The Experience of a Lifetime

Posted on Wednesday January 30th, 2019 @ 00:42 hours by Mayterial Droz & Canaan Serene

Mission: Smugglers Need Not Apply
Location: Captain's Quarters, Deck 1, Fawkes
Timeline: 1721 MD07
2209 words - 4.4 OF Standard Post Measure

Previously, on Star Trek: S.S. Fawkes...

Canaan was about to ask why M'erah wasn't going to accompany him, then realized this was exactly what the Caitian had referenced just a moment ago. 'Trust in yourself, or nobody else will.' "I will." He stated resolutely, stepping from within the lift onto the deck. He turned to thank M'erah for the words of encouragement, however the doors had closed and the lift descending before he could. Taking a deep breath, Canaan approached the door M'erah had gestured towards only a moment prior and depressed the door chime with the nervous poke of a finger.

And now, the conclusion.

[ON]

It had been a long week and Mayterial was glad to have found a proper physician just before they really needed to get underway. She didn't want to venture out and cross the quadrant without a physician on board. She was sitting on her couch, with her foot resting on the far side armrest so that it was elevated. She was giving it as much of a rest as she could, as ordered by her newly minted physician. The door chime rang announcing the arrival of their latest walk-in applicant. It hadn't exactly been a rush to get the positions on the Fawkes, the pay wasn't amazing and the reputation that clung to the name was even worse. She got up from the couch and moved over to the desk to sit down. She then turned to face the entrance, "Enter."

Canaan didn't so much as enter as he did tumble over the threshold and into the captain's private quarters. The door was sluggish in opening, its panels not completely receding into either side of the bulkhead, one panel even going so far as to open wider than the other. The greenhorn regained his balance, righting himself before considering the door with scrutiny that betrayed the silly thought that the doors had been intentional in causing his embarrassment. After a passing second, the door closed in perfect operation, as if nothing had just occurred.

"That..." Canaan stated with some exasperation, "Could use a bit of oil." He gestured to either panel, brow furrowed as he pushed aside the thought that it was his own clumsiness--not the doors doing--that had been the source of his agitation.

Canaan redirected his attention, "Um, hi!" He found the captain seated behind a rather ornate desk, its mammoth size dominated the front half of the cabin, which was expansive in-and-of-itself. "Oh wow..." He glanced around, taking in the stately condition of the woman's private refuge. The cabin was not as one would have expected if having toured, say, a Starfleet vessel. There was nothing sterile about the room; it was neither clean nor organized, betraying a chaotic lack of housekeeping that worked well for the woman in charge. Canaan didn't judge, understanding that the captain's attention was undoubtedly elsewhere and not in the general cleanliness of where she lay her head. Regardless, the unkempt condition offered the room a homey, lived-in feeling that was further enhanced by the personal touches found throughout. The stateliness came from the ornate pieces of furniture, pictures, rugs, and other decor that truly made the cabin feel like something more than a room on a simple cargo hauler. "Nice digs." He commented, eyes constantly surveying the cabin.

"I was not aware I requested the aide of an interior designer." Mayterial quipped back. She like putting strangers at unease, it gave her an edge over them. She folded her arms and looked at the man in front of her, "So I guess you're approaching me in regards to some other business." She leaned back in her chair and awaited the response.

"Oh, you weren't, but you might get injured... I mean, if the door doesn't open fast enough, or you're not paying attention, or you're paying attention yet walking too fast. And it's not so much interior design as it is functionality; although, I suppose you could dress up the door, but what purpose would that serve? A fresh coat of paint might be nice... probably unnecessary though." Canaan rambled before falling silent upon the captain's focused eyes. "Um..." Canaan cleared his throat in an attempt to subdue the surge of nerves that were somehow inflicted by the captain's relaxed, yet willful presence. "Y-yes, um, well... you see," He swallowed hard, "I was kinda looking for a job, to be honest."

Mayterial nodded a bit, waiting a moment to add anything, then motioned towards the couch, "Please, take a seat, and tell me what I can hire you to do."

Canaan flopped down onto the couch with a huff, sinking into an overstuffed cushion, "That Caitian asked me the same thing..." He paused, lightly scratching at his stomach. "I don't think he was too impressed with my answer." He confessed.

"Make yourself at home." Mayterial had spent so much time on her appearance, on body language, on how to make the best first impression. It always took her a bit off guard to come across people that clearly didn't mind so much. "What was your unimpressive answer?"

Canaan shrugged, "That barring Orion Slave-type duties, I'm pretty much up for whatever you need me to do." Growing up, Canaan had been timid, not so much as in a crippling way, but one that betrayed a mindful disposition. He was observant and thoughtful, and very much an active listener; however, when he did speak, it was with a puckish sense of humor that made him fast friends. Canaan's lips pursed in a cheesy smile, "I mean, if you need someone to stack cargo... I can do that; I can scrub bulkheads, clean latrines, wash dishes, or heck, I'll even give cooking a try." As he offered up ideas on ways to contribute as a member of the crew, there was a hint of optimism that ticked-up in each word spoken. "Really, though, you probably don't want me cooking... I'll burn a bowl of cereal." The dowdy grin transformed into a handsome smile, genuine as he laughed. "My best friend lives the freighter life and urged me to give it a try when they saw how rootless I was feeling with school drawing to a close." He explained, scooting to the edge of the couch. "Look, I know I don't know much about, well, this." He gestured all around him, trying to indicate the Fawkes, "But I'm a quick study and I like to learn and I'm willing."

"Where are you from, kid?" Mayterial wasn't sure where to begin with this boy. She wondered if she ever like this? Maybe when she enlisted? She couldn't imagine being this green.

"Earth." Canaan replied quickly, then realized perhaps she intended him to be more specific. "North America, I mean... um, Maine specifically... it's on the East Coast, near Canada... but I grew up more in the backwoods. Umm, but I've been living in Paris for the past two years. J'aime les français; ça me rappelle la maison, mais avec plus de culture!" His transition to French was seamless and fluent. The universal translator had made speaking other languages a lost art, yet Canaan had a savant-like gift for linguistics; he'd intended to continue language studies in the academy, but that could wait.

"Ever been outside of the Sol system?" Mayterial continued her questioning. She needed to gauge exactly how much of an asset and how much of a detriment he would be to the crew if she decided to drag him into this.

Canaan remained silent for several seconds, contemplating the question and considering whether to lie. He was an obnoxiously honest person, inherently devoid of any facet that lent itself to deceit; being honest was easier and often led to less heartache when the truth finally did come out. Mayterial's gaze never faltered, fixed squarely on the white-haired boy. Letting out a heavy sigh, Canaan's shoulders sagged as he seemed to deflate further into the couch. "Until now... I'd never left earth." His teeth racked his bottom lip, "It was inevitable, though." He pointed out, "I was due to start at the academy sooner rather than later, so life on board a starship was an eventuality."

"Ah. The Academy. So you have officer credentials then." May had never really appreciated the officers that came straight from Earth and feeling like they could run the place exactly as was written in the book. Which made Canaan stand out in her book, at least he'd make the effort to get his hands dirty before enrolling into Starfleet. "Any specialities? A track you were aiming for already?"

He nodded, "For the last two years I attended preparatory school in France and completed courses through the distance learning program with the University of New England." Canaan explained. "I was offered rapid admission to the academy, intent on studying xenolinguistics. I have a thing for, well, languages... but I decided now might be as good a time as any for a break from academia before fully committing myself to the fleet." He drummed the palm his hands against either thigh, a release for the anxiousness that had burbled.

"That all sounds very fancy." Mayterial didn't want to mock Canaan, but the resume that he trotted out was nothing more than academics. He hadn't held a physical job a day in his life. She had to remind herself that she still admired his chasing more of this experience before attending the Academy. Perhaps if she took him under her wing and taught her what life was about, out here in the black, then perhaps she could do some good for Starfleet. Then again if he took too much of a shine to their way of life on the Fawkes he might never return to Earth and enroll ever. "I think I might be able to use you after all." She pulled up the job description for the Signaller position on the Fawkes and tossed the PADD his way for him to look it over.

Canaan caught the device, a hopeful expression washing away the uncertainty and inadequacy felt moments before. It wasn't surprising Mayterial was dismissive at the onset, he had no real-life experience of substance to offer, something desperately needed in an environment such as this. Yet, there was something to be said for needing to garner that experience outside of the classroom. It wasn't as if they offered degree-paths that trained one on how to become a freighter captain; you either found this life by living it... experiencing it firsthand, or by stumbling upon it. Canaan was the latter of the two.

Reading the description, Canaan absorbed the purpose of the role and its key responsibilities. He felt confident in tackling some of the responsibilities, whereas many of the others would be a challenge. "I'll need some help." He commented nervously, not immediately understanding why Mayterial didn't want to start him off at a more entry-level position.

"I can provide you with all the on the job training you require." Mayterial was confident that with this young man she could mold him into whatever shape she required. It would be good for her to have someone that she could train herself, something to keep her mind off old sorrow. Her eyes flitted over to the broken statuette that was still on her desk before landing back on Canaan. "It will be at an entry level wage, though. Room and board is of course provided."

"Thank you!" Canaan exclaimed, visibly excited for these turn of events, "I won't let you down, I promise!" He was adamant about this point; yes, there would be mistakes--some small, some big--but those were expected in life. What he wouldn't do, however, was have Mayterial regret hiring him. "I can't believe this, thank you!" He stood up quickly, about ready to lunge at the woman with a hug, yet restrained himself as she didn't necessarily appear to be the hugging sort.

Mayterial got up from the seat as well, a small bit of pain going through her foot. She should get some additional painkillers. Pushing away that thought she reached out a hand to shake his, "Welcome aboard mister Serene, get your belongings and make sure you report to the Quartermaster to get situated." After giving a solid handshake she let go and gave a warm inviting smile, "Any questions?"

Canaan shook his head, "No ma'am." He retrieved his bag and slung it over a shoulder, "Well, aside from where I can find the quartermaster that is." He listened closely to the captain's directions, nodding and taking note of suggested landmarks. When the woman finished speaking, Canaan was at the door, willing the panels apart as he clumsily stepped into the corridor. "Thanks again, cap!!!!" He waved before turning left, disappearing from view of the three inch gap where the door panels hadn't closed completely, only to reappear seconds later heading in the opposite direction, laughing to himself at his own misdirection.

[OFF]

Mayterial Droz
Captain

&

Canaan Serene
Signaller

S.S. Fawkes

"People never learn anything by being told, they have to find out for themselves."