He wiped the blood off his face, and sniffed. His nose had stopped bleeding, but his lip still oozed a little. He threw the napkin away and grabbed another one before looking at his reflection in the mirror. The lip was puffy, and already the area around his eye was beginning to swell. He touched his side gingerly, and while the rib hurt, he felt no movement. Not broken then.

Michael emptied the contents of his pockets onto the sink. Twenty-three credits, a broken comb, and a half empty tube of chapstick. Nowhere near enough for a ticket to anywhere. He replaced the items, and headed out of the refresher.

"You alright there, son?" A voice called as he started walking from the station.

He hesitated. Then he turned. An old man was giving him a concerned look. A stranger. He took a chance. "You headed east?"

The old man glanced at the vehicle beside him, and then back at Michael. "Yeah, back to New York."

"Can I get a lift? I need to get to my dad."

For a moment, he thought the old man could tell he was lying. Then he nodded. "Get in."

"Thanks." He climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up as the old man got behind the wheel.

The small car began heading east. Leaving his father and everything else behind.

Michael didn't look back.

#

The police officer paced back and forth in the interrogation room. Michael sat in the chair, sullen and silent. The officer shook his head. "Michael Shepard. Age thirteen. You're a long way from Montana, son."

"I ain't your son."

"According to the missing person's report, your father is Douglas Shepard." The officer looked down at the datapad. "I imagine he'll be happy to know you are safe and well."

Micheal snorted. "Yeah. I'll bet he'll be thrilled." He looked up at the officer. "Who filed the report?"

The officer blinked at the question, but looked down at the datapad. "Arleen Shepard. Your grandmother." He frowned.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Michael raised an eyebrow. It wasn't unexpected. It should have hurt more than it did.

"Three months ago." The officer met his eyes. "Son, you want..."

"I ain't your son."

"Aside from your father, who is your next of kin?"

He had to think about the question. His father had a brother. "The family dog had puppies a couple years ago."

"This will go a lot more smoothly if you cooperate." The officer sighed. "The owner of the warehouse isn't pressing charges. One of our social workers is on her way to pick you up. She'll take you to a facility until we can get hold of your father."

#

When the vehicle stopped at the signal, Michael simply grabbed her purse, opened the door, and started running. He heard the social worker yelling behind him, and ducked into the first alley he came to. A quick jump got him over a fence, and he kept going. He changed direction several times before finally coming to a stop. Emptying the purse of credit chits took only a handful of seconds. He shoved them into his pocket, dumped the purse, and started running again.

#

"Michael Shepard." The officer looked down at the kid sitting across from him. "Strikes me as we've been here a couple times." He sat down and called the file up on his datapad. "Age fourteen, reported missing from Whitefall Montana almost two years ago. No siblings."

Michael tried not to roll his eyes as the officer went over his background. He knew all this already. Just his luck to trip over a couple cops on stakeout. A few hundred credits of easily fenced goods would have kept him going for a month. At least they couldn't prove he'd actually robbed the shop. All they had him on was possession of stolen property.

"You tell us who gave you those goods, we'll be able to cut you a deal."

He smirked. "Found them."

"Found them?" The cop shook his head. "You were just walking through town, minding your own business, and tripped over them."

"That's pretty much how it happened." Michael nodded.

"You..." The cop trailed off as another officer opened the door and requested a word. He waited, staring at the empty table, until the officer had returned. "Son -"

"I ain't your son."

"I'm not sure how to break this to you." The cop sighed. "Your mother has been dead for a year. And your father died two weeks ago."

The edges of his vision blurred just slightly. He kept his face expressionless. The first bit he'd known already. Wishing it had been the other way around wouldn't help. And he wasn't sure how much it would have mattered anyway. The second... "Good riddance."

"We're trying to track down your uncle. Can you tell us anything about him?"

"Never met him." His grandmother had shown him a photograph once, lamenting how she hadn't seen her younger son since the day he'd started his stint in the Alliance military. He'd never called. Never written. Never got dragged back into the mess.

A sigh came from the officer. "I'm trying to help you here, kid." He ran a hand through his hair. "Molly..." He chuckled. "You remember Molly? You stole her purse. She's on her way here. There is a foster home you can stay at until we get hold of your uncle."

"Wonderful."

"It's a bed, clean clothes, a refresher, and three meals a day." The officer looked him over. "It's a hell of a lot more than you've got right now, kid. Maybe consider not fucking it up."

#

Molly looked up at Officer Montgomery. She saw his eyes narrow at the marks on her face. "Dammit, what happened?"

"It looks worse than it is." She sighed. "I need you to put an alert out for Michael Shepard."

Monty's face darkened. "That little bastard did this?"

"No." She caught his arm and shook her head adamantly. "He's the reason it wasn't worse." She waited for Monty to take a few deep breaths before continuing. "One of the volunteers at the halfway house was messing with the girls. I caught him smacking one of them around, telling her that nobody would believe her. I thought I could intercede and..."

"He attacked you." Monty put a hand on her shoulder.

"Last thing I saw before I passed out was Michael throwing the jackass across the room." She swallowed.

"If he saved you..." Monty frowned. "Why'd he run?"

"Because the jackass is a councilman's son." Molly rubbed her forehead. "And Michael put him in traction." She sighed. "Tina thought I was dead. With Michael's record..." She wrapped her arms around herself. "And Tina said she thought he might be hurt."

"I'll find him." Monty nodded.

"The Councilman is going to be an issue."

"Not for long." Monty shook his head. "I was already on my way when I heard what happened." He smiled. "We tracked down the uncle. He's out on Mindoir."

"Get Michael off planet as fast as you can. I'm going to do what I can to protect the girls from this fallout."

#

"With fourteen vehicles available..." Monty looked down at the report before looking back across the table. "Why the hell would you take the ice cream wagon?"

Michael shrugged. "You guys had me anyway. Figured I'd make your report interesting."

"Plead out." Monty set the datapad on the table and tried not to smile. "You'll do a month. Goes to trial, you could get two to five years."

"A month?" Michael blinked. "I thought..." He trailed off.

Monty's eyes widened. "Oh shit. You..." He ran a hand through his hair, and then smiled. "Molly's fine, kid. That asshole is doing five years. Not near enough in my book, even after the number you did on him." He glanced down at the datapad. "I need you to take the plea, kid. You drag this out at all and Councilman Valince gets wind of it, he's going to make your life miserable." He shoved the datapad across the table. "Thumbprint and voice acknowledgment. Then, soon as you get out, we'll pack you off to Mindoir."

He put his thumbprint down and signed before looking back up at Monty. "Why Mindoir?"

"We tracked down your uncle. He's been nagging me every month wondering where the hell you are." Monty saw the young man's hand shake slightly as he slid the datapad back. "He said to let him know the moment we found you, so he could get a room ready."

#

Michael watched the newsfeed with no expression on his face. Three days left, and the worst part was he'd actually started to hope. To wonder what it would be like to be a farmer out on some colony world. He looked down at the datafeed. His uncle had sent two letters. The first was three pages of apologies for not staying in touch enough to get to him sooner. He called up the second, and played one of the short videos. A red haired woman fretted about he needed to tell her if he wanted berry or custard filling for his birthday cake and how it would still be a birthday cake even if it was two weeks late, and how much she was looking forward to meeting him.

He touched the control, and pulled up the next video. A twelve-year-old girl expressed her hopes that he'd be cooler than her sister, who was apparently a gigantic doofus who never wanted to go anywhere. He flipped through to the next video, watching the faces of the family he'd almost had.

Too bad the universe just didn't fucking work that way. Seemed just learning he existed was enough to get them all killed. He closed the letter, and went back to the next datafeed. Officer Harold Montgomery, killed in the line of duty. Left behind a widow and two kids. He shut off the pad, and lay back on the cot.

#

Molly sighed. She'd tried to block the transfer, but Councilman Valince's friends had run right over her objections. Michael Shepard was going to a 'rehabilitation center'. With a sigh, she reached for her communication unit. It beeped before she could pick it up. She frowned at it, then answered the call. "Gerald, what can I do for you?"

"I just had two officers arrive to pick up that kid you were worried about." Gerald shook his head as he looked back at her. "Except apparently at some point during the night he bypassed my security system and went out the window."

"Michael is gone?" She wasn't sure if she was worried or relieved.

"Like the wind." Gerald chuckled. "Thought I'd let you know. Think he'll try to get in touch with you?"

As much as she wanted... "No. He's not stupid, and he knows its best if he doesn't."

#

Curt pounded Michael on shoulder. "Hah, did you see those bastards run?"

"I was too busy watching our backs." Michael glared at him. "Which is what you were supposed to be doing."

"Bah, it's all good." They followed the other Reds back to the hideout, and dumped the take on the table. Curt whistled. "Not bad at all."

Michael did some mental calculations. "Don't let the fence give you less than seventy."

"I was thinking..." Finch started to say.

"Don't." Michael shook his head. "You're terrible at it."

Finch threw a mock punch at him.

#

Hackett sipped at his drink, and wrinkled his nose. New York had its good points, but its coffee was not one of them. He started walking up the street for his meeting, and a young man bumped into him. He made it one more step before his hand went to where he kept his wallet.

The young man took off like a shot the moment Hackett started to turn around. Hackett sprinted after him, kicking off to tackle the other man to the ground. The younger man came up swinging. Hackett mentally noted that the kid wasn't half bad, right before he proceeded to give the guy a brief lesson in the difference between a talented amateur and a seasoned professional.

It took a bit longer than he was expecting. The guy got back up three times. He couldn't help but feel just a bit impressed. The last time he put his foot down on the kid's chest before reaching down to retrieve his wallet. He opened it to make sure the contents were all there before looking down. "It's your lucky day, kid." He put his wallet away. "I don't have time to give a statement."

He turned, and walked away. He was halfway to his meeting when he reached into his pocket for his security pass and found it missing. He ran a hand down his face, and chuckled before grabbing his comm unit.

#

The reprogrammed security pass worked like a charm. Michael grinned, then winced when it made his split lip reopen. The old geezer certainly knew how to throw a punch. That had been a lot closer than he liked. He was going to have bruises for a month.

Slicing through the security system took him only a few moments. He signaled the others, and watched them move in. Timers set, in and out in two minutes, before any red flags could be triggered.

They cut it closer than he'd like, but the last cleared out just under the wire. He carefully removed the loop from the security feeds, and reactivated the systems.

Finch was practically bouncing. "I tell you, man, soon as we cash this take out, we'll spend your eighteenth on some beach." He sketched an outline in the air. "Topless ladies as far as the eye can see."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Focus, jackass. We're not clear yet." He accepted his share, hiding it in the pockets of his clothing. "Stick to the plan. Everyone lay low for two weeks."

"Right." They split up, and went their separate ways.

#

"Well, well." Hackett narrowed his eyes. "Small world." He saw the pickpocket making his way down the street. He sent a brief message on his communicator before standing up to follow.

He saw the kid make him despite the crowd. The young man turned to run, and then there was the scraping sound of metal on metal. Both turned just in time to see the aircar bounce off the railing before slamming into the nearby building. Flames began to erupt from the engine block.

#

Someone inside the burning car was screaming. Immediately he was over the fence. The door wouldn't open. His elbow went through the window, and hit the lock. The woman in the driver's seat was dead. He grabbed the boy from the passenger seat as the flames started rising higher, and yanked him out of the vehicle. He'd got him clear and ran back for the others.

The old man was behind him. He shoved the little girl at him. "Get her clear." No sooner had the old man taken the girl than Michael dove back into the car for the other kid. The wide eyed toddler stared up at him as he unbuckled her as fast as he could. The air was hot, searing his lungs, and he could feel the flames. He yanked the kid out, burning his hand on the frame of the car as he pushed them both free.

He made it a dozen steps before the car exploded.

#

Hackett handed the girl over the fence to a bystander and started to turn back. The young thief had the other kid, and for a moment it looked like everything was going to be okay.

The explosion sent the thief flying. Hackett watched as the young man curled around the child, twisting to take the brunt of the resulting impact. He slid across the ground, and lay there, unmoving, as sirens began to wail.

#

He woke to the sound of something beeping. Michael tried to raise a hand to rub at his eyes, only to discover it had been shackled to the frame of the hospital bed. "Shit."

"Yeah, you're definitely in that." Michael looked up at the sound of the voice, and found the old man he'd pickpocketed watching him like a hawk.

The events of the previous day flooded into his mind, and he sat up. "The kid..."

"She's fine. Singed some of her hair and bit her tongue, but otherwise she's fine." The old man leaned back in his chair.

Michael slowly lay back down. He saw bandages around his hand, but the only sensation he had was a vaguely fuzzy feeling everywhere. "Nothing said under the influence of narcotics is admissible in court."

"Well, we aren't in court, are we?" The old man folded his arms. "You were carrying almost fifty thousand in stolen goods, not to mention a forged military ID that you acquired by mugging an alliance officer." When Michael gave him an indignant look, he chuckled. "Getting your ass handed to you doesn't change that it was a mugging." He tilted his head. "Most people in your situation would have run the other way."

"Most people are smart." Michael sighed.

"According to your record, you don't turn eighteen for another two days." The old guy unfolded his arms and leaned forward. "Juvenile records get sealed."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about a kid that can hack security protocols, almost manage to hold his own against a guy with thirty years of experience on him, and who didn't hesitate a moment to risk his life and freedom to save a couple of kids." He met Michael's eyes. "I'm Admiral Steven Hackett, Alliance Navy."

"An admiral." Michael sighed. "They told me you were some administrative grunt."

Hackett laughed. "Pretty sure you could have handled some administrative grunt." He leaned back again. "Option one. You go to trial. All charges added up, you do fifteen to twenty." He lifted one hand. "Option two. You plead guilty, save the government the expense of prosecution, and do five to ten."

Michael frowned slightly. "You're offering a third door."

"I am." Hackett nodded. "Join up."

"What?"

"Sign on to the alliance military. You've got skills, kid, and you're a tough little bastard." Hackett looked him over. "And you went back into the fire twice, without hesitation."

"I need to think..." Michael shook his head. Two years and a paycheck versus rotting. Councilman Valince would make sure he never got a deal as sweet as a mere five, and he wasn't looking forward to finding out just how bad a hole the fucker could stick him into. "Where do I sign?"

#

Hackett turned to see a woman approaching him. "Admiral Hackett?" When he nodded, she smiled and held out a hand. "Molly Breton."

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Breton?" He accepted the handshake.

"I wanted to thank you, Admiral."

"Thank me?" He blinked.

"I owe Michael Shepard my life, Admiral." She looked down the hospital corridor. "Thank you for giving him a chance." She shook her head. "He's an angry young man, but I think..." She took a deep breath. "I think he's a lot better than he thinks he is."

"That's what I'm counting on, Mrs. Breton."

#

Hackett opened the message, and chuckled to himself. Apparently, Michael Shepard had decided to set a couple records his first week at Camp Murphy. He'd broken the time record for an obstacle course, and set a new high for number of disciplinary pushups done in the course of a single day. A rather impressive four-digit number.