Mission from Mars, Part 1 of 4
Posted on Mon Mar 31st, 2025 @ 9:41pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Staff Warrant Officer Oliver Sylver
1,987 words; about a 10 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Shuttlebay 2, Deck 6, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 12
[ON]
Staff Warrant Officer Oliver Sylver looked at the shuttle Jörmungandr in shuttlebay 2. He had been on the rota today for it and had been somewhat surprised and excited that it was a scheduled trip to Earth. Pick up too and he looked at the PADD to find out what was happening. Nothing too exciting, biological specimen samples for a Crewman Mateo Gardel, who would accompany him to ensure the correct item was picked up. He almost rolled his eyes at that but settled for a small smirk. Scientists. He never got bored of them. For as smart as they were they never trusted people like him to do something so simple, they also had very little common sense. Or trust. Of course, he was generalising. Some scientists weren't like that.
He leant back against the shuttle as he waited, with the patience of a former Marine. The shuttle was in good shape and from Mars it was only a ten minute journey. And then of course, landing permission...he had noted that they were landing, not beaming. So add on an extra eight minutes for that. And of course, there might be a holding pattern for a bit. So he gave himself a generous hour and a half for it. He took his PADD and checked the destination and then searched for florists...and added in a order for a bouquet of mixed tulips. Verity would enjoy that, it was his favourite. And something colourful would be nice in their quarters.
The sound of measured footsteps cut through the ambient hum of the shuttlebay, precise and deliberate, yet carrying an undercurrent of tightly leashed irritation. The clipped rhythm might have gone unnoticed beneath the low chatter of flight deck personnel and the occasional metallic hiss of pressure seals adjusting, but there was a quiet intensity to the way Mateo Gardel moved—like someone who had spent the last twenty minutes grinding his molars in frustration and was now exercising an incredible amount of self-restraint.
In one hand, his fingers curled tightly around a data PADD, thumb skimming over the display as he scanned—then re-scanned—the latest correspondence from Starfleet Medical. His dark brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a line so thin it might as well have been drawn with a scalpel.
“—I don’t care when the final clearance came through,” he said sharply, his Argentine accent thick with impatience as he spoke into the commlink. “I submitted this requisition as a rush order five days ago—approved, priority tagged, and supposedly expedited. So why am I still having this conversation?”
The response was a carefully measured, practiced tone—the kind that suggested the Chief Logistics Officer at Starfleet Medical had spent far too many years deflecting the ire of impatient specialists.
=^= "Specialist Gardel, as I’ve already explained, security regulations for certain biological specimens require a verified handling officer to be physically present for final transfer. Due to an oversight, your order was classified under that protocol. We cannot process direct shipment without an authorized representative from your vessel.” =^=
Mateo’s grip on the PADD tightened. His nostrils flared slightly, and for a moment, he inhaled sharply through his nose before exhaling through his teeth—controlled, restrained, but barely.
“Uh-huh. Funny how nobody mentioned that when I filed the paperwork,” he muttered, voice edged with thinly veiled sarcasm.
=^= "I understand your frustration, Specialist Gardel," =^= came the infuriatingly neutral reply, =^= "but the priority level of your order was only updated yesterday. Your samples are secure and will be ready for transfer upon your arrival.” =^=
Mateo inhaled through his nose, his exhale slow and deliberate. His eyes flicked upward briefly, as if offering a silent prayer for patience.
“Right. Of course. Because why would anyone want to communicate something like that ahead of time?” His tone was acidic, but he pushed forward before he could start another argument. He rubbed at the back of his neck, irritation simmering beneath his skin. At least this wasn’t a total loss. The last thing he needed was to show up on his first assignment with a half-stocked sample library.
He rolled one shoulder, shaking off the tension as best he could.
"Fine. Whatever. Just don’t lose them between now and the time I get there.”
Without waiting for another response, Mateo terminated the channel with a decisive tap to his PADD and tucked it under one arm, exhaling sharply as he finally took in the full view of the shuttle bay.
Mateo barely spared the Jörmungandr a glance at first, his focus still half-anchored in frustration over the logistics snafu. He moved with the same effortless precision that marked everything about him—every line of his uniform perfectly pressed, not a thread out of place. The teal jumpsuit variant hugged his lean frame with structured efficiency, the V-neck revealing a glimpse of the fitted black undershirt beneath. His sleeves were neatly rolled nearly to his elbows, the fabric crisp despite the rush to get dressed. His black hair—closely cropped at the sides but left longer at the top and back—still held the slight dampness of a shower, the strands curling faintly as they dried. Bright pink streaks wove through the longer sections, catching the overhead lighting in bold contrast against the darkness of the rest. His nails, painted to match, were impeccably manicured, the color smooth and precise with no sign of wear. The scent of citrus, lavender, and mint clung subtly to him, a sharp, clean edge against the sterility of the hangar. Even in motion, he carried himself with an unmistakable deliberateness, a presence that was more curated than careless, each detail of his appearance an intentional statement.
Only when he drew closer did he finally register the presence of another officer, standing at ease near the shuttle’s entrance.
Mateo’s gaze flicked upward, assessing the man in a practiced sweep. Taller than him—but barely. An inch, maybe two at most. Broad-shouldered, with a lean, athletic build that suggested years of physical training. His dark brown hair was kept at a regulation-neat length, and though his features were sharp, there was something in the way he carried himself that lacked the stiff formality Mateo associated with most senior enlisted personnel. Not exactly lazy, but… unhurried. At ease. The kind of person who probably knew how to handle himself but didn’t feel the need to prove it.
Mateo exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on his PADD before finally speaking.
"You’re my pilot for this trip?" His tone was neutral, lacking the edge of frustration from his previous conversation. He hesitated, then added, "I know this detour wasn’t on your schedule. Sorry for pulling you away from more important things. I appreciate it."
He left the words hanging between them, neither expecting nor needing reassurance before stepping toward the shuttle’s entrance.
Oliver looked at the crewman with a small smile. The young man before him fell into the category of scientist that cared about his appearance. You usually had two camps...those who cared and those who didn't. Good posture too, no slouching. Oliver pushed himself from the shuttle and nodded. "Staff Warrant Officer Sylver," he introduced himself. "I don't mind a trip to Earth, while we're still in one place it's not exactly a dying need for pilots," he smiled and took his PADD, offering it out. "Just need you to sign for the shuttle, so I am sure I am taking the right person down. You'd be surprised how many homesick Ensigns try and get a last trip down before departure." The last was a joke.
Sort of. A half joke. It hadn't happened yet on this ship, he had seen it on others.
Mateo accepted the PADD without hesitation, his fingers curling around the device with the same efficiency he approached most procedures. He barely spared the screen a glance before tapping in his authorization, the practiced ease of someone accustomed to Starfleet’s never-ending stream of verifications and sign-offs.
“Mateo,” he offered simply, then after a brief pause, added, “Nice to meet you.” His tone was straightforward, sincere without being overly formal.
At Oliver’s remark about homesick Ensigns, Mateo arched a brow, his lips twitching slightly. “And here I thought getting through security was the hard part. Guess I should watch my back for desperate stowaways.” His delivery was dry, but there was a trace of amusement in his expression as he handed the PADD back.
"I already did the check for that," Oliver said and took the PADD before he went to the shuttle, getting in. He went over to the pilot's seat and sat down, humming to himself as he did the pre-flight checks. A mental list by now, verified silently by the computer. He didn't need the voice on for this, especially with a passenger there too. "Get comfortable, it's not a long flight but you never know how long it will take to get landed on Earth."
He looked over at him and gave him a small smile. "Am I going to have to have a transporter lock on you once we get down? To make sure you don't go into hiding..." the smile widened with the light teasing. The kid was young after all, so he wanted to make sure he knew he was just joking and didn't really think he'd run away.
Mateo stepped into the shuttle, pausing just long enough for uncertainty to flicker behind his eyes. His gaze drifted between the co-pilot’s seat and the passenger benches in the hold, weighing the options. Did it matter? Probably not. But after everything today, he wasn’t in the mood to assume.
"You got a preference?" he asked, shifting his grip on his PADD as he glanced toward Oliver. Because it didn’t matter—except maybe it did, in some quiet, unspoken way.
Once Oliver responded, Mateo took his seat accordingly, moving with the same effortless precision he applied to most things. He wasn’t one to fidget, but sitting still wasn’t exactly his strong suit either. As Oliver hummed through the pre-flight checks, Mateo distracted himself by skimming the latest lab inventory on his PADD, though his gaze flicked up occasionally to observe the pilot’s methodical process.
At Oliver’s remark, Mateo’s brows lifted slightly, his lips pulling into a dry smirk. "Tempting, but no. Not a fan of being on Earth for too long." The words left him before he could reconsider them, and for a moment, he almost amended them—because that wasn’t quite right.
Earth wasn’t the problem.
He missed Buenos Aires, in a way that had nothing to do with coordinates and everything to do with what—who—was missing. Renata’s sharp wit, which had shaped his own. Benji’s terrible taste in music, which had somehow grown on him despite his best efforts. It wasn’t about wanting to be home. It was about the parts of home he carried with him, even when he didn’t want to.
His smirk lingered, but it cooled at the edges as he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head faintly before adding, "Besides, if I were going to disappear, I'd aim for somewhere harder to track than the most surveilled planet in the quadrant."
He tapped his PADD to darken the screen, settling back against the seat. The joke wasn’t lost on him—but if Oliver was expecting the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a fresh cadet desperate for one last trip home, he wasn’t going to get it.
[OFF - To be continued in Part 2]
Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir
&
Staff Warrant Officer Oliver Sylver
Flight Control Officer
USS Fenrir
[PNPC - Hanlon]
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