m_findlow

Title: No place like home
Fandom: Original
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 6 - Unexpected company at fandomweekly
Summary: All Kensley wants to do is spend what days he has left in the place he calls home.

The young man tugged nervously at the cuffs of his jacket as he waited at the door. When nothing happened he pressed the button again, imagining the friendly chiming sound on the inside. It wasn't a question of the occupant not being home, and nor would he be allowed to leave without having discharged his duties. His commandant would only bark at him and send him back to try again.

When the door finally began to slide open, it did so with an unnatural whirr and grind. It had clearly seen very little use to be in such poor condition, refusing to open more than halfway before clunking to a halt.

The old man on the other side squinted at him from behind tiny unframed spectacles. 'What do you want?'

He extracted a letter from his suit pocket, neatly folded in three with crisp edges. 'Mr Kensley? I'm here on behalf of the Legislative Assembly in response to your, er, correspondence.'

'About time,' he grumbled. 'When are we going? Oh, and you can take those,' he said, pointing to two battered old suitcases leaning against the wall. 'Had them ready for months waiting for you people.'

The young man grimaced awkwardly. 'I'm afraid you won't be going anywhere, sir,' he apologised.

Kensley's head shot up at the comment. 'But I've made a dozen requests.'

'Fourteen to be precise,' the young man corrected him. And thirteen rejection letters of reply, he mentally added, plus this visit to put an end to what was becoming the equivalent of administrative harassment. 'The law is quite clear on the matter of transportation to Earth. Those over the age of fifty-five are ineligible to return.'

'Well, the law is ridiculous.'

'Mr Kensley, the living conditions on the planet are extremely harsh. The air pollution alone-'

'Maybe in the big cities,' Kensley argued.

'A minimum level of health and age had to be imposed for those wanting to live there,' the man insisted. 'For the safety and protection of everyone.'

Kensley scowled at him. 'What do I have to do to get out of here? Commit a crime? I will, you know, if that's what it takes.'

'We don't have prison facilities on Earth anymore,' he replied.

'Not that they've told you about,' he countered. 'I'll bet if I did something really bad they'd find a place on a transport for me. Wouldn't you be glad to get rid of me, then?'

'It would be a crime against humanity. Planet Earth-'

Kensley stepped forward, gripping the edge of the door hard. 'Were you there when it happened? When they said people had to leave and couldn't go back?'

'I wasn't even born when the law was passed.'

'Exactly. So shut up about things you don't understand.'

The young man cast a look up and down the corridor. People were coming and going and he didn't like standing here whilst the old man began to cause a scene. No one was going to take pity on a man in his twenties in a confrontation with a guy who had to be at least eighty five. 'Perhaps if I could just come inside for a few minutes and explain,' he offered. There was a look of distinct mistrust, but eventually Kensley relented. 'Could I perhaps make you a cup of tea?' he asked.

'Don't patronise me. I'm not your frail old grandmother. I have coffee and if you don't like that, you can sod off.'

'Coffee would be lovely,' he replied, taking in the room. It wasn't unclean, but there was an organised chaos to the way furniture and knickknacks had been crammed into every available inch of space. Quarters aboard the station were set dimensions dictated by the number of occupants. He could tell straight away that this was a unit to accommodate two, not one, yet there was hardly room left for its occupant. By rights, if he was on his own, he should have been moved into a smaller unit. Space came at a premium and there was none to spare.

He searched the walls and shelves, looking for photographs but found none. He wished the files had given him more information about the deranged man who lived here. 'Has your wife been gone long?'

There was a silent pause as the bustling in the small kitchenette came to a halt. 'Husband,' Kensley replied. 'Two years ago. Why the hell do you think I want off this tin can?'

He cast his eyes to the floor, embarrassed at having asked the question.

'Oh, don't pretend like we were progressive,' Kensley chastised, thrusting a mug at him. 'Government thought it was a brilliant way to slow the population growth, only we wanted families too.'

'Did you?'

'No.'

'Why didn't you stay when they changed the law?'

'Reggie was the smart one. He helped build these stations. We were the first people up here, making it sustainable. Forty years we've been here, lived, loved, but Reggie's gone now it's time to go home.'

The man sipped the bitter coffee. 'Where would you go, assuming you even could?'

'We kept a house in the mountains overlooking the lakes, hours drive from any city. Blistering hot in the summer, snow in the winter. It's been long years since we lived there but it was always home. I miss the dogs. We always had dogs.'

'But the law...'

'I don't want to die up here, young man. I want to breathe air that hasn't been recirculated a thousand times, hear rain falling on the tin roof, and to count off the remaining days by sunrise and sunset.'

'But you'd be all alone.'

'I'm alone now. Where's the thanks for all the years of hard work and sacrifices we made?'

The young man fingered the letter in his hand, knowing that it said any and all future requests for transportation would be hereby rejected. It became crushed as his fist balled up around it.

'Let me see what I can do.'