General Kingsley Thorne had never been fond of the Rampion class cargo ships. They were bulky and squat with none of the raw power of the fighters he had flown during his military career or the streamlined elegance of the racers he watched from his private viewing box at the track. They were bare-bones functionality without a single bolt or rivet wasted on aesthetics. His own personal hover probably cost more than two of them put together. They were…common. Cheap. Certainly well beneath him.

And yet he'd spent the last thirty minutes staring at one as if it were the most fascinating vehicle in the universe.

Though, to be fair, this wasn't just a Rampion…this was the Rampion. Even if the serial number stamped across the starboard bulkhead in bright, fresh paint hadn't told him that, the bullet scars carved into her hull would have. This was the ship that had evaded every military on the planet for months, that had harbored the Lost Queen, that had spearheaded the revolution…and—more importantly—it was his son's ship.

Kingsley dodged one of the many small service androids that seemed to be forever underfoot on the landing strip and stepped around the starboard bulkhead, tracing his fingers over one of the long grooves cut into the plating. He wondered briefly where the ship had acquired that particular scar and if Carswell had been aboard at the time. If the bullet that had skimmed along the metal could've just as easily sliced through his son. Kingsley frowned at the hideous thought and retracted his hand.

He was stalling and he knew it, but he couldn't quite bring himself to actually approach the crew of the ship he'd spent the last half hour examining. Even if he did work up the courage to do it, he wasn't sure what he would say. The original plan had been simple enough. He would stop by, surprise his son before the boy had a chance to bolt (as he was so very good at doing), and insist that he come home for dinner, at least, if not for a more extended stay. That had seemed perfectly reasonable when he concocted the idea on the drive from his office, but now...now it seemed far more ambitious than was prudent. He would wait. As it was, he blended right into the chaos that surrounded the ship—the dozens of androids swarming in and out of the cargo bay with crates of leutemosis antidote, the other spectators who seemed just as entranced by the ship as Kingsley was pretending to be, the cranky dock workers who were less than thrilled to be a part of the mess—and hadn't yet been forced to make contact. He had been free to watch. To observe the people his son lived with and the ship he captained...though he had yet to spot the boy himself.

"I realize it was short notice, but—What do you mean, you can't get it here? It's Los Angeles! In the middle of the growing season!" To the best of Kingsley's knowledge, that was the pilot who stood at the end of the Rampion's loading ramp. Or at least, if the shiny pair of wings pinned to her shirt were any indication, she was. Though, thus far, all Kingsley had seen her do was growl into her portscreen about a produce mix up with their supply allotment.

The other crewman had been a little more surprising. Kingsley had been aware of the rumors, of course…The military grapevine had had a field day with the notion of President Vargas leasing a Rampion to an ex-con. A thousand wild stories about the crew that manned such a ship had sprung up within days of the news, but Kingsley had never put too much stock in the story about the two-headed Lunar engineer or the cyborg first mate with three metal arms. Apparently, he should've paid a bit more attention to the one about the wolf man.

"We can probably survive without the eggplant." The wolf man smiled, his lips curling back just enough to expose the very tips of what appeared to be fangs as he ushered the last of the loaded-down service androids out of the cargo bay. The pilot merely glowered as she shoved her port into her back pocket.

"Oh, no! Not the eggplant!" Kingsley tensed at the bellow that echoed from down the dockyard's central corridor and snuck a furtive glance over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the voice's owner. "We're doomed without the eggplant!"

Carswell.

Kingsley's heartbeat hitched in his chest at the sight of the man who emerged from the dock manager's office at the far end of the docking range, something akin to relief washing over him. It had been one thing to read the reports proclaiming that his son had come through the revolution that ravaged two worlds safe and sound…it was quite another to see him striding down the row of ships, just as bright and cocky and alive as he'd ever been, despite the horrors he'd dodged.

Kingsley let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in, the unconscious tension between his shoulder blades ebbing away now that he had seen what he had come to see. A part of him wanted nothing more than to lunge across the tarmac and tackle the boy in a hug, just to prove to himself that it was real, but he tamped down the urge. There was no sense getting this close, only to scare him off. They hadn't parted on good terms the last time they had met…Kingsley had no doubt that such a familiarity on his part would put Carswell on the run faster than any arrest warrant or jealous girlfriend ever had.

There was a tiny slip of a girl at Carswell's side, with her arm looped through his and trotting to keep pace with his swaggering stride, but grinning at the eggplant conversation all the same. Kingsley bit down a knowing smirk. Somehow, that wasn't surprising. He couldn't remember a time when Carswell didn't have one girl or another on his arm. If anyone could squeeze in time for romance while simultaneously fighting a war, it would be Carswell Thorne.

The girl blew a sweaty wisp of blonde hair from her face as they joined the other two in a tight knot at the end of the loading ramp. "Aside from the eggplant, I think we're good." She consulted the oversize portscreen in her arms and tapped out a series of deft commands. "The last of androids just checked in, so the med shipment is squared away and the other supplies we requested should be aboard."

"Oh, good! We can leave." Carswell clapped his hands together triumphantly and took a hasty step up the gangplank, his smile just a tinge too brittle to be genuine. Neither the pilot nor the wolf man appeared to have noticed, but the blonde frowned. Kingsley frowned, too, a pang of disappointment twinging in his chest. The boy had only been in his home town for half an hour—he hadn't dropped by the house or made any effort to see any of his family—but he was already chomping at the bit to escape.

"In another thirty minutes, we can. The produce company's sending over a substitute for the eggplant I ordered." The pilot corrected. She blew out a sigh and reached up to tug at the neck of her t-shirt. "Stars, it's hot here…"

"It's Los Angeles; it's always hot here." Carswell flashed a smirk, but the amusement in his tone didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Very hot." The wolf man rumbled in agreement. He smirked then, casting a sly glance over at Carswell. "If you don't watch it, all that hair gel's going to evaporate."

"See, that's what I love about this crew—the real, genuine concern we have for each other's well-being. You know, it's truly touching sometimes." Carswell rolled his eyes. "Look, we're going to be in Phoenix tomorrow—can't you just pick up eggplant, then?"

"We could, but the delivery driver's already en route." The pilot narrowed her eyes shrewdly at him. "Why? Are we in a hurry?"

"Well, not exactly, but—"Carswell launched into what Kingsley assumed was a litany of excuses punctuated by wildly flailing gestures and increasingly dramatic facial expressions, though he was speaking so quickly that Kingsley couldn't pick out the words. He sighed, a heavy sense of foreboding settling in his stomach. Whether or not he could understand the speech, the sentiment was clear: his window of opportunity was closing. If he was going to anything more than lurk in the background, hoping to catch glimpses of his wayward son from afar, this was the time. Now or never…

"Carswell." His voice came out more strident than he intended, echoing as sharp and hard as a thunderclap off the ships around them. Perhaps it was habit. He had spent most of his life bellowing orders, but he cursed inwardly when Carswell flinched at the sound, tensing as if he'd been backhanded across the face. He turned slowly to face Kingsley, his hands balling into fists and his lips drawing down into a strained frown. Kingsley's shoulders slumped ever so slightly. He never had been able to say the right thing when it came to his son. Even now, when there were so many things to say, he had no idea how to voice them. To explain how happy he was to see his boy alive, to say how proud he was of the hero he had become, to mention how glad he was to see him happy in a legal enterprise for once…A thousand thoughts flashed across his mind, but all he could muster were two simple words. They weren't enough. Far from it, in fact. But maybe they were a start.

"Welcome home."

Assuming all goes as planned, this is Chapter One out of four. Chapter Two should be up by next week! Thank you so much for reading!