Family

Posted on Sun Jun 30th, 2019 @ 1:24am by Master Chief Petty Officer Hans-Peter König

Mission: Getting To Know You
Location: Reinach, Basel-Landschaft, Switzerland

The hills on the west side of Reinach didn't offer a particularly inspiring view of the ancient village below. Centuries ago, houses had been built along the hillside up to and peeking in and out of a treeline near the top. Those houses had been demolished and rebuilt a few times over by now, just like the rest of the village. It was impossible to tell just from walking down one of its streets that Reinach was established sometime in Earth's 12th century. Reinach was a suburb of Basel, but not a terribly populous one. The houses among the trees of the hillside offered a degree of solitude that Hans-Peter König found agreeable.

König reclined in a couch in the principal room of his house. This room was situated in the northwest corner of the home, which forced the windows high into the wall to be above the slope of the hillside. The only thing that König could see from those windows were the trees that stood to the west of his home. That pleased him. There was, of course, a larger room on the east side of the house with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the valley of the Birs. König had appointed this room as a dining room to be used when guests were over. The only guests he had were of the uninvited variety (of which only officers of a fairly senior grade were actually tolerated), so the room went almost entirely unused. It was not buried under several inches of dust due to a peculiar need for neatness seared into his personality by his German upbringing and his twenty-two years of service in Starfleet.

In his left hand, König held a book. It was a gift from a former commander who had a fondness for such things. It wasn't a true antique but was intended to be a replica of the kinds of books that had been published in 17th century Germany. The font pressed onto the book's pages had fallen out of use after Earth's Second World War and, therefore, was nearly impossible for König to read at the time. Nonetheless, he had graciously accepted the gift and even learned to read the odd font. It was one of only a couple of paper books that König owned; he generally found paper codices impractical and tedious to use. It had been a few years since he had picked up this particular volume, so he decided to brave the antiquated typeface and archaic language once again. He didn't have much else to do.

König's reading was interrupted by his door signal.

"Who the fuck?" König mumbled to himself, setting the book aside and grabbing the cane that had been set down along the couch cushions. He pushed himself laboriously to his feet, steadying his weight on the cane before proceeding to his front door, grumbling, "I finally get a goddamn day off and some fucker feels the need to take time away from wanking off to wipe their sticky fingers on my goddamn doorbell."

He cut off his own complaining as he opened the door. On his doorstep stood a near carbon-copy of himself: dirty-blonde hair and fiery blue eyes. The chief difference was that this man wore the service uniform of a Gunnery Sergeant in the Starfleet Marine Corps.

"What the fuck do you want, Kurt?"

"Einen schönen guten Tag dir auch, Bruder," Kurt König replied. He knew he wasn't going to get an invitation to come in, so he invited himself in, pushing Hans-Peter aside. Hans-Peter had been leaning on the cane and suddenly had to steady himself which he did fairly easily without it. Kurt knew his brother didn't need it but still used the brief moment Hans-Peter needed to regain his balance to get past him. Hans-Peter closed the door after Kurt had entered and begun looking around the dark entryway; Hans-Peter usually didn't bother to turn on any lights. Kurt turned to face his brother after a moment, mindlessly twirling his wheel cap on one finger. "How's the leg?"

"Fuck you," Hans-Peter answered. He hoisted the cane and walked normally into his house, "Did you at least bring some decent beer?" Kurt held up a six-pack of Stuttgarter Hofbräu that he had been carrying. Hans-Peter stared at it a moment, "I said decent beer."

"You'll drink it anyway."

"That's beside the point," König took the six pack from his brother and carried it to a minibar set up along the northwest-most corner of the living room. He hooked the handle of his cane onto the bar to free up his hands to pour two bottles into beer glasses he retrieved from under the bar. Kurt helped himself to the first glass when Hans-Peter finished pouring it. "I take it you're here to have a beer with your dear old brother before he rotates back into the fleet?" Hans-Peter settled into an armchair that sat at a right-angle to the couch.

"I came to poison you with Hofbräu before they ship you off to Deep Space Nine." Kurt raised his glass towards Hans-Peter but didn't wait for his brother to respond before taking a gulp.

"Fuck you," Hans-Peter pointed a finger on the hand that was holding the glass, "And fuck the Bajorans."

"The Bajorans are the only ones who would put up with your temperament," Kurt sipped from his own glass but did not take a seat.

"Because you're such a fucking peach."

"I'm a Marine. I'm supposed to be a dick."

"Sit your ass down," Hans-Peter growled at Kurt.

Kurt sat. "I thought you were going to retire."

"I was thinking about it," Hans-Peter sipped his beer. He remembered why he wasn't fond of Hofbräu: the hops flavor was too light and it wasn't bitter enough. Kurt was right, though: Hans-Peter drank it anyway. "I'm not ready to leave the fleet. Maybe after this assignment. Egal, it'll be good to get back out there for a bit."

"Where are they sending you?" Kurt asked.

"Astraea," Hans-Peter responded, "I believe she's an explorer." Kurt was mid-sip and almost snorted the beer back into the glass. Hans-Peter glared at his brother, "What's so goddamn funny about that?"

"I'm just trying to picture you on a ship full of explorers," Kurt was laughing.

"I remember doing better at science than you in school."

"I know," Kurt said when his laughter had subsided, "And I was the jock destined to become a Marine and you've ended up killing way more than I have." Hans-Peter's muscles tensed. Kurt realized his mistake immediately. Contritely he mumbled, "Sorry."

"Whatever," Hans-Peter tried to be dismissive but his voice still grumbled. His muscles didn't relax.

A moment passed. "So, did they put you in engineering or security this time? Or do they have intel?"

"Chief of Boat."

Kurt laughed again, "Does the skipper realize what they've done?"

"Clearly she appreciates a consummate professional," Hans-Peter answered, faking a little arrogance.

A moment passed before Kurt raised his glass toward his brother, "To my brother, the explorer."

This time Kurt held his glass raised until Hans-Peter matched it, responding "Prost!"

=/\=

Hans-Peter König, POMC, STFLT
Chief of Boat
USS Astrea