Mermaids & Miscommunication
Posted on Sat Mar 29th, 2025 @ 5:58am by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Lieutenant JG Riaothren (Ren) ch'Shaorhs & Civilian Jairic ch'Shaorhs
Edited on on Sat Mar 29th, 2025 @ 7:32pm
4,189 words; about a 21 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Personal Quarters, USS Fenrir
[ON]
It had been a couple of days since Ren had met with Mateo and he was still trying to figure out what had happened. He was easy to talk to. They hadn't met for very long but the Andorian could sense the man was bright. They didn't have the same tastes or too much in common, but that was okay. If he was being honest, however, he was working with an extremely small sample size. Even if, in the long run, they were complete opposites, they could still become friends.
He'd even, briefly thought some of the human's comments bordered on flirtatious but he was sure was nothing more than transference, or perhaps projection.
He'd spent some time trying to come up with a concept that could work. He tossed a dozen decent ideas in the proverbial trashcan before hitting on one he thought might work. If it didn't, he could always go back to the drawing board.
He typed out a message on his PADD:
Message from R. ch'Shaorhs: Mateo, it's me Ren(which I guess you already figured out. You said you were willing to experiment as long as there is a roadmap. I'm not sure about a roadmap, you might have to take a leap of faith but it will be worth it. I think.
The two of us are an away team making First Contact with a species of humanoids on a Class O planet who have just achieved warp capability. We know very little about them and our mission is to get to know them better. I'll give the computer a few parameters like they're not cannibals, nor are they going to attack or provoke us to attack them. We just have to figure them out.
Is that too random? Is that something you'd be interested in?
Mateo lay sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting on his stomach where his PADD balanced precariously against the soft fabric of his shirt. The material—a deep, vibrant purple, oversized and worn soft from years of use—hung loosely over his frame, slipping off one shoulder as he shifted. The neckline hung loose, one shoulder perpetually bare until he absently tugged the fabric back into place, a thoughtless motion as ingrained as the shirt itself.
It was a relic from a long-ago Andorian music festival, a night of thrumming basslines and refracted sound waves bouncing off glacial walls, where he had spent as much time analyzing the acoustics as he had enjoying the music. The shirt had been an impulse buy at a vendor stall, something he hadn’t needed but had taken with him anyway.
Now, years later, it was part of him in a way he hadn’t anticipated—a quiet piece of nostalgia woven into fabric, something he only wore to sleep or, like now, when he was entirely alone.
His legs stretched lazily across the mattress, bare save for a pair of fitted boxer briefs, the ship’s controlled temperature allowing for comfort without layers. The dim lighting in his quarters cast soft shadows against the walls, completing the perfectly undisturbed atmosphere of someone with absolutely no intention of moving for the foreseeable future.
The PADD in his hands displayed his latest indulgence—a ridiculously smutty, borderline ridiculous romance novel. Not the kind one read for literary depth or profound storytelling, but for the sheer entertainment value of over-the-top drama, questionable life choices, and enough unresolved sexual tension to power a warp core.
This one, in particular, featured a brooding space pirate with emotionally repressed tendencies and an apparent allergy to verbal communication. Mateo skimmed ahead with a flick of his finger, unimpressed. Therapy existed. So did words. Just say you have issues and move on.
He was mid-sentence—something about a tense confrontation in the captain’s quarters that would inevitably lead to aggressively passionate wall-pinning—when the soft chime of an incoming message pulled his attention. The notification blinked at him from the corner of his screen, dragging him out of his literary deep dive. He flicked his gaze toward it, thumb hovering before tapping it open.
Ren.
For a moment, he just stared, debating whether to answer immediately or let it sit—like a puzzle piece waiting to be placed. It wasn’t often people sought him out without necessity, and rarer still that they followed up after a single meeting. Most people didn’t circle back. He wasn’t sure if that said more about them or about him, but either way, it set Ren apart.
Curiosity won out over caution.
His eyes flicked over the message, lips pressing together as his brow lifted. An invitation. Not to a bar. Not to dinner. Not to anything most people considered normal for fostering new social connections. Instead, a holodeck scenario built around a First Contact simulation—a social puzzle wrapped in a scientific challenge.
Mateo exhaled, shifting onto his side to prop himself up on an elbow. Of all the things Ren could have suggested, this was… unexpected. First Contact exercises weren’t casual fun; they required a keen eye for observation, a grasp of linguistics, an understanding of nonverbal cues, and the ability to analyze culture at an accelerated rate. The kind of thing a xenohistologist lived for. The kind of thing Mateo, for all his general disdain for group activities, actually found intriguing.
Which meant it wasn’t a question of if he’d agree, but how long he could pretend to debate it first.
Still, he hesitated, not because the scenario itself was unappealing, but because he knew himself. He wasn’t easy to get along with. He could be blunt, sarcastic, and difficult to work with when things didn’t align with his expectations. And Ren, for all his outward charm, had struck him as someone who thrived in structure, in rules, in predictability. This was already a deviation from that.
His thumb hovered over the screen for a second longer before he sighed, shifting onto his back again as he typed out his reply.
Message from M. Gardel: Ren. I have several follow-up questions, but I’ll start with the obvious one—are you feeling okay? Because this sounds dangerously unstructured for someone who insisted on strict parameters the last time we talked.
That said, I suppose I can be convinced. I do have an entire degree based on figuring out aliens, so at least one of us will know what we’re doing.
If this goes horribly wrong, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so'—but fine. I’m in.
Message sent. No turning back now.
Mateo let the PADD fall onto his chest with a quiet thud, staring at the ceiling as he let the weight of the decision settle. First Contact simulations were unpredictable at the best of times. He was good at parsing alien cultures, but people? People were a mess. He knew that better than most.
Still, if he was going to be roped into a social exercise, at least it was one that played to his strengths. He could work with that.
Probably.
"So," Jairic asked, "are they really from Brussels?"
"Are what really from Brussels?" Ren asked, his eyes and one antennae turned toward the cutting board, the other antennae turned toward the Orion teen.
Jairic rolled his eyes with no attempt to hide the gesture. "You know," he said pointing, "Brussel sprouts."
"Actually they are," Ren replied, as he continued to get the vegetables ready for cooking. You do like them don't you?"
"Of course, they're green like me."
Ren was the one to roll his eyes, without hiding the fact, at the Orion's remark.
"Yeah. Right. I would suggest you not pursue a comedy career, you..."
The Andorian's remarks were interrupted by the incoming notification.
He set the knife down and picked up his PADD, shaking his head as he read the sender's response.
"What are you smiling about, Ren?" Jairic asked, "Not that I'm complaining, you haven't smiled enough recently."
"It's nothing," he responded, before beginning typing.
Message from R. ch'Shaorhs: I am feeling fine, thanks for asking, though I remember an entirely different conversation. As I recall, you were the one who wanted guardrails and parameters. Not me.
I had no idea you had a degree in that field, I was just trying to come up with something different, something that could work for both of us. It sounds like I accomplished that. I am off tomorrow and could have something set up and ready to run by 1730. What's your schedule like? Would that work, or should we shoot for a different day?
Oh, and how do you feel about mermaids or mermen?
Mateo had just settled back into his bed, letting the familiar weight of his PADD rest against his chest, when the soft chime of an incoming message pulled him back in. He exhaled slowly, already reaching for it with the kind of practiced lethargy that came from a deep commitment to not moving unless absolutely necessary.
Ren’s reply was direct, efficient, and to the point—and immediately called Mateo out for his revisionist history. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he read it. Well played. He couldn’t even be annoyed, not when Ren was completely, objectively right. Mateo had been the one who wanted structure, rules, and clearly defined parameters. And yet, here he was, casually attempting to shift the narrative as if that fact could somehow be erased.
He had to give Ren credit for clocking that immediately. With a quiet chuckle, he tapped his fingers absently against the PADD’s smooth frame, fully prepared to fire back something equally cutting—until his gaze drifted to the last line.
Oh, and how do you feel about mermaids or mermen?
His brain stalled out entirely.
Mateo squinted at the screen, scanning back through the rest of Ren’s response, searching for some kind of logical transition from First Contact diplomacy to mythical aquatic humanoids. There wasn’t one. Ren had just thrown that out there, casual as anything, like it was a completely normal follow-up.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the message, his eyebrows slowly creeping upward, unsure if this was a joke, an actual suggestion, or an Andorian cultural reference he wasn’t prepared for. Then, against his will, his mind supplied a memory—a recent romance novel involving two Selkies.
He hadn’t even meant to read it. It had just happened—a stray recommendation, one misclicked title, and suddenly he’d been elbow-deep in an absurdly dramatic love story featuring ocean-dwelling humanoids, bioluminescent courtship markings, and an unreasonable amount of emotional repression.
It had been ridiculous. The Selkie love interest had spent half the novel agonizing over his duty to his people, torn between his arranged bondmate and the brooding human xenobiologist who definitely wasn’t supposed to be touching his gill slits. There had been a deeply symbolic underwater dance sequence, an overly complicated ritual involving coral etchings that dictated compatibility, and, for reasons Mateo still didn’t entirely understand, a full-moon dispute over territorial hunting rights that somehow doubled as a metaphor for commitment issues.
The main character had nearly drowned at least three times, not because of the Selkie, but because, apparently, breathing techniques were optional in a forbidden romance.
Now, thanks to Ren’s message, all he could think about was that damn book, complete with storm-tossed confessions, political tensions over sustainable fishing treaties, and an emotionally charged moment where the protagonist had to convince the Selkie’s elders that he wasn’t just a passing surface-dweller looking for an exotic fling. That was not the kind of First Contact scenario he had mentally prepared for.
Tapping his fingers absently against the PADD’s frame, he debated how seriously he was supposed to take this. If Ren was joking, did he call him out on it? If Ren wasn’t joking, did he just… go along with this? And if this did involve an actual aquatic species, was he going to have to swim? Because if it did, well—
He wasn’t quite ready to show Ren his Speedo collection. Yet.
After another beat, he typed out his response.
Message from M. Gardel: You’re going to have to clarify this mermaid/merman situation for me, Ren because I’m not sure if you’re suggesting a First Contact scenario or if I just unlocked an Andorian cultural reference I wasn’t prepared for.
If this does involve an actual aquatic species, I have several questions. The first being: how much damp paperwork is involved. The second: do I have to swim? Because I’m not sure the Fenrir is ready for that level of personal disclosure.
Message sent.
Mateo hesitated. Was this a mistake? Probably. Did that stop him? Not at all. He thumbed open a second response.
Message from M. Gardel: Wait. Hold on. Are we talking about Starfleet mermaids or Andorian mermaids? Because if this is a Zhenka’thir situation, I need to know in advance how many of them are going to be bioluminescent and emotionally unavailable.
Mateo let his PADD drop back onto his chest, smirk lingering, already bracing himself for whatever explanation was about to follow.
Neither Ren, nor Jairic were vegetarians, their respective species would probably have disowned them if they were, but they both, well at least Ren was trying to eat healthier so the meal he was preparing was mostly an assortment of vegetables. He'd just gotten the Brussel sprouts read and started on the potatoes when his PADD chimed again.
Jairic reached for it, but Ren snatched it away just as his fingers brushed against it.
He read through it, his brow furrowed, his antennae curled forward.
His hands danced across the PADDs keyboard...
Message from R. ch'Shaorhs: There are no Andorian mermaids, though that would be an interesting concept. I was thinking of our encounter primarily being with surface creatures, humanoids, but I went out with this guy at the Academy that was into mere people and since our simulated planet is mostly water, I thought about throwing some mermaid equivalent into the mix.
But I could nix that idea. In any event, no swimming required.
Message from M. Gardel: Oh, I see. This isn't about the scenario at all, is it? This is about unresolved Academy-era mermaid trauma. Should I be concerned?
Do not nix the idea. But no swimming is required, which is a relief. I’d hate for you to find out about my Speedo collection so soon. It’s important to maintain some air of mystery.
Ren's eyes grew larger as he read the rather short message from Mateo. Both his antennae stood stock still.
"Maybe, I should cancel this," he said half to himself.
"Cancel what?" Jairic said as he moved to read over Ren's shoulder.
"Why?" the Orion asked.
"Did you see the comment about the Speedos? I thought he must have been flirting with me. I was right. Now I don't know. As I said maybe I should just call it off."
"Ah, fuck no," Jairic said, "he wasn't making wedding plans. It's harmless banter. For all you know, he's straight. Just go out with him, if it turns into a date, it turns into a date. If it doesn't don't sweat it. Just go with the flow and see what happens."
Ren sighed, "Fine, " you win. If it's so important to you, you send a reply."
Jairic took the PADD from Ren and started typing
Message from R. ch'Shaorhs: I have all sorts of unresolved Academy issues, mermaid traumas is not one you should worry about. So, when do I get to see your Speedo collection? If I show you mine, will you show me yours
"NO!!" Ren shouted reaching for the PADD. Jairic was faster and he pressed send.
Message from M. Gardel: I’m going to need some clarification here.
What exactly is happening right now? Because one minute we’re talking about mermaids, and the next, I’m questioning Andorian swimwear fashion.
I also need to ask: Do you actually own a Speedo? Because if so, that’s a separate conversation entirely.
For the record, if this were a scene in one of my books, this is the part where the emotionally repressed protagonist would dramatically deny everything while making lingering eye contact across a dimly lit starship corridor. But seeing as this is real life—and we’re not in the middle of an overly complicated slow-burn subplot—I’m just going to assume you’re messing with me.
Mateo let his PADD rest against his chest, exhaling sharply. In fiction, this would be the part where the love interest smirked and leaned just a little too close.
Thankfully, reality was far less dramatic.
Ren breathed a sigh of relief, while Jairic snickered
"I told you he was straight," the teen announced with triumph. "You were reading way too much into his remarks.
"I suppose you're right, " the Andorian said.
"Are you disappointed?"
"Of course not," Ren replied a little too quickly. "I'm relieved. It's a good thing he didn't get it. That would have been embarrassing.."
"Do you think he's cute?"
There was a long pause. "Yes, but that's beside the point. He's straight and I'm still taken."
Jairic said something in Orion, which Ren recognized but didn't acknowledge.
Message from R. ch'Shaorhs: I don't but in my defense, I was just being a smart ass. No Speedo, just a regular swimsuit. Which begs the question. Do you have a collection? Tell me more about these novels of yours.
Message from M. Gardel: Regular swimsuit? You disappoint me, Ren. Here I was, picturing something bold, daring, and ill-advised in a shade of metallic teal.
As for my novels—careful what you wish for. They’re not exactly high literature. I read a lot of smut. The kind where there’s usually at least one brooding alien with commitment issues, and someone else making consistently poor life choices in the name of love or lust or both.
It’s equal parts entertaining and… I don’t know. Educational? Sort of. Sometimes it’s just easier to understand people when they’re fictional.
Mateo stared at the ceiling for a moment, already bracing for either mockery or more questions. Honestly? He wasn’t sure which would be worse.
Maybe I was wrong," Jairic, still reading over Ren's shoulders said, "maybe he is gay."
"Maybe you should mind your own damn business," Ren replied a little sharper than he intended.
He turned away from the Orion teen and went into his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed. Then began typing.
Message from R. ch'Shaorhs: I'm not sure if casually talking about smut with a superior officer is the best course of action. In my case, you have nothing to worry about. I have read a few such novels myself. Though if I were a betting man would wager that the types of smut we each read would be, well different.
For the record, not public, I'll never tell, are you requesting I wear something bold, or simply making an observation?"
Mateo leaned back in his chair, the faintest crease forming between his brows as he read the message. He hadn’t expected backlash—teasing, maybe, but not that clipped edge. A quiet exhale slipped through his nose as he stared at the screen, debating whether to respond at all.
Finally, he typed.
Message from M. Gardel: Fair point. It was probably inappropriate to bring up in the first place. Chalk it up to questionable judgment and a long day.
He paused, his thumb hovering over the send key—then continued.
Message from M. Gardel: For what it's worth, I wasn’t trying to make things uncomfortable. Just... relating. In my own way. Clumsily, apparently.
Another pause. This next part took longer.
Message from M. Gardel: And no, I wasn’t requesting anything. Just an observation. You don’t seem like someone who’d need suggestions.
He stared at the message for a long moment. Then, with a soft tap of his finger, he sent it.
Ren leaned back on the headrest while he read, reread, and then reread a third time Mateo's message.
He contemplated his response and after five minutes or so inputted his message pursing his lips. One antennae was tilted forward, while the other was tilted backward.
Message from R. ch'Shaorhs: First, I was not uncomfortable at all. Please don't be concerned. I do admit to being a bit confused, but I think that is more my fault than yours.
Second, since it was an observation, not a request, I'll wear what I was planning to wear, You're right, I'm an adult I can make my own decisions.
Finally, I must admit a certain curiosity. Would you care to share more about your reading choices? Would I be out of line for asking the genders of the protagonists? If so, you can tell me to fuck off. You're under no obligation to answer.
Message from M. Gardel: First—thanks for not freaking out. That’s… rare.
Second—yes, you can ask. I don’t mind. The protagonists are usually men. Not always. But most of the time.
I like seeing people try to figure themselves out, especially when it’s messy and when they still find ways to care about each other.
Even if it’s unrealistic. Even if it’s idealized. Sometimes it’s nice to see people choosing one another, even after they’ve fucked things up.
Anyway. You didn’t overstep. But I reserve the right to hide behind sarcasm if the questions get too deep.
Mateo blinked at the ceiling.
Well. That was terrifying.
But also…
Not bad.
Ren wasn't completely caught by surprise by what he read. His intuition had suggested that Mateo was bi, or at least not 100% straight, the vibe he'd picked up had been subtle, but it had been there. He'd just tried to deny it because he wasn't sure how he felt about that.
He did find the Hispanic man attractive, he couldn't deny that to himself, but it wasn't right. He was still wearing his wedding ring, for Universe's sake.
Message from R. ch'Shaorhs: I said earlier that we didn't have the same taste in smut. I was right but for the wrong reason. I think almost all the smut I read, or watch, involves men with men. But mine is more casual. I've experienced messy and figuring things out in real life. I like my fiction to be just that, fiction.
I don't do casual in my life, just in what I read.
Anyway, I'm getting off topic. When would you like to have our little mission?
Message from M. Gardel: Thanks for being honest. You didn’t owe me that, but I respect it.
I think we all want different things from fiction. Sometimes it’s about escape. Sometimes it’s about recognition. Sometimes it’s just… comfort in the chaos.
Anyway, yeah—how about we schedule our mission for tomorrow evening? Say 1800 hours? Gives me time to recalibrate my sarcasm module... Let me know where to meet you and if I should bring anything besides my ability to misread social cues.
Ren's response, his tongue pressed against his cheek as he typed, was almost instant.
Message from R. ch'Shaorhs: I can make tomorrow at 1800 work, I have to work on a randomizing algorithm, but that gives me sufficient time. I'll reserve the same holodeck where we first met. Don't worry about misreading cues, that's what will, hopefully, make it fun.
One question, though, are you adjusting your sarcasm level up, or down?
Message from M. Gardel: That depends entirely on the mission parameters. If there’s a high probability of awkward diplomacy or intersperses miscommunication, I may need to deploy sarcasm as a defensive measure.
That said, I’ll try not to weaponize it. Probably.
Ren furrowed his brow, his antennae juxtaposed from each other. He realized he hadn't thought about Jarin since earlier that morning, and he immediately felt guilty about it.
He didn't reply to Mateo, he needed to spend time finishing his program."
[OFF]
Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir
&
Lieutenant(JG) Ren ch' Shaorhs
Asstistant Operations Chief
USS Fenrir
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