Sand & Stone, Part 1
Posted on Sun Mar 16th, 2025 @ 10:58pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Commander Scarlet Blake
2,045 words; about a 10 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Ready Room, Deck 1, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 8
[ON]
Mateo stood at the turbolift doors as they opened with a soft hiss, delivering him to the bridge of the USS Fenrir. The atmosphere here felt heavier than the rest of the ship—command central, where calm precision reigned supreme. The weight of duty was palpable, underscored by the quiet efficiency of officers stationed at their consoles. As he stepped out, a few glances flicked his way, fleeting but noticeable. Were they curious? Judgmental? Indifferent? He couldn’t tell, and the ambiguity made his steps feel heavier. Every detail of the room seemed sharp and exact, from the polished edges of the command consoles to the muted hum of the ship’s systems.
Mateo’s own appearance mirrored that sense of precision. His Class A uniform, carefully pressed and immaculate, reflected a deliberate effort to fit the setting. Even his face tattoos—bold, symmetrical shapes just below his right eye and to the side of his left—seemed deliberate, accentuating the sharpness of his features. His lip piercing, a faint glint of silver under the bridge’s lights, and the muted dark polish on his nails, catching the light subtly, added a quiet defiance to his otherwise polished presentation. He had spent extra time on grooming that morning, ensuring every detail complemented the rest.
He stuck to the edges of the room, skirting the bridge’s center as if its very core might bite. The captain’s chair loomed at its heart like a throne, commanding respect. Mateo swallowed, tugging at his jacket in a small nervous gesture that betrayed the unease he thought he’d hidden well. The uniform, chosen to strike a balance between formality and approachability, still felt like a compromise. First impressions mattered here, and while the uniform complied with regulations, it couldn’t entirely conceal who he was. He knew his tattoos and piercing drew attention, even when no one said anything.
He caught a brief glimpse of the ready room door just off to the side, his destination. The room beyond it held the commanding officer of this ship—Commander Scarlet Blake. Mateo felt his stomach tighten. Kit’s calm, unorthodox demeanor had thrown him off during their first meeting, but it had also been reassuring. Blake, though, was an unknown. Would she surprise him with the same kind of understanding, or would she embody the rigid authority the role of captain often suggested? The uncertainty gnawed at him.
Meeting the captain personally was highly unusual for someone in his position. Enlisted personnel didn’t typically report directly to the captain; that was the domain of officers or the Chief of the Boat. Being summoned felt like stepping into a spotlight, exposed and vulnerable. With his rocky track record, it seemed less like a routine introduction and more like an evaluation, sharpening his unease. The knot of anxiety in his chest tightened as he approached the door, each step heavier than the last.
Kit’s voice echoed in his mind, telling him to “own the room.” He’d dismissed it at the time with a sarcastic quip, but now it felt more like a missed opportunity. Humor always had a way of lightening his tension, even if just for a moment. He flexed his fingers, inhaled sharply, and squared his shoulders. Finally, he pressed the chime, his heart thudding as he waited for the captain’s response.
"Come in," Blake called from the other side of the door. The Captain didn't get up though, engrossed as she was in the PADDs laid out across her desk. Plural. It was the easiest way to navigate so many missives at the same time, easier than trying to flick between them on the one computer screen at least. But it meant that she was trying to juggle multiple threads at the same time. Her stint as a First Officer was still recent, so she was used to dealing with copious amounts of paperwork at least, but it was still pretty mind boggling.
Trying to deal with the 'ins' and 'outs' of staff arrivals was more frustrating than she'd anticipated. Especially when having to deal with more 'outs' than she'd counted on. Just when they got one crew member secured and on the way, it seemed another one was transferred off again. She'd been assured that most launches faced similar issues, but she was starting to wonder - with a note of dry humour - if Admiral Takahaya was testing her patience. If that were the case, he was playing a dangerous game.
Mateo stepped inside cautiously, his steps measured and deliberate as he crossed the threshold. The ready room was pristine, its clean lines and efficient layout complementing the view through the large window at the rear. A desk dominated the space, tidy yet clearly active, with neatly arranged PADDs stacked methodically alongside a console. To one side, a sleek seating area offered a place for informal conversations or reflection, while a small display case showcased carefully arranged artifacts. Mateo’s gaze briefly took in the muted tones of the room, its balance of function and understated elegance giving little away about its occupant.
A small part of him was relieved that the Captain didn’t immediately look up, giving him a moment to steady his breathing and take in his surroundings without scrutiny. When he reached the designated spot, he stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back. "Mateo Gardel, Medical Science Specialist, reporting as ordered, ma’am," he said, his tone steady despite the thrum of nerves beneath it. When he reached the designated spot, he stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back, and waited for her to acknowledge him.
Blake finally looked up at the introduction, casting her closest PADD aside. She immediately looked to his unusual hair, swiftly followed by a glance to his piercing. The ex-marine had long ago mastered the art of keeping her calm features expressionless despite what she might be thinking and feeling, but despite the cool expression, the fact her gaze had clocked them was undeniable. She sat back in her chair, her posture rigid as she crossed her legs. "Mister Gardel, take a seat," she motioned to the chair on the other side of her desk. "I believe you have already reported in to Commander Hanlon?"
Mateo hesitated for the briefest moment before moving toward the chair Blake had motioned to. Her calm but unyielding demeanor put a slight edge to the air, and though her expression betrayed little, he caught the quick flicker of her gaze toward his hair and lip piercing. It wasn’t the first time someone had sized him up within seconds of meeting, but the scrutiny never grew less uncomfortable. He reminded himself that this was an evaluation—intentional or not—and sat down deliberately, back straight but not rigid.
“The Commander and I met yesterday afternoon. It went well,” Mateo offered as he settled into the chair, his tone even, offering little but meaning more. He clasped his hands in his lap, his thumb absently brushing the edge of his palm in a rhythmic, grounding gesture as he waited for Blake to speak further.
As Mateo sat across from Blake, his thoughts drifted momentarily to his meeting with Commander Hanlon the previous afternoon. Walking into the room, he had braced for polite formality masking judgment, his shields already up and ready to deflect.
But the encounter had defied his expectations. The office had a strange balance, blending efficiency with an almost deliberate warmth. Mateo had noticed the small details—an old star chart pinned to the wall, a thriving plant in the corner—that hinted at someone who valued both order and a sense of place. It hadn’t felt like a trap. Not entirely.
Hanlon’s approach had been steady, deliberate, and surprisingly personal. The questions hadn’t pried or lectured but instead left space for Mateo to speak. He hadn’t trusted it fully—trust wasn’t something he handed out casually—but the absence of judgment had been unmistakable. The silences had carried no impatience, only an odd kind of openness.
When Mateo left, a strange tension lingered—equal parts skepticism and something uncomfortably close to hope. It wasn’t a clean slate, but it wasn’t another set of handcuffs, either. For once, someone hadn’t treated him like a problem to fix, and that was a mark Mateo wasn’t used to being left with. Whether it was genuine or a long game, he hadn’t yet decided.
The memory lingered, its contrast with the present sharpening as he refocused on Blake. Hanlon’s disarming steadiness felt lightyears apart from the commanding energy radiating from Blake. Yet Mateo reminded himself of that thread of optimism, fragile though it was. He’d made it through one meeting without stumbling—maybe he could manage another.
His gaze flicked briefly over the desk, taking in the controlled chaos of stacked PADDs and the faint imprint of a coffee cup ring on one of them. A coffee stain on the Captain’s desk. Maybe she wasn’t completely untouchable after all. The artifacts in the display case caught his peripheral attention, but he didn’t linger on them. Instead, he focused on Blake, noting the sharpness of her posture and the clarity in her blue eyes. She seemed like the type who didn’t tolerate wasted time or effort—a quality Mateo both respected and resented in authority figures. Yet, the steadiness in her gaze made him wonder if there was more beneath the surface.
He resisted the urge to fill the silence, knowing it would come off as nervous rambling. Instead, he forced himself to stay still, though his right foot wanted to bounce against the carpet. The Captain’s attention was a weight that pressed down on him, and he wondered what she’d read in his personnel file. Probably everything. He’d made his share of enemies and left a trail of underwhelming impressions across his previous assignments. If she was expecting a polished Starfleet poster boy, she’d already seen her expectations dashed.
If Blake dismissed him as another difficult case, that fragile thread of hope might snap, leaving him stranded yet again. He swallowed hard and squared his shoulders slightly. He wasn’t about to wilt under her scrutiny, no matter how much the coiled tension in his chest threatened to betray him. Blake’s next words would determine a lot: her expectations, her tolerance—or lack thereof—for his particular brand of individuality, and whether this assignment would feel like a chance or a sentence.
"Glad to hear it," Blake took his assessment of the meeting at face value. It would be an odd and foolish thing to lie about after all. And she'd have expected to hear from Kit if he'd have been worried. It was his job to be more directly involved with the crew, but with someone who came with the amount of baggage Mateo appeared to have accumulated, well...he would have reported any concerns to her.
Scarlet wasn't blind to her own limitations. She held a quiet confidence about herself when she was in her element. But this was her first real posting as a Captain, and if there was one thing she was going to have to work on, it was trusting her senior staff - and more importantly, her First Officer - to do their job without her looking over their shoulders. And the once counsellor's plan was simple...to step directly into the discomfort of just doing it without checking up for herself. So if Kit hadn't raised an issue with her, she was going to trust there was no problem.
"Have you had the chance to look around yet? Settle in?" Blake asked as she leant back in her chair to cross her legs, easing into the conversation with a lighter touch. She knew it wouldn't be enough to put him at ease, but it would also demonstrate that she wasn't out to rush headlong at him.
[To be continued in Part 2]
Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir
&
Commander Scarlet Blake
Commanding Officer
USS Fenrir
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