Now. It was now.

For three years, not a day had passed in which it hadn't thought about it. Not a night had passed where the thought had not troubled his sleep. His mind struggled, wrestling between hope and despair, certainty and doubt.

It was today.

The day for which he had waited, the day of which he had dreamed had finally come.

He cursed it.

The ship loomed overhead, casting its great shadow over the slums. Like Wikus's heart, it seemed light and heavy at the same time. Three years ago, the thought of this day had been the only thing worth living for. Three years ago, it would have seemed mad that he might come to fear it. Three years ago, he'd never have been able to fathom the choice he would be forced to make.

Wikus drew his eyes away from the sight, eyes searching the crowd around him.

The arrival had attracted incredible numbers. Afterall, Wikus was far from the only one who had been waiting. And now, the ship had drawn every creature in District 10, like metal filings. They milled about, a chaotic throng standing in places shoulder to shoulder between the cramped and flimsy tents they called home. The gathering which had witnessed the ship's departure those scant three years ago was quite small by comparison. There were simply so many more of them now.

Nearby, a young prawnling stood, his eyes with those of all the others, gazing at the ship in awe. He was engaged with another Prawn in conversation, a battered, bent old thing. The words of the older alien were lost in the excited babbling of the amassed horde, but the effect they had on the juvenile was quite visible. He watched painfully as the small creature turned on its spindly legs, ducking through a forest of long, armored limbs toward Wikus where he stood at the door of his tent.

"They say it means we get to go home, Father. Is that true?" The child's wide blue eyes looked up at him expectantly as he chirped his query. Wikus was forced to look away. His gaze passed over the aged prawn, who he saw was now watching them. The expression on its face was one which Wikus had quickly become familiar with in his years of living amongst the aliens.

Pity.

"Yes, Nicolaas." He said, turning his attention back to the young creature at his feet. It was an almost impossible effort, keeping the grief from his voice. Bending down upon one knee, he set a dark hand on the juvenile's small shoulder. "Yes. That's what it means."

That was what it meant. Of course, first you had to know where home was. And if home was where the heart was, then Wikus van der Merwe's was doomed to be torn in two.