Heaven & Hell

Posted on Sun Apr 5, 2020 @ 9:34pm by Lieutenant Cassandra Kennings & Commander Cullen Walker

3,306 words; about a 17 minute read

Mission: Nibiru
Location: USS Saint George/Starbase Haven

Blackened eyes, broken nose and limping, a young Arthur Walker was escorted off the USS Saint George. At 6'3ish, and built like a linebacker, he was bigger than half the guards already. The ridges on his head were less defined than his father's were, but the ears blatantly paraded his Vulcanoid heritage. His auburn hair was long and wavy, and his eyes were grey, green, and amber, easily mistaken for hazel when one wasn't swollen shut. He was the through the airlock, escorted by two security men and standing amidst a swarm of engineers, construction NCOs, civilians and storage crates.

The security officer looked at his padd, "Is there a Doctor Kennings here?" he shouted, trying to be heard above the din.

"Here," a voice called out from the crowd, and a hand waved as it approached.

Arthur had his duffel bag with his stuff in it. He managed to get his hammer out of the bag, and was wearing it, along with regulation clothing for an inmate. His mother had arranged for him to have a small cargo container sent with regular cloths in it, but it was transported on the supply side, addressed to Kennings. He was having trouble carrying his duffel bag due to cuffs and shackles.

Cassandra stepped out of the crowd at last and walked up to the guards. At 6'0" she wasn't as tall as the young man in front of her, but she was close. Her violet eyes looked into his tri-colored ones for a moment. Under her rainbow-colored hair, a gold circlet went around her forehead, a blue jewel in the center glowed brightly as they looked at each other. She turned her attention to the security guard. "I take it this is our new resident?" she said, smiling.

With a nod, the security officer offered her the padd so she could put her authorization ID in, just like she was accepting cargo. "My orders say we take the restraints off after you sign for him. A Nausican tried to take his food during meal time on the prison transport ship on his way to us. My opinion is they never should have been housed in the same section. The kid held his own. The Nausican had a confirmed kill count of over thirty, he was a smuggler. Medical fixed the major issues. While on the Saint George, he was quiet, polite, and followed directions. He just read his approved reading material."

"Lovely," Cassandra said, looking over the padd. "Well, seeing as he's here now. Please remove those restraints." She waited patiently as the guards unchained him and clucked her tongue in distaste. She knew Captain Dragon was following the orders she'd been given, but still. Such draconian methods.

As the guards stood back up, she gave them a stern look when they just stood there. "That will be all gentlemen. Please give my regards to the Captain and inform her that I expect her for dinner next time you put into port."

They looked at each other, then shrugged. The lead guard said, "yes Ma'am. We'll have his personal effects transported over immediately."

Cassandra nodded. "Instruct supply to have it delivered to his quarters."

The guards nodded, turned and headed back through the airlock to the Saint George.

Cassandra took a breath and turned her attention back to her new protege. "Welcome," she said.

Arthur stood up straight, "Ma'am, thank you for that. You have my word as a Walker and a Heathen to be on my best behavior." He was taller than her by only a few inches. She was not his girlfriend, who never once tried to contact him while he was in lockdown. He had tried to get his girlfriend added to his comm list, but she never responded nor did her parents. Despite keeping calm, like a martial artist, he was still having a flood if emotions, which were all in his eyes.

Cassandra nodded. "I call that a 'pie crust promise', but we'll see," she said. "Follow me." She turned and walked through the river of people going back and forth through the corridor, heading away at a brisk pace.

Carrying his bag was a lot easier without cuffs and shackles. Following her, he did notice she had a nice ass, but he didn't say anything. He did his best to keep up, "Pie crust promise?"

"Easily made, easily broken," she said, threading her way through people. She turned down an adjacent corridor and made her way to the central pillar of the station, stopping in a turbolift vestibule. She turned to watch Arthur catch up to her. "Eyes front, young man," she said, smirking. The doors opened and she let him in first, then stepped inside and pressed the controls for the Atrium. "I have a project I need your help with. It will require a fair amount of manual labor, but once it's up and running, maintenance will be top priority. You will also be required to complete educational courses. Your day will be largely structured, but if you can show me you can be trusted, some personal time will be permitted."

Arthur's eyes snapped up and away from what he caught a glance of. He walked through the doors after she made it clear she wanted him to go through. He wondered if she was telepathic, intuitive, or making an accurate assessment based on his psych profile and him being sixteen. He was also hungry. "Manual labor is no problem, ma'am. If it needs to be lifted, I can find a way." He didn't know how to use it yet, but he had his father's confidence.

"Good," Cassandra said, reaching into a pocket of her dress. She pulled out a pocket watch and flipped it open, eight hands moving slowly around the face. She closed it and returned it to her pocket. "But, before that, we should see your quarters, and then arrange dinner. It's getting a bit late."

"Atrium," the computer said, the voice gravely and harsh, and warbled with static. Cassandra sighed, adding it to the to-do list for Engineering as the doors opened.

She never tired of the view, her diamond in the rough. The dome was far above them, and the stars were shining behind the transparent aluminum. The path around the central core was littered and dirty. The station stretched out to an artificial horizon with conveyors moving out like spokes from a wheel, splitting the area into five large sectors. At the entrance to each sector stood a majestic stone archway, decorated with a mascot, and its title at the top.

Cassandra stepped onto a moving platform, taking them around the center of the complex, then got off in front of one of the stone archways. A pair of dryads were carved on the front, and a pentacle adorned the keystone block. "Welcome to the Earth Section," she said, leading him under the archway.

A short row of oak trees were behind the arch and they stepped onto another moving platform. Alongside were a series of maglev cars moving at the same speed. Cassandra gestured to one and after Arthur had seated himself, sat down as well. The car reached the end of the platform and took off, heading deep into the city beyond.

"Your apartment is small, and somewhat spartan, but you may decorate it as you see fit," she said. "Is there anything specific you require?"

Arthur looked at her, "Everything for my alter, my clothes, and my school stuff should be in my footlocker. How did you get me back into my AP courses? I had gotten notified I was dismissed from my academic program. Then suddenly I was back in if I got higher than a B+ on midterms." Despite missing a few weeks he got an A, barely an A, but still an A. Of course, his AP program had a 6% grading scale, so 94-100% was an A and 88-93% was a B. All of his courses gave him Starfleet Acafemy Credits.

"They had no reason to let you go," Cassandra said, simply. They got off at a station near some of the taller buildings. Some looked as old as the station, some looked brand new.

"Most of the civilians have moved to the new buildings," Cassandra said. "You'll be there as well." They stepped inside the front room of one of the taller buildings and into another lift. "Put your thumb on the sensor," she said.

Arthur stuck his thumb on the pad.

A moment later the lift shot up, offering them a more panoramic view of the area. Reflective pools and even deeper areas were being carved out, and in their section there were already plants flowering, giving some color to the place. Cassandra smiled with pride at what she was creating, then turned back to her charge as the lift stopped. "This way," she said.

Arthur followed along.

She stepped out and walked down the hall, all the way to the end at a final set of doors. She had him press the trigger again and they stepped inside.

It was a studio apartment. There was a bed, a replicator, a washroom and closet, and a small sitting area. His foot locker was already waiting for them.

"I trust this will meet your needs?" she said.

Looking at her, "This is bigger than my bedroom at home. It is certainly bigger than where I have been the last few weeks. Why are you being so nice to me? I was stuck in Adult Gen Pop. Then they said some Admiral raised hell. I got moved to solitary, then suddenly my mother and JAG told me to sign a paper, I was set up for transport and I'm here." He was confused and a kid.

"Well, as to the why I'm being nice, it's because that's how my mother raised me," Cassandra said, sitting down on a chair in the living/dining area. "As to why you're here, that's because your father would prefer you contribute to society, not be crushed by the gears of it." She leveled her violet eyes on him. "I should also mention," she said, "that you and I will be spending quite a bit of time together discussing what happened, and how we're going to avoid such mistakes in the future."

Looking at her confused, "I have seen him, maybe, 20 times in my life. He was always away on missions. Sometimes, he would have leave and Starfleet would deploy him right after he got back. Until my mother got posted to Earth, we lived on ships and stations that allowed families." In that moment, he was briefly a belligerent teenager, "Grandma said all Walker's serve in Intel and Intel Support like RRT. I don't know my father. Grandma and Pops, my Great granddad, were the ones who came to football games and martial arts tournament. Why would my father care now? Did I make him look bad?"

"Your question presumes you know your father's mind," Cassandra said. "But you said you don't know him. Is it possible he's always cared about you, and this is another way he's showing it?"

Arthur looked at her, "My last martial arts tournament. He showed up. Then had to beam out right before the last match. He didn't see me win for my age group. He didn't see my brother win for his age group or my sister win for the girls in her age group. Going to save a Diplomat was more important. Someone else was always more important than us." A tear went down his cheek.

"As children we believe we are the centers of our universes," Cassandra said. "But as we get older, we find that we are not always in control of things. Your father may not have been the one prioritizing. If he's ordered away, if he's beamed away, he may not have a say in it. That being said, you have every right to feel upset about those things, but resentment won't help you move past them."

Wiping his eyes on his shirt, "Why do Walkers have to go on all the dangerous Missions?" Having not put everything together yet. Things like what he did to his opponent in a minute that got him into trouble. Things like as a teenager surviving Adult Genpop. Things like holding your own against a Nausican as a teenager . Things like being in all AP courses in high school. Those things are why Walkers do the work they do and have for generations. He only thought of himself as a kid. He clenched his fist and held them in front of his waist. He closed his eyes and worked on controlling his breathing. He opened his eyes and moved to an at ease position, "I'm sorry for dumping that on you."

"I'm the station counselor," Cassandra said, gently. "It's my job." She stood up and walked over to him. "Arthur, what you will grow to understand is that those of us who bear the weight of the universe must sacrifice something along the way. It's not fair, it's not easy...I'm not even sure if it's right...but it's the price we pay to see others safe and happy. Your father does what he does, as have many in your family, so that their children, and others, can sleep safely at night. Your relationship with your father has been his sacrifice. I hope that changes. We'll work towards that goal, if you wish."

Focusing on calming his breathing, "Granda and Pops says it is a Walker's job. We are born different, made different by our ancestors, and blessed by the Gods. We do so others don't have to. We take the beatings so others don't have to. Taking the beating isn't about physical fights is it?"

"Not necessarily, although the Klingon part of you may disagree," she said. "But while you are here, fighting is strictly prohibited Am I clear?"

Arthur nodded, "Yes Ma'am. I'm only one eighth Klingon, one eighth Vulcan, and three quarters human. Sorry, not important. No fighting."

"Good," Cassandra said. "Now, I have dinner on the stove in my quarters and by now my husband should be setting the table. Why don't you join us for a meal and then you can come back here and settle in, hm?"

Arthur answered, "Yes Ma'am. Permission to change into something not prison issue before hand."

"Of course," Cassandra said. She reached behind her and procured a padd out of thin air, tapping notes on it. "Here is my address and directions," she said. "It's only a ten minute walk or so. I'll see you in thirty. Welcome to Haven, Master Walker." She turned and walked out of his quarters.

As soon as she left, Arthur got into his footlocker. He got out clippers and did his own hair and beard. It wasn't perfect, but it could pass an inspection if need be. He showered and put on clean clothes. In lock down, they are only required to give you a shower every three days. Syncing his boots, he walked out the door. Clean clothes felt fantastic. Following the directions given, he arrived at the door in question and rang the buzzer.

The door opened and a man sized Arthur up, then held out a hand. "You must be Arthur, he said. "Cassandra said we'd have company tonight."

Seeing the man and realizing who he was, Arthur stood up straight thumbs lined up with the seam of his pants. He saw the hand and reached to take it. "Sir. Walker, Arthur Gawain. I apologize for my gig line not being straight." Arthur had learned a long time ago how to shake hands firmly and confidently. His family was career Starfleet, all officers that were Field Intel and Intel Support. Arthur's great grandfather was a retired Vice Admiral.

Richard shook the young man's hand firmly as well. "That's quite all right, Walker, Arthur Gawain. I am Kennings, Richard John. Come in and sit down, and you can explain to me what a 'gig line' is." He smiled as he stepped aside and gestured for the young man to come into their home.

Arthur looked at him, "It is the line of buttons from collar to belt buckle. It shows that your clothing is well fitting and worn properly. I thought I knew you from somewhere, I must have confused where that was."

"Well if I'm ever there again, I'll let you know," Richard said.

"All right you two, enough chit chat, let's sit," Cassandra said, coming out of the kitchen with a large glass dish.

Richard sat down at the head of the dining room table, Cass on the other side, and a third place setting between them. "Now, as Cassandra has explained it to me, we're 'hosting' you here, in a sense, yes?"

Nodding to the man, "I got into a fight. I hurt my opponent." He was working on 'I statements' as part of taking responsibility. "I'm on the Station to pay my deed, debt, and shill." He was so used to explaining the religion and culture to people, he just did it. "Sorry. In the culture of my ancestors, when you do something wrong, depending on the offense, you become Ward of the Jarl, Property of the tribe, until you work off that debt, a thrall. Then after that you can earn your status back as a Karl, a free man." He was wearing a hammer necklace on his neck. His mother was from a planet with human settlers that were Norse Pagans. He was ashamed he lost his temper. He was ashamed of being a thrall. "According to Miss Cassandra, my father and his friends pulled a lot of strings to make sure I didn't go to prison." His father's human family was from the South, the Miss was honorific term of respect, children to adults.

"Well," Richard said, "whether you're a thrall, þēow, or Starfleet lackey, you're welcome here so long as you're honest and upfront about your intentions, and won't get my wife in any trouble." He gave Cassandra a half-amused gaze, which she returned with a wry smile.

"I'm sure he'll be a valued addition to the station," Cassandra said, fixing a large plate of casserole and handing it to Arthur. "Assuming he wants to keep eating." She smiled at him.

Arthur took the plate, "Thank you Ma'am." Looking to Richard, "I have no intent on getting her into trouble. She has been too nice. Besides, my uncles say Walkers and their friends can get into trouble without help. If she is friends with my father, she needs no help from me getting into trouble."

"Sounds like her friends all right," Richard said, half joking.

Cassandra gave Richard a look. "I haven't met your father," she said, turning back to Arthur, "but my friend thinks enough of him, so that's enough for me. As for trouble, we're in a barely-regulated station on the edge of Klingon and unexplored space with dozens of unaligned traders coming through an almost completely unexplored station. What could possibly go wrong?"

"To tempting fate," Richard said, raising his glass.

"To the last quiet night we're going to have for some time," Cassandra said, raising her glass.

Arthur raised his glass if juice. "To our Ancestors and to our Descendants. May we honor them with our actions and inactions. Let our successes never blind us, and our failures not cause us to give up. Heilsa." His family didn't have a problem with him drinking, he just didn't like being drunk, not that he had a lot of experience with it.

Richard looked at Cassandra. "Good luck."

"Thank you, dear. Pass the salad," Cassandra said, smiling.

 

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