I used to smoke. I know. How long has this been going on?"

"I only did it twice," he said. "Well, three times--"

"Where did you get the cigarettes?"

He hesitated. "Mom, you're not going to tell, are you?"

"Right now I don't know what I'm going to do, Scott," she snapped.

"From Josh," he confessed lamely.

Jenny pressed her hands against her temples and sighed. Josh was even younger than Scott. "Why?" she asked as calmly as she could muster.

"No reason." Josh had offered and he'd taken them. He couldn't say why. He hadn't even liked them that much, but he couldn't admit that and let her know she was right.

Jenny let out an involuntary snort. What kind of answer was that? Even "Because I felt like it." would have made more sense. She silently counted to five before responding. She couldn't manage ten. "You're not a baby anymore, Scott. I shouldn't have to be with you every second. You have to make your own decisions, but I'm not impressed by this one and I'm very disappointed that you felt the need to lie to me about it."

"Sorry," Scott said.

The two of them sat in silence until Scott began to feel uneasy and blurted, "Why are you making such a big deal out of it, Mom? It's not like I was smoking grass or worse."

Thank God for that, she thought. "That's not the point, Scott."

"You used to smoke," he pointed out.

"Yes," she conceded. "But I wasn't sixteen. And I quit."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I was pregnant with you, I couldn't afford it anyway and Grandpa Geffner had emphysema from chain smoking two packs a day for three quarters of his life," she replied. "Have you ever seen anybody with emphysema?"

"No," Scott said.

"It's not pretty. I don't fault him; that's what people did back then, but he died too young and too painfully." She didn't tell him that the pain of her father's last years was compounded by all the volatile events and emotions of Scott's infancy. For all he had argued with her, for all he didn't seem to understand, the forced separation from his daughter and grandson was a great regret of his life. It was one of hers too, but she couldn't turn back the clock.

She  went on, "It's just bad for you. If when you're an adult, you want to smoke, that's your choice, but I don't want you doing it while you're still growing."  Not realizing she was thinking aloud, she added, "Oh, Scott, what would your father think of this?"

"I don't know," Scott said.

Jenny tried to think like Paul and conjured up an image of Fox with flaming paper and tobacco hanging from his lips. She didn't think the agent smoked, but he was the most absurd human she could think of. She smiled to herself and said a silent prayer for Paul's safe return.

"Are you finished?" Scott inquired.

She looked at him directly. "You're skating on thin ice, Scott,"

"I'm only asking," he said.

"That depends. Do you still have any cigarettes?"

"No."

"If you do, give them to me. Please."

"I said I don't, Mom," he told her, annoyed. This was getting old.

"Are you just saying that or do you mean it?" Jenny asked.

"I mean it," Scott said.

"Fine, let's leave it at that-- for now," she concluded.

  As she got up to leave, Scott said, "Mom, don't say anything about Josh, please?"

Was she getting through to him? If Scott had given Josh the cigarettes, she thought she'd want Josh's mother to tell her. On the other hand, she hardly knew the Schulzes and it was enough to worry about her own son let alone somebody else's. "Why are you so concerned about Josh?" she asked.

"Dad says we have to look out for our fellow man," Scott told her.

"You know that's not what he meant."  Then as he started to speak again, "Don't push it, Scott. Go do your homework."

o o O o o

In the kitchen, scraping and cutting vegetables for dinner, she turned this latest incident over in her mind. Had she been too hard on him? Too lenient? Should she have done something? What could she take away from him that hadn't been already just because of whom she and his father had made him?  She could forbid him to see his friends, but she still wouldn't know what he was doing when she wasn't with him and being with him wasn't a very pleasant prospect under the circumstances.

She recalled one of the few times she'd spanked him when he was young.  Her own parents had done it without a second thought when she and Wayne deserved it, but she'd never been in the habit of it with Scotty. He'd been rambunctious and stubborn at times but rarely willfully disobedient. His occasional tantrums were precipitated by relatively simple wants and needs:  food, sleep, playthings, a little cuddling and reassurance, and once he got them, he quickly calmed. Yet, for some reason, that day he'd had a total meltdown that went from bad to worse, culminating when she turned away for an instant and he climbed up on the dresser trying to "fly". She swore no completely human child, even All-State jock Scott Hayden's boy, could have managed that so fast. She'd grabbed him in horror as the thing began to tip, screamed at him never to do it again, spanked him and sent him to bed early. By that time, they were both completely exhausted. It usually didn't work to punish him by isolation as he merely sulked, but being alone in the dark was a different matter. She'd sat in the other room listening to his howls and feeling like a monster for beating up on her kid until he finally, mercifully, dropped off to sleep.

She felt the same way now, but didn't know why. There was no reason fifteen and sixteen year old kids needed to be smoking. Even to fit in, or whatever he thought he was doing. It was so crazy. Not that she hadn't done plenty of stupid, crazy things in her time-- including, according to some, having a kid with a Starman. Maybe she was making too much of it. He'd said he wasn't going to smoke anymore. She should just let it go. But she couldn't, because what next? Other adolescents had the luxury of time to make their mistakes, rebel, and finally mature and grow. Scott didn't. She never knew when he might be taken from her and she from him-- next month, next week, next hour-- Even her beloved mother-in-law, who'd lost her own Scott in the prime of his life, had had her husband and her other children to love and to give her comfort and pride in their accomplishments. Jenny had only young Scott. Long ago his father had prophesied that when Scott Jr. grew to manhood he would be a teacher, a glorious scion for Earth and Algeiba.  The problem, however, was getting him there.

She rinsed her hands under the tap and dried them. As she picked up her ring to slip it back on, a ray of sunlight hit it and it glinted, almost as brilliantly as a sphere. She turned it over and looked at the inside, engraved with her and Scott's initials, their wedding date and the single word: Forever. "What do you think, Scott?" she asked aloud. She wasn't speaking to her son.

o o O o o

"Wow, it was busy today," Jenny's co-worker Pat commented as the two of them finally sat down for a much needed break.

"Yes," Jenny agreed. "Pat, can I ask a favor?"

"Sure. What do you need?"

"Would you mind covering for me Wednesday? It's Open School Night and I'd like to be there. I'll take your hours on  Friday."

"No problem," Pat agreed amiably. "Our kids are gone and it's not like Marty and I go out all night anymore. Go ahead and don't worry about it."

"Thanks. It helps a lot."

"I know. I remember how hard it was to juggle everything when mine were young. I'm sure you'll hear only glowing things about Shane. Burt Gendron's very fond of him, so the other teachers must be too."

"I know," Jenny said. "Shane's close to Nate and I'm glad. The Gendrons are a good influence on him."

Pat laughed. "Margaret, Shane's a good influence on Nate. Your son is one of the politest, most considerate teenagers I've met in a long time."

Jenny smiled grimly. "To everybody but his mother. I look at him sometimes and think,  'What happened to my sweet baby?'  He's very bright, very stubborn and boy, does he have a mouth. Lately everything's a battle."

"It's the age, Margaret," Pat reassured her. "It's very normal. They think they know everything-- or they want to think they know everything. They're testing, getting ready for independence. It gets better with time; I promise you."

"My parents were very conservative and it was the '60's so I rebelled," Jenny said. "But I don't remember being like this."

"You wake up and say, 'My God, how did I turn into my parents? What am I saying?' Right?" Pat asked.

"Yes!" Jenny exclaimed. "My son keeps telling me I don't 'get it' and I should get 'with it' and I ask myself, 'What's it?'"

"Sounds familiar," Pat told her.

"I  feel guilty because of his father," Jenny went on, so relaxed that she almost forgot to be careful.  "They're close and Shane misses him. Often when I tell him things, he'll say, 'Well, Dad-'"

"Ours did that too and Marty was home," Pat said. "But it must be hard not having your husband around. I bet he's strict, so maybe Shane's taking advantage a little now."

"Maybe," Jenny said. "P-- David does expect a lot of Shane and hold him to very high standards-- more than I do, but he's not authoritarian like my father was: 'Do as I say and shut up.' He listens to Shane. I have to learn to do that more."

"You look like you're doing fine to me, Margaret, Pat said. "Hang in there. You and Shane will be all right."

o o O o o

"Kari, go away," Nate said to his sister as he and Scott sat by the computer playing a new game. "Can't you see we're busy?"

"No fair, Nate, I'm telling--"

"Be my guest," Nate muttered.

Kari stomped upstairs and shortly Mr. Gendron was at the door. "Nate, can I talk to you please? Excuse us for a minute, Shane."

"Dad, she's being a brat," Nate protested.

"Nathaniel--" His father gestured silently but emphatically, drawing him into the hallway. Scott respected Mr. Gendron for that. Some of the other teachers yelled at everybody for little things, but Nate's dad tried not to embarrass people in front of their friends. He was speaking very softly so that all Scott overheard was "Well, get it for her and I'll make sure she leaves you guys alone for the rest of the afternoon."

"Sorry, Shane, Nate will be just a few minutes," Mr. Gendron apologized, coming in as his son went off to his room.

"No problem," Scott shrugged.

"You don't have the pleasure of a little sister, do you?" Mr. Gendron quipped.

Scott grinned.  "No, I'm an only."

"I could tell even before I got to know you," Mr. Gendron told him. "You have a seriousness that often comes from being around adults a lot."

Scott laughed nervously. "Is that good or bad?"

"Good, mostly," Mr. Gendron said. "Believe it or not, siblings do have their good points, so I'm glad Nate and Kari have each other, but on the other hand, I think a lot of only children are closer to their parents in a way that's harder to achieve when the attention has to be shared. I've only spoken to your mother a few times, but it seems that way with the two of you."

"Yeah, well--" Scott broke off non-committally.

"You miss your dad, don't you?" Mr. Gendron asked.

Scott was startled momentarily. He'd gotten so used to hiding the truth about his dad that it took a few seconds to realize that Mr. Gendron wasn't talking about Paul, but the father Scott almost had forgotten Shane was supposed to have. "Yeah, I do. I guess you're right. We've had to leave friends so much that we've had to be close."

"That must be hard," Mr. Gendron agreed. "I'm sure your father misses you too. I'd like to meet him one day. He must be an interesting guy."

"He's pretty cool," Scott acknowledged.

"Nate thinks you're cool too," Mr. Gendron said. "So do I, so I'm not surprised."

"Thanks," Scott said,

"This time, Shane, keep your friends a while, okay?"

"I'll try," Scott said.

o o O o o

"Wow, did you get a look at those brain waves?" an unfamiliar voice exclaimed to someone right by the Starman's left ear. "They're really something."

"Amazing," another voice agreed. "I've never seen anything like it. High delta p!"

"What does it mean?" the first voice asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea," the second one responded. "Just copy it down and let the Pentagon figure it out.  I'm glad we got something. One more day with Fox breathing down my neck and I would have strangled the s.o.b."

"Wouldn't we all," the first sighed. Then, "What the hell is that?"

"It's waking up or something," his partner said. One of them pulled the Starman's arm still.

The Starman flinched. They had his face completely covered by some sort of heavy mask so that he couldn't see. It felt clammy against his skin and the adhesive in his hair itched horribly. He'd been trying to scratch without attracting attention, but no such luck. A firm pressure came down on the mask and all of a sudden he couldn't breathe.

It wasn't his nature to fight, but he knew instantly that this time it was life or death. He struggled to pull his hands out of the restraints and to move his head. From deep in the throat, he uttered a shrill sound of alarm.

The voices stopped and he heard one person take a few steps toward him. Otherwise, he couldn't tell what the technicians were doing. His body wouldn't budge. Quickly realizing that the effort only would waste more air, he forced himself to lie still and continued his guttural noises.

Nothing. Were these men stupid or did they simply not care? The Starman began to have strange, fleeting hallucinations: the sounds of gunfire and soldiers shouting in a language he didn't understand, the smell of new lumber and fresh paint, the taste of Dutch apple pie and chocolate malt, the sensation of rushing through space and time, and what he thought were Scott and Jenny's voices calling to him, only on the wrong speed. He wondered if this was what  was meant by life passing before one's eyes- those of his two successive human hosts as well as his own. It must have been only a few seconds, but it seemed an eternity. In his mind, he said quick goodbyes he knew his family would never hear and waited for the inevitable to come.

"We're ordering lunch; want anything?" Wylie barged into the room abruptly.

"Would you mind not banging the door?" the second technician retorted.

"Sorry," Wylie said. "Lunch?"

"Nah. Thanks though."

"I'll take turkey, lettuce, tomato and mayo on a roll and black coffee," the other one told Wylie. "Will a five cover it?"

The Starman heard Wylie approach to take the money. "Hey, do you know this green dial's turned all the way up?" the agent inquired.

"No," one of the technicians replied.

"Better pay attention," Wylie advised. "The alien could suffocate, you know. That would make Mr. Fox pretty mad."

He adjusted the dial and the Starman breathed a long sigh of relief in more ways than one.

o o O o o

What are you doing? Jenny mouthed to Scott as she walked into the room in search of something to loosen the cap of a stuck paint jar.

He muted the receiver against his chest, impatient at her for missing the obvious. "I'm on the phone."

She could see that. He'd taken the phone in the kitchen for privacy, which she could understand if he'd been conversing, but from what she could tell, he wasn't speaking or even making sounds to acknowledge that he was listening to anyone. He was just holding the phone to his ear. And these were kids he saw all day in school. But she said nothing, retrieved a jar opener from the drawer and went back out to finish her project.

A few minutes later, he emerged and came over to watch as she worked. "Hi, kiddo," she said amiably.

"You don't paint starscapes anymore?" he asked.

"Sometimes," she told him. "But I do other things too."

"What's this one going to be?"

"I don't know yet. I'm just experimenting right now."

"Mom, Andy's having a party next weekend," Scott began.

"Oh, that's nice," Jenny said.

"Can I go?"

"Are his parents going to be home?" Jenny asked.

"Actually, it's at his cousin's house." Scott informed her.

"Well, will there be adults there?"

"Yeah, I guess." Scott said. "Andy's aunt and uncle--"

"How many kids?"

"I don't know-- Andy, his cousins, a bunch of friends-- They've got a big house and there's supposed to be a great jazz club around there. We'd go up after school on Friday and be back on Sunday."

Jenny had heard enough. "No, Scott."

"Why?" he protested.

"You know why," his mother replied. "Where is this place?"

"Clearfield. Do you really think Fox is going to look there?"

"With him, I never know," Jenny said. "It's not just Fox though. You're sixteen, Scott. If you think I'm going to let you go out of town for the weekend so you and a bunch of kids can go to some club and stay with people I haven't even met-- "

"You've met Andy," Scott interrupted. "And his mom and dad. You thought they were nice, didn't you?"

"Scott, that's not the point," Jenny sighed. She shuddered at the possibilities when a large group of high school kids got together: Smoking, drinking, drugs, the opposite sex, fast cars in the hands of newly licensed drivers-- She remembered what she and Wayne had put their parents through and it hadn't been half as bad.

"Then what is?" Scott demanded. "Wasn't that the point of coming here, changing our names and all that so I could have a real life for once? Is that too much to ask? All you ever want me to do is stay home and study."

"That's not true,"  Jenny told him. "I'm sorry, Scott, but this is out of the question. There are just too many things that worry me about it."

"So that's it? You're not even going to think about it before you say no?" Scott persisted. Then, "Oh, I get it. It's because of the cigarettes, right? You're still sore."

Yes. No. She didn't know. "Is that how you see it?" Jenny asked. "You shouldn't smoke because I got sore?"

"I told you, Mom, I'm not doing it anymore. I never really was in the first place," Scott argued. "Just three lousy cigarettes and I'm paying for it for the rest of my life?"

"Scott, if I wanted to punish you, I could have," she reminded him. "I didn't."

"You don't trust me," Scott accused.

"I don't trust other people around you," Jenny said. "The cigarettes are part of it, but not the only reason. You've been through a lot and you're strong, but there are a thousand other things out there that you've never had to deal with before and that scares me. I don't want to have to worry about what Fox is doing to your dad, what he might do to you and me, and what you're going to be doing all weekend."

"Oh, so it's all about you," Scott said. "Not about me or what I want at all."

How had it come to this? "Scott, everything in my life is about you." Jenny said.

"Well, what if I promise to do all the dishes, the laundry and the cleaning for like-- a month?" he tried. "Then can I go?"

"No. We're not making deals on this one. When it comes to your safety-- our safety, it's not negotiable."

"You're so unfair."

"Too bad," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he continued petulantly.

She could go on giving him reasons until she was blue in the face, but he wouldn't accept any of them so she fell back on an answer she'd heard throughout her own childhood. She hadn't liked it any better than he would, but it was true and, in this case, was the bottom line. "Because you're a kid, I'm your mother and it's my decision."

"I wish Dad was here," Scott said, reaching for his strongest card.

"I do too, but he's not," Jenny told him curtly, worn down by his complaining and frustrated by the scantiness of her own authority. Not that it surprised her. She was Scott's mother, but why should that mean anything to him? Up until a few weeks ago, she'd been a stranger. She doubted Paul would have let Scott go either, but she was sure he would have handled it better.

"I'm tired of being a freak," Scott burst out suddenly. "I wish my father really was a house painter."

"Even if he were, you still wouldn't get to go," Jenny retorted, finally losing patience. "You are who you are."

"Well, you two should have thought of that before you had me!"

He'd hit a nerve and he knew it. Since they'd been reunited, Jenny had never yet raised her voice to him but now she did. "Scott, that's enough! "

He stared at her defiantly, got up, went to his room and shut the door. For most of her son's lifetime, Jenny had been dreading this moment, but it wasn't the one she'd expected. Instead of asking why she'd given him up, he wanted to know why she'd had him at all. She didn't know if she had an answer. With Scott Sr., there had been talking, planning, trying. With the Starman, it had been a simple statement of fact. "I gave you a baby tonight... If you do not want this, say so now and I will stop it." At the time, she hadn't thought about the future, only that the Starman was leaving, she couldn't go with him and she'd probably never see him again. Even after years of running and of second-guessing herself for leaving young Scott to be raised by strangers, it had never occurred to her to ask that particular question. He was their child, born of a union so brief but stronger and purer than anything she had ever known.

She leaned over to switch brushes, and in a moment of inattention, knocked over a large jar of blue paint. It spilled all over the paper and the table, splattering onto the floor and the front of her shirt. Cursing under her breath, she righted the nearly empty container, gathered up the mess and threw it in the trash.  She made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning the worst of the paint stains, but they wouldn't come out. Completely disgusted, she threw down the old towel she was using, went into the bathroom, undressed in a daze and turned on the shower full force. Under the rush of warm water where Scott couldn't hear her, she finally allowed herself the deep, wracking sobs of anguish she'd held back all these long weeks for the sake of her son.

o o O o o

The teenager with her now was a far cry from the three-year-old chatterbox who raced around like quicksilver clamoring for attention: "Mommy, Mommy--" "Scotty, you need to be quiet when grownups are talking, please." "My daddy's a pilot and I'm Spiderman." "I know, baby. Sit over there and play." That three-year-old also climbed unquestioningly into welcoming laps, readily obliged requests for hugs and kisses and proudly announced his name to anyone who asked: "Scott Hayden Jr." That child was Jenny's pride, joy and reason for being.

It was at night when the demons came. Even if she put him to sleep in his own bed, he often crawled into hers or insisted on knowing she was near. She spent hours quieting his sobs of terror: "Bad man coming for me, Mommy--" unable to contradict him truthfully even as she murmured, "Shh, Scotty, Mommy's here." The same little boy who chatted easily with some strangers, reveling in their indulgent laughs of "Oh, how cute!" wouldn't go near others, even if coaxed with candy and toys. Jenny now recognized that as the Starman's gift of knowing who was safe and who meant harm-- an ability Scott apparently had lost in the years away from her and was only now rediscovering.

Her time with him had been far too short, yet being on the run for months on end also had left her perpetually exhausted, lonely and broke. At first, she'd had a small nest egg from the reluctant sale of her cherished cabin. She managed it carefully, but eventually it had run out, and though she was fiercely independent and never one to shrink from hard work, she was terrified of leaving Scotty in the care of others. They became each other's only companions. Once, wanting him to have the company of other children and hungering for adult interaction, she'd briefly tried a mothers' and toddlers' group. He, predictably, had thrived and the other women were nice enough, but she'd felt out of place, unable to relate to mundane debates about strollers and pacifiers that paled against her overriding concern for her child's very life.

They still used their own names then. It was easier in the days before ubiquitous computers and anything else would have been too confusing for Scotty. She didn't go out of her way to leave a trail. Scotty became good at being in the car for long stretches as long as she didn't give him too much sugar. He also grew used to the hurried sponge baths in isolated public restrooms where people wouldn't stare at them and the succession of dim motels where she'd sleep with one hand over him in the single bed, ready to bolt at any minute. He learned not to stray from her in stores and parking lots-- every mother's nightmare magnified-- and instinctively began to distinguish the subtleties of language that signaled danger: A sharp, warning, "Hush!" rather than "Please be quiet, baby." meant they'd soon be "going for a drive."

At first, they'd slip back to Madison whenever she dared. She knew her in-laws would greet them with hugs, home cooking and frequently money, unasked, though the Haydens were far from rich. Her parents too, though from her father it inevitably came with a lecture: "Please, Dad. The baby needs to eat." "I know that. Come home, find yourself a nice young man and give my grandson a father for God's sake. You're worrying your mother to death out there." "It's not that simple, Dad. The government's after us if you haven't noticed." "Serves you right for getting mixed up in that bra-burning, protest march stuff. Red-blooded American boys like your brother are fighting and dying in Nam to protect our way of life and you gotta run around the country with a baby finding yourself."  "I told you, that's got nothing to do with it. They want to hurt Scotty because of who he is, who his father is." "Whoever he is, he meant you no damn good, taking advantage of you when you were down then running out on you." "He didn't want to leave. If I hadn't helped him escape, he would have died." "Jenny, listen to me, darling, you keep talking like that and somebody will take that little boy away from you and put you in the loony bin and there won't be a damn thing we can do to help you then!"

Back then, when she was still full of youthful self-righteousness, those conversations had been infuriating and hurtful. With hair-trigger sensitivity, she'd argue, cry and curse the ignorance of anyone who dared question her veracity or judgment when it came to her son. Only after her father was long gone from her life had she come to recognize the genuine concern behind those words, trying desperately to make sense out of a situation completely out of his frame of reference. Wayne, who was frequently referred to in accusing tones as "that Geffner boy," had been the one to keep their parents awake at night. Jenny had been the good girl, sweet and straight as an arrow. Of course it hadn't figured. Before the Starman, if the elder Scott had come home with a story about one of their friends and somebody from another planet, she would have snickered too. At times, she wondered if her father had been right, if it would have been better to say Scotty was Scott's child and leave well enough alone.

For there was no getting around the truth. Whatever forces pushed her in that direction, it was she, not Fox, who had broken the trust her son had had for her, putting him in the social worker's arms and walking quickly away while he was distracted by a toy. She still shuddered imagining his inevitable wails of confusion when it finally hit him that she was gone: "MOMMY! MOMMY!" That voice in her head had haunted her, waking her in a cold sweat long after his bed was empty. Wayne, who'd never hidden his own disdain for her explanation of Scotty's origins and whose relationship with his nephew had been peripheral at best, was strangely furious when he found out well after the fact: "You walked out on him? Christ, Jenny-- running home like he's not even yours!" Not until after Peagrum, years later, would her brother-- like their father, never good at showing his own vulnerability-- break down in tears and tell her of the half-Vietnamese son he'd left behind as a young GI. It was one crucial detail of his war experience that she suspected he hadn't even told his wife. His guilt and shame were burdens Jenny knew well and had learned the hard way to bear alone.

She wanted desperately to make it up to Scott, but didn't know how. Part of her felt like a hypocrite for telling him things she wasn't sure she felt herself. She wanted their relationship to be open and honest, an anchor he could depend on in the web of secrets and lies that governed the rest of their tenuously constructed lives. Scott was undeniably more independent, articulate and resourceful than his peers and she was proud, but those strengths had come at a price. While he was confronted with some painful realities, he'd been sheltered from others and she didn't know how he'd handle them. As a mother, she still felt the impulse to protect him and allow him to be the child he hadn't been. It concerned her how manipulative he could be. Though sometimes necessary for survival, it was no longer cute as it had been when he was a preschooler. She wondered if it was possible to spoil him and what spoiling was when it came to Scott.

What was "real life" anyway? He kept saying that, but she didn't have the faintest idea what he meant. She didn't know if he did either. Wisconsin pre-Starman, where she and Scott Sr. had bought the cabin on the bay, where they'd fished and hiked, bought the Mustang, planned for the babies that didn't come, was a distant dream now that seemed like paradise compared to the last eighteen years. Paul couldn't help Scott with this Earth madness. It was up to her, and so far she was failing miserably.

o o O o o

Scott shut his door, put on his Walkman and turned the volume to blasting. He couldn't take it anymore. What was wrong with her? This wasn't what he'd spent so many years and traveled so many miles to find. Maybe he should just take off. He looked a bit young for his age, but could pass for eighteen if he let the stubble grow out. Nobody would bug him about school or his clothes or where he was going anymore. He'd just hit the road and find his dad. Yeah, he could do that.

He got up and put some things in his backpack. It only took about ten minutes. He got his jacket and checked to see that Jenny wasn't nearby before he slipped out. If he didn't say goodbye, she wouldn't have a chance to argue with him. It was easier that way.

  He headed down the street, not sure where he was going yet. As he passed an empty playground, he noticed a tire swing. Impulsively, he put down the bag and jumped over the fence. There had been one at his elementary school in Seattle years ago. The speed always had been a thrill, making him feel as if he were racing against the sky. He recognized now that like his fondness for roller coasters and his childhood fascination for superheroes, his father had always been a part of him.

He approached tentatively and climbed on. He was too tall to stand on the tire as he had then, so he sat with his long legs dangling from the hole and dragging on the wood chips beneath him. He leaned forward and began to rock, pumping his legs to gain momentum. It didn't work. After a few weak swings back and forth, he felt nauseated.

Disappointed, he slipped out of the swing, retrieved his belongings and kept walking. A bus was letting off passengers just as he passed the stop, so he got on, put his money in the fare box and took a seat. He rode for several stops through neighboring towns until he got bored and decided to get off.

He was hungry, so he went into the nearest store, bought a large bottle of soda, several chocolate bars and the latest issue of his favorite car magazine. Sitting on the bench outside, he rejoiced at being able to savor them without anyone nagging about wasting money or rotting his teeth and brains. He was quietly minding his own business when suddenly and distinctly, he heard his father say, "Scott, what are you doing here?"

He whirled around, but couldn't see anyone but a drunk sleeping in a nearby doorway. "Dad, where are you?"

"I'm in your pocket," Paul's voice answered calmly.

Scott grabbed for his sphere in bewilderment. It wasn't lit, but just looked like the same giant marble it always did.

"I thought I told you to stay with your mother," Paul's voice said sternly.

"Sorry, Dad, but I can't," Scott told him. "She's driving me nuts."

Paul's voice paused. "Define 'nuts.'"

"Wacko, bonkers, crazier than a loon," Scott supplied.

"She loves you," Paul's voice said.

"Well, I don't need that kind of love," Scott said flatly.

"Yes, you do," Paul's voice replied. "How do you plan to survive on your own?"

"I'll get a job somewhere," Scott said quickly. "Or-- um-- I'll go live with Liz."

Paul's voice laughed. "How do you know Liz wants you to live with her?"

"I don't," Scott conceded. "But she's got to be better than Mom."

"Scott,"  Paul's voice began, "remember what I told you in Illinois just before Jenny found us? In the three years you've been with me, you've grown and learned things people down here never even dream of. But you've forgotten how it is to live in her world, the one where you were born and will become a man. When was the last time you had friends or a teacher who encourages you like Nate's dad or the chance to stay in one school for an entire term like you do now? You need these experiences to become an adult, to know what to do when somebody gives you cigarettes--"

"How do you know about that?" Scott asked.

Paul's voice ignored him. "It's not just about you either. Being an adult is taking responsibility for others. How do you think your mother will feel when she realizes you're gone?"

"She'll get over it," Scott said.

"Scott, she hasn't gotten over the first time. She'll be worried and hurt. If you want to leave, at least you should tell her-- and why."

"Oh, no, you're not going to pull an Eric Kendall thing on me, are you?" Scott protested. "Go away, Dad."

"I am away," Paul's voice reminded him. "I thought you wanted me to come back."

"What?" Scott said, totally confused.

"Scott," Paul's voice sighed sadly, "You need your mother but she needs you to love and protect her too. That's what love is, caring about somebody else more than you care about yourself."

"Which Algeiban book of wisdom did that come from?" Scott asked sarcastically.

"It wasn't a book," Paul's voice told him. "It was your mother."

"What?" Scott was completely dumbfounded now.

"The first day she and I were together, she was talking about Scott-- your other father-- and about love," Paul's voice told him."That's what she taught me and she's right. Both of us have given up many things for each other and for you. We don't talk about it much, but that's also part of love."

"Are you coming back, Dad?" Scott said.

"Yes, as soon as I can, but it might be a long time. I don't know. Until then, I need to be able to trust that you and Jenny are safe. You explained trust to me, remember? You said it's doing something when somebody asks you to, even if you think it's dumb."

"Yeah, yeah," Scott muttered. Why didn't his father ever forget things?

"Think about it," Paul's voice said.

"Dad--" Scott began, but the voice had vanished. He still had no idea where it had come from. His mind must be playing tricks on him. He turned around to see the drunk staring at him. "What are you looking at?" he demanded.

"You're weird, man," the drunk said promptly, getting up and shuffling away. "Talking to yourself-- I'm gonna stay away from you."

Scott got up and wandered around some more. In a park, he bounced a stray tennis ball against a wall with a vengeance for a long time, then sat down under a tree and stared up at the shapes of the clouds. It was too early for the stars to come out, though he knew from the position of the sun that dusk was approaching.

He must have fallen asleep because when he woke up, leaning against his backpack, it was dark. He struggled to focus his eyes and jumped when he heard a voice again: "If you're going to spend the night out here, you'd better have a blanket."

He looked up at his mother. "How'd you find me?"

"A little fact of life, Scott Hayden, Jr.-- besides death and taxes. The three people who can always find you are George Fox and your parents," Jenny said matter-of-factly. Then, "Are you going to come home?"

"I'm not sure," Scott said.

Jenny said nothing.

"Don't you want to know where I've been?" he asked.

"Only if you want to tell me," she responded.

"I was going to look for Dad," Scott explained.

"I see," Jenny acknowledged. "Well, there's a good dinner, a hot shower and a comfortable bed waiting for you if you want it."

Scott pondered this some more. All that was better than sleeping on the cold, damp grass and he'd just blown most of his money anyway. "I guess so."

"Fine," Jenny said.

They went home in silence. Jenny put dinner on the table and he ate hungrily.

o o O o o

Jenny came over quietly and laid a small but thick unmarked book on the table.

"What's this?" Scott asked curiously.

"Letters to you," she replied

He looked at her questioningly. She indicated the book. He picked it up and opened it to the first page, dated more than thirteen years before:  Dear Scotty, I gave you away today. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do besides lose your two dads. I handed you Rascal, your little dog, kissed you one last time and walked away. You didn't cry. I did. I don't think you realized what was going on. If you had, I doubt I could have gone through with it, but I had to save you from people who don't understand. It's not anything you did, Scotty. Never think that. You're a very special boy. Be safe, well and happy. I hope one day you'll understand.  All my love, Mommy.

Scott's mouth dropped open as he read this. He looked toward his mother, but she was facing the other way at the far end of the apartment as she ironed. He leafed through a few more pages: Dear Scotty, Our first Christmas apart. I couldn't bear to celebrate without you. I long to hold you in my arms again, hear your sweet voice... Dear Scotty, It's Mother's Day. I pray you're with another mother who loves you and cares for you as much as I do. I know you must bring her joy... Dear Scott-Scott, Today is your fourth birthday. Happy birthday, my baby. I think of you and miss you every day...

Scott smiled. "Scott-Scott," he repeated aloud. "Dad used to call me that too."

"Really?" Jenny asked incredulously.

"Yeah. At first he thought my name was Scott-Scott-hayden."

"Oh."  That sounded familiar. Now "Jenny-hayden" was Paul's pet name for her.

Scott continued reading: Dear Scotty, Now you're five, a big boy almost ready for kindergarten. I was thinking this afternoon about how you and Uncle Craig used to play when we were in Madison, showing off your muscles, begging him to lift you high in the air so you could be taller than the whole world. Little S-Man, he called you...

"Who's Uncle Craig?" he asked.

"Scott's best friend from high school," Jenny told him. "They played football together." Craig was one of several surrogate fathers during the brief period Scott Jr. was with her before they finally had to flee Wisconsin once and for all. Craig knew how long she and Scott had tried to have kids and he could count, but he never questioned or contradicted her when she insisted, "He is Scott's child, Craig." He heard the rumors of course: "Jenny's completely wacko. She says she did it with some space alien in Scott's body. She must have been on a bad trip that night..." but like a true friend, he kept his mouth shut and treated Scotty with the respect and affection a buddy's son deserved. Jenny still mourned all the connections broken-- the Geffners, Haydens and friends like Craig closing ranks around her and her little boy. It wasn't enough to stop George Fox-- nothing was. She'd missed her own parents' funerals while in hiding, family weddings, the births of Scott Sr.'s nieces and nephews, all the milestones. Had she been able to raise Scott Jr. in peace with the support of loved ones, it almost would have made up for the aching loss of the Starman. But Fox was never happy, so he couldn't allow anyone else to be.

Dear Scotty, Grim news in the mail today. Your Grandma Geffner's gone. I don't believe it. A blood vessel burst in her head. One minute she was there talking to Mrs. Healey next door about her roses, and now she's not. Uncle Wayne went home alone to settle her affairs and pack up the house where he and I grew up. I miss her so bad. She's in heaven now with Grandpa and with your daddy Scott. He must be so proud to know he has a little boy as smart and good as you. I look up at the stars at night and think of them and of your other daddy. They're all our guardian angels now, watching over us and keeping us safe though they can't be with us anymore. I can't be with you now either, but I'll always be your mommy...

Scott turned the page quickly, not ready to deal with the raw emotions it communicated or the unexpected intensity of his own visceral reaction. He skipped ahead. There were many entries, frequent in the beginning, fewer as the years went on, but always on his birthday and other important dates, all with variations of "My darling Scott," and "Love always, Mom." Far into the book, the word "Arizona" caught his eye. Dear Scott, I always hoped but never really thought I'd ever see you again. Yesterday I did, at last, for a moment that was far too short. I can't describe the pride I felt seeing you from the cliff with Paul-- your father-- holding each other,  and the heartbreak of watching both of you being captured like drugged animals and knowing I could do nothing to stop it. I'm so sorry things still have to be like this, but now I believe it won't be forever. Please be patient and strong, Scott, and help your dad as we wait for the day when it's safe for me to join you. I don't know when that will come, but until then, know that you and Paul are always in my heart. Love, Mom.

"Mom, how did you ever hide this thing from the FSA all these years?" Scott asked.

"It wasn't easy," Jenny admitted. "Once Wylie saw it in a raid and I told him it was my recipe book. Another time, they took it and a few months later Wayne and Phyllis got it in the mail in an unmarked wrapper. We still have no idea who sent it. If Fox actually read it, he was probably bored to death. There's not much in there he could use."

"Thanks for showing it to me, Mom," Scott said quietly.

"It was always meant for you," Jenny told him.

"Do you have pictures or anything?"

"Of you?" she asked.

"Me or anybody--"

Jenny shook her head apologetically. "Very few. I left some things with your grandparents for safekeeping eons ago, but your baby book and a lot of the photo albums are--" She made a "gone" gesture with her hands. With each new place, more of that past had slipped away, seized by the enemy or reluctantly left behind as she took the clothes on her back and whatever else she could carry.

Seeing his disappointment, she went over, rummaged in a drawer and brought out what she had. "That's Scott and me on our honeymoon. We met at the skating rink. I had this tight outfit on and he was staring at me--"  She stopped short. Her adolescent son didn't need to know that.

"The house painter from Wisconsin," Scott said.

"That's how he made his living, but he was so much more than that," Jenny told him. "He liked working with his hands-- wanted to start his own company someday. He was very athletic, played the guitar-- a really good guy. The church was overflowing at his funeral." She paused. "He was the one who found the Mustang."

Scott smiled at this bit of information. "He looks like the guy in 'Jagged Edge'."

Jenny hadn't seen that movie. "He was handsome. I see a lot of him in you except he was blond."

"Well, I guess I'd look like him and not Paul Forrester," Scott conceded. "Kinda weird though."

"They're both your fathers, Scott," Jenny said. "Your dad has always said so. You're his child, but you're also Scott's and my child."

She showed him two more pictures. "You and your proud grandmas on your first birthday-- with your fingers in the cake. And playing on the grass with Grandpa Hayden. You must have been seven months or so." She smiled with affection at the memory. The same hands that gently held Scotty had also built bookcases for the cabin and the rocker where she'd first nursed the baby long ago, helped sand and paint the walls and fixed the temperamental plumbing. Those eyes had watched with pride as his son tinkered with the Mustang and had dreamed of one day showing his grandson how to handle a football as he had once taught his only son.

"How about your father?" Scott asked.

"Oh, he hated cameras. 'Go away, I tell you; get that thing out of my face.'"

"He would have loved Dad," Scott observed sarcastically.

Jenny merely rolled her eyes. "Scott, were your foster parents good to you?"

Scott looked up, not expecting the question. "Yeah, Mom, they were fine."

"Do you miss them?"

Scott thought of Papa Kent--later shortened just to Pop-- who was good for games of catch, tag or hide and seek, or just clowning around with all the kids in the neighborhood, of Mama 'leen, who patiently helped him struggle through decimals and fractions and who warned him not to scratch his chicken pox, of the set of drums they'd bought him for music lessons, though it wasn't an allowable expense under his foster care stipend. "Once in a while." he said. "They weren't you though."

"I'm sorry," Jenny said.

Now he was confused. "For what?"

"For not being there for you. For not trying harder to keep you with me."

This was making Scott uncomfortable. "Come on, Mom, don't talk like that."

"Are you really sorry we had you?"

"What? Mom, I didn't say that." Or maybe he had. "Look, all I want is a real life. With you and Dad."

"I know," Jenny said. Then more gently, "Do you think if your father wasn't an alien, I wouldn't worry about you?"

Scott shrugged. "How would I know?"

"Scott," Jenny chided. "You know."

"Mom, why are you always on my case?"

"Because that's what mothers do," Jenny said. "And fathers. At least mine, anyway. The way he carried on about Scott, thank God he didn't know about Paul until it was over."

"Yeah, fathers are really annoying," Scott agreed without a trace of irony.

"Yeah?" Jenny inquired with detached curiosity that belied amusement and relief. So Paul wasn't as perfect as Scott claimed. She wondered what the Starman had done to offend their son's delicate teenage sensibilities. Judging from Scott's disconcertingly well-developed argumentative skills, probably a lot.

"It's like one day Dad could hardly cross the street by himself and the next he was telling me what to do every five minutes," Scott complained, And all this time he'd been saying Paul could do no wrong!

Jenny decided not to remind him. Instead, she said sympathetically, "Very annoying."

o o O o o

"Come on, come on, come on-- oh, shoot," Josh groaned as the "Game Over" sign flashed on the screen. "So close."

"But not close enough," Nate grinned. He and Scott exchanged high-fives in victory.

"Double or nothing," Josh challenged. "Andy, give me a quarter."

"I'm all out," Andy said. "We'll get these guys next time."

Josh leaned against the video game machine, took out a cigarette and lit it.

"Josh, not in here, man," Andy said. "We'll get thrown out again. Go outside."

In answer, Josh took a long drag and blew rings of smoke toward the other boys.

"That's disgusting," Nate pronounced. "I need something to drink." He went off toward the snack bar and Scott followed him. "Want to split some onion rings, Shane?"

"Sure," Scott said.

"Large onion rings and a medium Sprite," Nate told the person behind the counter.

"A dollar eighty-five," she said, setting the items in front of him.

Nate passed the onion rings to Scott as he paid for his purchase, then picked up his soda.

  "These are good," Scott concluded, taking a bite. "The ones at the diner are stale."

"I know," Nate said. With a devilish smile he added, "My mother would have a fit if she knew I was eating this stuff."

"Oh, yours is like that too, huh?" Scott replied. Then in a sudden moment of panic as he saw the digital display overhead, "Nate, is that clock right?"

Nate followed his gaze. "I'm not sure. Andy! What time is it?"

Andy checked his watch. "Oh, God--We're late for fifth period. We gotta get out of here, guys."

He, Nate and Scott scrambled for books and jackets as their friend calmly finished his cigarette.

"Josh, come on--" Nate said.

"No biggie," Josh replied. "Hatfield's got a sub today. Nothing's going on and she doesn't know the difference."

"Well, maybe not, but if Shane and I don't show up for English, Nate's dad is gonna come looking for us and we'll all be in trouble." Andy told him. "Especially if he catches you smoking. Let's go--"

o o O o o

"Hi, Scott," Jenny called as he opened the door.

"Hi," he returned. "I didn't expect you to be home."

"I got lucky today," she said. "How was school?"

In answer, Scott asked, "Is there anything to eat? I'm starving."

"Dori's chocolate chip Bundt cake that she insisted I try," Jenny told him. "It's good. Go easy on it though. I'm making chili for dinner."

"Great," Scott said. He headed straight for the cake plate on the counter, cut a large hunk, and began to eat it standing up. "Oh-- I can't go to school for half of next week."

"Why not?" Jenny asked.

"Some accrediting review. A bunch of big shots from Harrisburg, Washington or wherever will be all over the place for three days. Not great for staying low profile."

"Good thinking," Jenny agreed.

"Just give me a note that says I had cholera or something."

"Lucky you," his mother responded sardonically. "You know, it's been so busy, we haven't really had a chance to spend time together. If the weather's nice, why don't we drive to the mountains one of those days? We'll take a picnic, hike a little--"

"NO!" Scott interrupted emphatically.

Jenny was surprised at his vehemence. "Why not?" She'd thought he'd enjoy the outing.

"I do that with Dad," he informed her bluntly.

"Oh, Scott--" She'd meant well; she really had. She felt a stab of jealousy and immediately castigated herself: Get it together, Jenny. Don't do this to yourself. This wasn't a competition like when she and Wayne were kids. Surely she and Scott could find something to do that was theirs alone.

Her son, however, merely walked away.

"Scott-- Scotty," she pleaded.

There was no answer. Here we go again, she sighed. She braced herself and went to him. He lay on his bed with his face to the wall.

"Scott, not for a minute would I intentionally take away those things you share with your dad," she said. "Those things are special."

No response.

"He'll be back, Scotty. He will." She said it as much for herself as for him, as if that alone would make it so.

He pulled away from her touch. "You wouldn't understand, Mom."

"Try me," Jenny said.

He rolled over. "I asked Zoe out today. She said no."

"I'm sorry, baby. You really liked her, huh?"

"I thought I did," Scott said, "but she 'just wants to be friends.' I'm never going to have anyone, am I?"

"Well, sure you are," Jenny said cheerily. "You're bright, you're funny, you care a lot about other people-- One day some girl is going to be very lucky to have you."

"I had a girlfriend once," Scott told her. "Her name was Kelly Jordan. Then we had to leave before I could explain.

Oh, that, Jenny thought. Why did reality always have to intrude? Life was complicated enough without the FSA. She chose her words carefully, "You know, Scott, you can be friends with a girl without her being your girlfriend."

"Yeah, that's what they tell us in Fam Arts--"

"What's that?" Jenny asked.

"Family something-or-other Arts," Scott explained. "It's a required course. They talk about drinking, drugs, guys and girls, stuff like that. Basically, be a monk until forty."

"Oh," Jenny said skeptically, wondering what to make of the euphemism. They taught this stuff in a course? "No, that's not what I mean. Sometimes in order to really love somebody, you have to know how to be friends with them first, the way you are with guys--not just to think, 'Well, she's a good looking girl' because that gets old real fast. Scott and I loved each other to pieces, but without being able to turn up the music real loud, or hike or shoot pool or pig out together, we'd never have had the patience for all the stupid stuff married people do like argue over what color to paint the kitchen. Love grows from little things like that."

"It can't have been that way with you and Dad though," Scott pointed out. "With only three days, you must have felt something right away."

"Not really," Jenny said, hating to burst his bubble. "Actually, he scared the hell out of me for most of it, but I felt sorry for him too. Eventually I started to realize how special he was, but true love didn't come until he was gone."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" Scott smirked.

"Sometimes," she said. "After Scott died, I was devastated. We'd only been married a few years and never got a chance to do a lot of things we planned. Then fate brought me your father. He taught me things I never even dreamed of, and he gave me you. When he left and when I had to give you up, I thought I'd never see either of you again, but here we are. So maybe you won't go out with Zoe now. But if you learn from her as a friend, you never know who or what might come along later."

"After Dad left--" Scott began, "was there anybody?"

Jenny was quiet for a minute. Occasionally there had been overtures, temptations, close calls that might have been had she not pushed them away in the years she called the endless night. She'd been afraid: of getting too close, of getting caught, of being hurt, of being unfaithful. "There were times I thought of it, yes," she admitted. "But I wanted your dad and now I know that he wants us to be a family too. He told me so in Saguaro and again last month. If he-- the Algeiban part of him, not necessarily Paul Forrester-- is alive and anywhere in this galaxy, he's not willingly away from us, so we won't stop hoping and looking until we find him."

She rose from the edge of his bed. "Meanwhile, you have a job to do."

Scott groaned. "You never let up, do you Mom? Why don't you do it?"

"Because I can't work a sphere," Jenny said. "The stove is on the fritz again so unless you want cold soup, I suggest you come fix it."

o o O o o

"No passport records?" Fox exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said, George," Ted Jarvis told him from the other end of the line. "I followed up on the information you had Edna give me and there's no record of a valid passport for Scott Hayden Jr. That doesn't mean he couldn't have gotten out of the country somehow, but if he did, he's definitely not with Liz Baynes. No one on her last four assignments has seen her with a kid and she's been home a while now."

"How difficult can it be to find a sixteen year old boy?" Fox yelled.

"Look, George, that's your job, not mine," Jarvis told him. "I'm just doing you a favor since you're out in the field and don't have access to everything right now."

"You're right; I apologize for raising my voice," Fox said mildly. "Well, if the boy is still stateside,  I guess I'll run a check of every high school in the country."

"That's quite a project George," Jarvis commented.

"This way I have to find him eventually," Fox said.

"What are the chances of a teenage boy who's alone putting himself in school?" Jarvis asked. "You said even when he was with Forrester he didn't go half the time."

"You have a point," Fox conceded.

"Well, I'm not going to tell you how to run your investigation," Jarvis concluded. "If you have the time and money-- Anyway, good luck."

"Yeah, thanks," Fox said. He was back to square one.

o o O o o

Scott was vaguely aware of a hand on his chest. "Scott, rise and shine, kiddo."

He groaned. "Mom-- I'm supposed to be sick today."

"Just because you get to ditch school for three days doesn't mean you get to sleep the whole time," Jenny said. "It's twenty after nine already. The attendance person called a little while ago to see where you were."

"What did you say?" Scott asked.

"That you have the flu," Jenny said. "But you don't, so we're going out."

"Where?" Scott rubbed his eyes.

"To do errands and buy you new clothes--"

"My clothes are fine," Scott said.

"Your shirts are faded and will be too short soon." Jenny said. "Better get them now while we've got the money."

  "Can I have the cool purple and blue one you had the other day at the store?"

"I'll check tonight for your size," Jenny told him. "I can't take you in there now. You're supposed to be contagious."

"True," Scott conceded. "What do we do then?"

"Whatever you want," Jenny said.

"I don't know."

"Well, how about the museum?"

Scott grimaced. "Only if it's your or Dad's stuff."

"No, not paintings. Industrial stuff-- textiles, inventions--"

"Yeah, okay, I guess."

"Would you rather do something else?"

"Go back to bed," he said. "I think I feel a chill coming on."

"Of course you do, wearing this flimsy thing when it's forty two degrees outside," Jenny retorted, playfully tugging at the collar of his T-shirt. "Let's get some food into you. You're cranky when you're hungry."

"Can I have hot chocolate?" he asked.

"Yes," Jenny said, shaking her head in wonder. "Scott, you haven't changed a bit."

o o O o o

"So what was this, 'Friday the 13th, Part 20?'" Jenny asked as she and Scott came out of the movie theatre.

"Part 8," Scott corrected. "Did you like it?"

Jenny paused. "Well, let's just say I don't understand the appeal of blood and guts."

"It's a guy thing, Mom," Scott explained. "I don't want to go to a movie to think or get all emotional. I just want to zone out for a couple hours. I mean, I wasn't going to watch 'Driving Miss Daisy.'"

"I didn't think you would," Jenny said. "But to make essentially the same movie eight times? Don't you have enough violence to think about in real life?"

"Well, it's a lot of pressure being kind to kids and old ladies and animals all the time," Scott pointed out. "I don't know how Dad does it."

"Oh, so you're working out your anti-FSA fantasies by watching some guy in a hockey mask hacking people to bits?" his mother laughed. "I said we'd do what you wanted, but I would have picked 'Back to the Future II.'"

"I don't go to science fiction movies anymore," Scott told her.

"Why not?" Jenny asked.

"Because Dad's next to me the whole time whispering, 'Why are they doing that? It's scientifically impossible! It's insulting! It's ludicrous!'"

Jenny shook her head in wistful affection, "He'll never understand us, will he? We'll just go instead."

"Thanks, Mom, but it's not the same," Scott said.

"I know," she said. "I meant what I said before. I'm not trying to make it be."

"Let's not talk about it now, okay?" he said curtly. He wasn't in the mood for touchy-feely stuff again.

Jenny backed off, lamenting another moment ruined when Scott said suddenly, "Mom, can we go for pizza?"

"If you're paying," she shot back teasingly. "I'm tapped out after your clothes and the movie, so it's about time you pulled your weight, kiddo."

  "Uh-- I'll check my wallet," Scott said, trying not to let her see him smile. He couldn't resist ribbing her back. "Now, do you actually have the car keys or did you lock yourself out again?"

Jenny brandished her key ring in evidence. "How did you get such a mouth?"

"Not from Dad, obviously," Scott deadpanned.

"The best and worst quality in the Geffner gene pool," Jenny confessed. "It gets us into trouble far too often, but it also comes in handy for getting us out."    

She opened the passenger door for him. "By the way, I like olives on my pizza."

o o O o o

"Got it?" Jenny asked, handing Scott the mail as they came in loaded down by several shopping bags. Scott reached for the pile and winced as an advertising insert with picture of a missing child fell out. "I'm always afraid I'm going to see myself one day,"

"Those poor children," Jenny said. "Those poor parents."

"What's this?" he asked, plucking an unmarked envelope addressed to Margaret out of the assortment of junk and bills. He glanced at the postmark, but it was unfamiliar.

Jenny took it from him. "Oh, that's Wayne. He always mails things from out of the way job sites."

She tore open the envelope to reveal a money order folded inside a small, blank sheet of paper. She knew from the unusual amount that it was her cut from Lainie's gallery in Saguaro. "Karen Isely sold a painting!" she said, showing Scott the money order.

He grinned broadly. "Good going, Mom. We can almost buy my Mustang now."

"Will you stop with the Mustang already?" Jenny said. "You know the rent is due." Then, more reflectively, "Someday if there's anything left over, I'd like to put it away for a house and for you to go to college."

"A house?" Scott repeated. "College? Who's fantasizing now, Mom?"

"Someday when George Fox is dead and gone, this will all be over, Scotty. You, Paul and I will be able to stop running and be together."

"Yeah, when will that be, when I'm fifty?" Scott asked.

"I don't know," Jenny told him honestly.

"That would look funny with you and me all gray and Dad in some new twenty-year-old body, wouldn't it?" he commented.

Jenny laughed. "Very."

"So how's Wayne?" he inquired now.

"I don't know; there's no note," she said. "Your uncle's a man of few words-- just don't ask him about politics."

"Did he ever find Jimmy?" Scott asked. "You know about him, don't you?"

Jenny nodded. "He's trying, but it's been so many years and so much has happened."

"It would be kinda cool to have a cousin," Scott said. "Well, it would be kinda cool to have lots of things. Mom, do you really think it'll be over someday?"

"I hope with all my heart, Scotty." Jenny said. "Without that hope I couldn't survive." Then, "Go try on your new clothes and show me."

Scott disappeared into his room for a few minutes, then emerged. "Well?"

"You look good," his mother complimented him. "Do you think Wayne and Phyllis would like to see a picture?"

Scott considered this. "Too risky. Besides, Dad's out of film."

o o O o o

"The latest data went out this morning, General," Fox explained. "It's quite comprehensive. I think you'll be pleased."

"Excellent; it's about time," General Wade's voice came over the line. "The preliminary material looks good, Fox, so I expect you can wrap this up in about a week."

"Uh," Fox stopped short. To buy time he said, "I'm sorry, sir, we must have a bad connection. What was that?"

"Now that you've located the boy as well, I suppose you'll need time to settle things in the field and we'll see you and your men back in Washington by Tuesday."

"The boy?" Fox asked. Did I say 'located'? he searched his memory desperately. 'Closing in imminently,' yes, but 'located'? Does that mean 'located'?

"We'll make arrangements to transfer the prisoners as soon as I complete my full review. Your job is almost done. Fox. Congratulations." the General praised him.

Oh, God, he  really means 'located,'   Fox realized. "Well, General, sir, actually--"

"I admit, Fox, for years we've all thought this alien business was flaky to say the least, but it seems we underestimated you. I have to respect your tenacity."

How can I tell him the truth now? He's being nice for the first time in eighteen years.   Fox agonized. Then, almost immediately, his instincts took over: Lie, damn it! Go along with it. We can always stall for time later. "Thank you, General. Thank you very much for your faith in me. My men and I are proud to be of service—"

He knew he was babbling now and had better quit while he was ahead. "If you'll excuse me, General, I have a conference scheduled with Dr. Tomasheff and one doesn't keep a scientist of his stature waiting."

"Certainly, Fox, go ahead," the General assured him. "I'll hear from you tomorrow?"

"By all means, sir. Goodbye." Fox finished, hanging up as quickly as it was polite to do so. He wandered dazedly into the other room and collided bodily with Casey, who had come to ask if it was all right to let the alien have the extra toothpaste it was asking for. "What are you doing here?"

"Mr. Fox, the alien wants—"

"Never mind the alien. Find the boy. Yesterday!"

o o O o o

"Good morning," Scott said brightly as his mother entered the kitchen.

"Morning--" She smiled, surprised to see him at the stove.

"Coffee in a minute," he said.

"Good," Jenny said, sinking into a chair. She needed at least two cups to get started.

"Also pancakes," he announced.

"I didn't know you could cook," Jenny commented.

"Mostly just pancakes," Scott told her. "Stella, Paul Forrester's mother, taught me. I didn't know her long enough to learn anything else."

"My mother, may she rest in peace, could barely boil water to save her life," Jenny recalled with a laugh. "So when I got married, neither could I. Scott was a big, strapping, meat and potatoes guy and the first time his mother and sisters came over, they just looked at each other as if to say, 'These two are in trouble.' But Grandma Hayden, the model of tact, just murmured, 'I can see we have work to do, dear.' Everything I know about food comes from her."

"You're good at it now, Mom," Scott complimented her.

"Thanks. I like doing it." She smiled a bit wistfully. "She was a gem, your grandmother. I know you don't think of Scott as your father, but it didn't matter at all to his family. Any of them would give their right arm for you or me. You must have been about two when we visited once. I put you down for a nap and sneaked out for coffee with a girlfriend. Then Fox rang the bell. 'Mrs. Hayden, I'm--' 'I know who you are, Mr. Fox.' 'I need to see your daughter-in-law.' 'She's not here.' 'We saw her car pull in late last night.' 'You must be mistaken. Jenny and Scott Jr. are in uh-- Alaska.' You were just getting over a cold and she was terrified you'd wake up and start coughing or calling for her. 'Then why is it you have crayons and blocks all over your carpet?' 'Those belong to my other grandchildren.' She didn't have any then. 'If you'll excuse me, Mr. Fox, my Dutch apple pie is burning. Goodbye.' I can just see her shutting the door in his face, so unruffled that he had no idea what hit him."

"Dutch apple pie?" Scott laughed.

"Why do you think Paul loves it so much? He was in Scott's body first and it's genetically programmed in Hayden blood. The one in the diner was good, but Grandma's was better. We never got to eat any that time though. As soon as she told me what happened, I packed you up and we left before Grandpa even got home from work."

"Mom, will you teach me how to cook?" Scott asked suddenly.

Jenny was pleasantly surprised to be asked. "Sure. I don't