The morning was brought by a saturated sky; cloudless and bright with a breeze carrying warm air. All had given the impression that the day was going to be a good one, up until the moment of Finn confronting his father. 

"No."

"Please, dad," Finn fought persistently.

"No," remained the answer.

Finn's father was a warm-hearted, but well-respected man. His charisma led one to assume that he could be the most generous person, and while he often really was nothing but a sweetheart, on occasion his strict, authoritarian self prevailed. 

His work required traits of initiative, strength, and boldness. He had them all, and beyond. Christopher Clarkson was an idolized and fairly known name in the fields of science. Thanks to his inventions and improvements, noticeable progress had been made in space exploration.

In his early twenties, after years of schooling and training, he became one of the world's youngest Space Engineers with a double major in astrophysics. Now, at the age of thirty-seven, he was proud to represent the department he once started at, as their principal aerospace engineer. Christopher knew to behave collected in serious situations, but at home, he acted jocular and loving.

Although Finn was taller in height, he always looked up to his father. 

That day, Christopher wore his glasses with the black frames. His stubble was getting a little bit longer than usual, his brown hair had visibly been slept on, and in his hand, he was holding a grey mug with freshly poured coffee. There was only one explanation for his unkempt appearance; it was a quarter past eight on a Sunday morning.

"But why?" Finn was faced with an argument. He didn't understand why he wasn't allowed to visit his father's work. "I am responsible, I get good grades, and—"

"Good grades?" Christopher put his mug down on the counter of his kitchen and began to debate Finn's argument. 

"You haven't been attending school regularly for the past four months." 

He sounded confrontational, but his eyes softened as he sighed, rubbing his temples, "which I understand. The incident was a tragedy we are all still trying to recover from. I believe I have been very understanding of your behavior, still, skipping school and sneaking out at night is not responsible at the slightest."

"You know about me sneaking out?"

"Finn," said his father, now granting him his unbroken attention, "I've been giving you your space, but eventually you'll have to find a way to move on."

If it had been any other day, Finn would have disagreed. He would have never admitted that it is time for him to let it go. He would have found a million reasons to continue being hopeful, but because of his purpose, this time he used his father's words to his own ambushed advantage.

"You're right," replied Finn with hardship.

"Am I? Because your behavior in the past couple of months tells me you clearly don't want to move on with your life. It's hard, I understand that, but what you are doing is not healthy. I'm not here to judge, but your obsession with the stars is a cry for help."

"So help me, dad!"

It was clear that Christopher wasn't done with his speech yet, but Finn's response robbed his father's words. Now they were each mentally debating whether Christopher felt guilt for Finn's suffering or anger from the subliminal accusation. Before either could figure it out, Finn shaped his lie.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I want to move on, alright? If I am honest," and this was the first truth he told, "it hurts to say it out loud."

Whether it had turned out to be guilt or anger, or both, it had passed. Instead, his father felt sympathy for his son and listened.

"Maybe this is exactly what I need to distract my mind. I thought that a day spent shadowing you at work could possibly inspire me to achieve great success, like you. It was just an idea," as Finn spoke, he witnessed his father's facial expressions change like seasons. 

At first, he had looked conflicted, now persuaded. Considerably a fitting moment to let his father decide now, but Finn pursued his lie and moved irreversibly close towards a blunder. "In fact, I've been thinking, and I know you still haven't chosen your intern yet. I'd be interested to apply for the position."

As excitement spread on Christopher's face, Finn knew it was time to stop talking. He wasn't interested in an internship, why would he say such nonsense?

"Finn," his father grinned, "I had no idea. Where is this coming from? Why are you suddenly so interested in my work?"

There was Finn's chance to correct his lie. First, he stumbled, then he failed to come forward with the truth. "For the same reason that you are, dad. Space is fascinating, and I'd love to work in the field of astrophysics one day."

"Is that why you've been seeking the stars lately? No, you know what, I'm not going to drill you on this. If you're interested, you're interested. And I am nothing if not happy for you. I'll see what I can do, but the application deadline was a few weeks before May. Also, I'm leaving for a mission in a few weeks and will be gone for a month, so you wouldn't be under my supervision. But that shouldn't be an issue."

Finn thanked his dad and sighed in relief, though he wasn't relieved at all. Being an intern at KSP could create obstacles, such as being monitored at all times, and having to work throughout summer break, when he had bigger plans to obey.

"But," added Finn before the conversation took its end, "I'm still unsure, so visiting KSP could really help me to find my path."

"That's mature. Tomorrow you will join me for work."

Finn felt confident and walked upstairs. In spite of the small hick-up, he had mastered his plan's first phase; to convince his father. He sat down in the chair of his room, where he had been sitting all morning, ever since he returned home, up until the minute when he heard his father's bedroom door open.

In the corner behind him stood Finn's bed, still untouched. A double in size, basic and low. Covered by a large down blanket and scattered soft pillows, it was comfortable like a cumulus cloud, all in the shade of midnight blue. Ironic, considering Finn rarely lay in bed at midnight.

The room was sizable. It was fitted with hardwood flooring and very large windows offering an aesthetic overlook of the city. Their penthouse was located in one of Westlake's highest buildings, and the window chain in Finn's room was parallel to the bed.

Every morning the sun used to wake him through the glass, and the first thing he'd look at was not the structures or streets, or the hustle and the people. No, Finn looked far beyond the image of mankind, away to the horizon, where mountains stretched across the land.

He'd never been there. Humans spared and protected nature. They mostly stayed within the cities, which were rationally scattered across the planet.

People used to exploit their environment until they nearly reached a fatal end, but with the improvement of space colonization, more resources were given, and with that came a second chance. A redeeming choice was given, and humans accepted it.

At first, the wealthiest families bought their ticket to travel to Asgard (the largest space station) to then leave the solar system and settle on healthier planets. Over the passing of generations, grass began to grow greener, trees lived longer, lakes became crystal clear, and the oxygen tasted so different that, if a human ever returned to their original home, their lungs would treasure the difference. 

As beauty recuperated, only criminals and those vanquished by poverty were sent away to live their deplorable lives somewhere else. A lot had changed since the first space colonization, and ignorance assured the people that where they lived was home. Never did it occur to them that home could be so much more than just a place.

Sun was falling into Finn's room, letting parts of the floor appear much warmer than the remaining area, despite its white color. His walls had a clean gray coating. Finn sat before his desk now. Three monitors were standing on top of it, and a fourth was mounted above the middle one. 

He closed his open tabs, all related to the daily news and websites with research titled: The Lost Spaceship, Is the Press Lying?, and Proof that it Wasn't a Black Hole, and finally a private blog published by an elderly man named Robby, claiming that his wife was still alive. It had taken Finn weeks to collect all the data, and he still couldn't find much use of it. 

After his desktop looked less messy, he opened a new window on his computer and was now able to see himself, as the camera in front of him turned on. A list of contact names appeared, and Finn selected Blake. Immediately a ringing tone began and Blake answered the call. 

"I was just about to get breakfast, what's up?" Blake was standing, looking rushed. His shirt hung over his nude shoulder and in his right hand, he was holding a purple water bottle with the head of a roaring lion printed on the side.

"Did you just come back from a jog?" observed Finn.

"No, I've just returned from a tea party," joked Blake in an accent, and raised his pinky. "The tea was spicy, hence the sweat."

"Har har."

"I'm kidding. I just finished my morning run. After being up so late last night, it felt like hell, but I pulled through. I do, however, appreciate a good night's rest, just mentioning it for future you, deciding to call me in the middle of the night."

Blake's voice wasn't serious. He always supported his friend and when he called, Blake always answered.

"I talked to my dad."

"Do tell," Blake was curious to hear the news, but he leaned towards believing those were rather disappointing; Finn didn't express a positive mood.

"Well, do you have a minute?" asked Finn based on Blake's comment about breakfast.

"Two even. So spill it! What did he say? Did he say yes?"

"He said yes."

"Yes!" Blake shouted in celebration, followed by his mother yowling: "Blake!" in annoyance. Unlike her son, it wasn't a jog Mrs. Bell had just finished, but sleep. "Quiet it down, will you?"

"There is more," attached Finn, "I may have told my dad I'm applying for an internship."

"Finn!" Blake seemed confused, even he knew that there was no need for the trouble.

"It's okay," assured Finn, "The application deadline was three weeks ago. I just said I'm interested in order to be more persuasive, and it worked, didn't it?" For a moment, Finn had almost convinced himself that everything would turn out good, then that moment passed and he began to vent. "What am I doing? My dad leaves for a mission in three weeks, I'd be lost at KSP."

"Even better!"

"How so?"

"If your father is gone throughout the internship, you can access his computer without any disturbance."

"Blake, I feel tortured. This isn't going to work. I will lose the signal! Do you have any idea how much math is involved? We are standing on a surface in constant movement, every single second of every single day we rotate. Every differentiation defines divergent numbers of the correct coordinates. If I as much as fail one number—"

"But you won't. I can promise you, you won't miscalculate."

"How can you be sure?"

"You are one of the most intelligent people I know. I am absolutely certain that you will track the signal, but a healthy brain needs to rest every once in a while. When was the last time you slept through an entire night?"

Finn said nothing.