Savior To Be?, a startrek: enterprise fanfic

Savior To Be?

OOOOO

It had only been one month in the first term of the new school year (barely four weeks) when Malcolm Reed knew that being a pupil at St. Anthony's was depressingly like the pre-school that he had attended the previous year with the added distinction of religion which his Mum in particular insisted upon. Though the classes he was enrolled in was hardly taxing – knowing how to read from the age of four was certainly helpful – other aspects of his boarding school made the boy uneasy, and wishing so much that he was still at home with his family. Mum helped him know what was right and what was wrong, and the 'not knowing' caused problems, and distress.

During the first week he met an older boy, Michael, in one of his classes – who in exchange for helping with his schoolwork (which Malcolm found easy), gave the younger boy 'a sweet', something that he had never been allowed at home as 'they were bad for him.' He immediately loved the pineapple flavor.

Another problem was sanctioned by the school itself; normally, ordinary milk was served at mealtimes, and sometimes thrown away to the consternation of the kitchen staff. (Malcolm loved the taste of milk, and it wasn't until he was older that he understood that some people couldn't digest the dairy food.) But only rarely did anyone throw away what was given on Sunday night – chocolate milk – made by one of the local dairies. For the young child the taste of the drink was amazing, only to be topped decades later by an alien liquor designed to specifically mimic any favorite drink without any 'bad taste' whatsoever. (And for the older Malcolm that drink tasted like the finest chocolate milk . . .)

Later during the next week, when contacted by his parents for the first time – the boy, flush with telling them what had happened, quite innocently, since he had just arrived, told them of helping Michael and the 'Sunday chocolate milk'. They said nothing at all in response. Malcolm mistakenly assumed all was well.

An unfortunate assumption – within a couple of days, Michael told him to 'F' himself, which confused the boy greatly and the next Sunday the school cafeteria staff told Malcolm that he wasn't allowed to have Chocolate Milk 'according to his parents.' It looked to be a particularly joyless first quarter of school – no fun at all.

OOOOO

The day that it happened Malcolm was standing next to the stairs outside, which led to the floor where it was said that there was a 'laboratory' where the older pupils took some classes in science. None of his classmates knew anymore in the matter, but he did understand that if specific questions were asked, he would be seen as too curious and 'would get in trouble'.

So he was just standing by the stairs, imagining what treasures might be hidden above, when Malcolm saw the approach of two nuns who he knew by sight and reputation, if not by name. One was short, the other – very tall and thin (taller than father). Although not teachers officially, they lived at the convent next door and were friends of the headmistress of the school.

Most of the pupils at recess on the playground (located conveniently between the buildings where the younger and older students attended classes – 'must keep an eye on everyone at all times') knew the two nuns. They would appear as unwelcome 'guests' whenever someone was to be taken to speak with the headmistress – notably when one had massively 'got in trouble'. People had been known to go with the two and never be seen again, so it was assumed that something terrible had happened . . .

(The rumor actually did have a basis in fact. The shorter nun, had been headmistress many years before, and still 'kept her hand in the game', keeping tabs on who exactly was attending St. Anthony's and what they looked like. If a student had to report to the headmistress because of an emergency . . . well, it was possible that they might have to leave immediately . . . as the last student to do so, did. Just because that student was a known bully, it was assumed that anyone who went with the two nuns was bad and in trouble.)

Malcolm had heard of the two, and that they meant bad news, so he attempted to use the stairs to hide behind. Perhaps they had come to speak with one of the other people who hung out next to the steps, like Tom, who seemed to attract the teachers' ire 'just by existing'. But then he noticed that the nuns were looking directly at him, and his heart sank. Tom, who was a couple of years older than Malcolm, made the unhelpful comment, "That it looks like they have it in for you, Mally." (Malcolm didn't like the nickname, 'Mally', but when you are almost seven, there's not a lot you can do . . .)

You didn't argue with nuns, so Malcolm followed with little discussion as they walked from the playground. Other students noticed his exit, and made similar comments to Tom's, which made Malcolm quite angry and flustered, why didn't these two nuns say anything to him to explain why?

OOOOO

Malcolm's parents believed in the old saying that 'children should be seen and not heard', and the child had been raised with that in mind – so much so that as a very young child, Malcolm had taken to growling as that would get across, quite like a bear, that he was angry about something. (Malcolm liked bears partially because Maddie didn't. She was convinced that there were bears living, hidden, by Malcolm's side of the room. 'Good thing if it kept her from playing with his toys.')

But Mum said he shouldn't growl and should tell people what he was angry about so it could be 'addressed'; Malcolm doubted that this would help. He was correct in his assumption – now that people knew what he was angry about, it could be ignored as 'just something that the boy is upset about'. He decided to keep 'growling' as a backup option 'just in case'.

Having to go with the two nuns was stressing Malcolm and he considered 'growling' at them. (Years later, he could picture himself in the 'purple' uniform with the 'brown 'shirt (who came up with those colors?!), fists clenched, walking slowly behind the nuns.) But then something happened that intrigued him, and he had wondered ever since – indeed into 'old age' what had happened . . .

The taller nun looked at the shorter and said, "Why did Mother (he didn't know the name) ask for this boy? She can't have known him, or even ever seen him."

The shorter nun replied in a manner, that indicated she didn't care whether he heard or not. (Her attitude irritated him, but he forgot it in what she said.) "She saw him in a dream."

By now they were walking on a pathway which led to the convent proper. There was nothing to trip on if one stayed on the path so that Malcolm didn't have to think about walking (or more properly falling down).

(More than once he had been with his parents, listening to their complaining to/at him about his behavior, and thinking with walking became impossible, the result was he would trip, falling down. (As he aged, Malcolm obviously improved, although he still could get so involved in thought, that once in front of the Victoria and Albert Museum, he 'went splat', and alarmed some of the bystanders. He apologized profusely for his less than graceful arrival and insisted that he was perfectly fine.)

He remembered with terror his mum taking him to get shoes 'at a mall' and being faced with something called an escalator – a moving stairway that he wanted to look at before attempting to use it. Instead she said, "Don't dawdle!" and dragged him on the moving platform by his arm. He was now pressed between his mum and the moving metal of the sidewall. His feet couldn't properly get purchase and he was trapped in a situation not of his making. It wasn't until he was older that he realized what frightened him was the lack of control; but Malcolm never did like escalators and would walk up stairs on the pretext of 'getting exercise'.)

By now the small group was walking up the walkway that led to the Lady Chapel. Malcolm had a vague memory of being here once – this was re-enforced when he smelled the interior. It smelled sweet with the most lovely scent. Quiet, peaceful, like what one would imagine a place where God lived, the color of the walls and ceiling were light blue, the pews and carpet blending in beige . . .

One of the nuns gently nudged him toward an aisle. Seeing a figure sitting in what looked like a chair, he was suddenly afraid, and walked slowly down past part of The Stations Of The Cross. (As an adult, he remembered that his favorite (if one could say that) was that one with St. Veronica, and the cloth wherein supposedly the image of the Christ was transferred, as she wiped his face on his agonizing journey. Faith fought with Science; Science surrendered, and both lived happily in this matter.)

Malcolm finally arrived to stand in front of the person sitting in what was a wheeled chair. A nun, who looked to be as old as his grandfather's mum, sat and regarded the dark-haired lad. Malcolm spoke first, with head bent as was proper when addressing both priests and nuns, "Mother, you wished to see me?" He knew that he sounded afraid, something that normally would get him 'in trouble', but it couldn't be helped.

"Oh yes, dear," replied the elderly nun, "I wanted to see you." She smiled, "Have you ever seen a wheel chair before." It seemed as if she wanted to make him 'at ease', before bringing up what she wanted to speak with him about. "No, Mother," he replied, looking at the device; he wondered if great-grandmother could use one as she was 'stuck in the car' last time he saw her . . .

"I asked you to come here because I saw you in a dream", she stated plainly, "and I wanted to tell you about what you will be doing, during your life." He didn't say anything. Mum had got so angry when he talked about something that was real to him, but not to her. Malcolm wished to be polite even if what she had to say was 'strange', so he listened.

When the other nun had said that this nun had seen him in her dream, Malcolm thought that he had misheard, something that his parents insisted happened all the time even though he believed otherwise. He understood that being a child was at least partially responsible, but knowing his parents, they often said that other adults were mistaken too. It was all confusing, so Malcolm decided to just listen . . .

Meanwhile, she took the child's silence as encouraging, and as willingness to listen, to retain what was seen in her dream. "During your life, you are going to save people," the elderly woman said, eyeing the child, who felt like she was estimating him, appraising his fitness for the task. This statement both worried and pleased Malcolm. "Mum says that it is good to help people," he said, thinking about his own interest in being a doctor; he didn't mention about his da' wanting him to 'follow in his footsteps' and join the navy.

"No, you are going 'to save people' – it's not the same as helping", she insisted, "You will have to be brave even if it is very hard." At this point, Malcolm wished he could point out that he was only six years old and would have to obey his parents for at least another ten years or so. He doubted that he would be allowed 'to save people' before then.

The nun pulled a colored picture from a satchel attached to her chair. "Malcolm Reed, I want you to remember this day. Here is a picture I made for you; there is an angel on it. I want you to be as brave as Saint Michael." Malcolm took the piece of cardboard, slightly bowing his head as he had been taught. "Thank You, Mother," he replied. And then he was brought back to school – late for class, but amazingly didn't get in trouble for that.

Although he had been taught never to accept gifts from strangers, he thought that 'from a nun' might be an exception. (He did mention the gift later to his Mum, but she showed little interest in the matter, so Malcolm carefully avoided why and what had happened.)

Over fifty years later, he came across the tattered 'picture' – it was actually a famous painting of Saint Gabriel, cut from an old magazine, affixed to a cardboard, with dabs of paint around it in blues and greens. His life had indeed been full 'of saving people', and he wondered what the old woman had dreamt . . . had seen in her dream.

OOOOO

A.N. This one shot has been tugging at me for a very long time – going back to 'the other stuff' now . . .