Mateo Gets a Starship
Posted on Sun Jul 20th, 2025 @ 8:00pm by Crewman Emiliano Echevarria
1,002 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Character Backstories
Location: Federation Complex, Barisa Prime
Timeline: 1140 Hours
The ventilation system made a sound like someone drawing breath through clenched teeth.
Emiliano crouched beneath the secondary junction panel with a spanner in one hand and a micro-resonator in the other, sweat gathering in pools along his spine. A fine layer of dust had settled into the corners of the systems bay, red-tinted and clinging.
The junction was overheating again. Humidity played hell with these environmental units. He'd recalibrated the filters twice in the last week, but the system wasn't designed for this much moisture. It was like putting an Aenar into a sauna and expecting them not to complain.
Mateo dozed a few meters away under a shelf of labeled conduit coils, his scruffy head resting on a coiled-up jumper. The dog gave a single, quiet whuff in his sleep. Emiliano thought he was probably chasing one of the local lizards again.
He adjusted a coil and listened. The pitch was now steadier. Lower, like a well-attuned warp core at idle. He closed the panel, twisting the latch shut. He felt for the one-white rag he kept tucked into his belt and wiped his hands on it.
His combadge chirped.
"Specialist Echevarria, report to Lieutenant Hall's office."
He stood, tucked the spanner into his toolkit, and nudged Mateo with his foot.
"On your feet, compadre. Time to visit the boss."
The dog stretched, shook once, and trotted alongside him.
* * *
Lieutenant Damien Hall's office always smelled a little of cinnamon. It wasn't unpleasant--just enough to be noticed. The man himself looked like a walking bakery advertisement: round, soft features, and a hearty laugh that seemed to come as easily as breathing.
"Come in, Emiliano. Sit."
Emiliano did, resting the toolkit at his feet. Mateo parked himself just outside the door like a protective sentry.
"You've been doing great work these past three months," Hall said, steepling his fingers. "Really--yuor file's full of green lights. And that trafficking investigation?" He tapped the side of his data PADD. "Irene Seya noted a commendation in your record. Said you spotted something in the feeds no one else did."
Emiliano shifted in his chair. "I just used the time indexes and coordinates given. Anyone would've found it."
"But they didn't. You did." Hall grinned, leaning back. "Tell me, Echevarria--where do you see yourself in five years? Ten?"
The silence seemed to begin and stretch on. Emiliano looked past Hall's shoulder, out the window toward the pale blue canopy of Barisa Prime's sky. A flock of avian gliders winged past, heading southeast to the sea.
"I haven't thought that far," he said.
Hall nodded, as though he expected that. "Okay. What about next? What would you like to do?"
That, at least, felt easier to answer. He let the words bubble up in him, from a deeper place.
"I miss bulkheads," he said. "The hum of a warp core. Gravity plates under my feet. Space behaving the way it's supposed to behave."
"No offense to Barisa Prime?" Hall answered, smiling.
Emiliano shrugged. "Sunshine's fine. Beaches, too. But I don't belong in the open. I never did."
Hall stood then, walking to the far side of his office and picked up a PADD from the shelf. When he spoke, it was with the formality of someone delivering good news without wanting to jinx it.
"There's a posting open on the USS Astrea. Galaxy-class refit. They're looking for someone in Ops with experience. You'd be in your element there." He held the PADD loosely at his side. "I've already spoken to their XO. Just say the word."
Something rippled deep inside Emiliano's chest, like energy rising from some long-dormant place. He felt it like a warmth behind his ribs.
"I'd love to be back out there," he said, not trying to hide the smile. "Absolutely."
Hall's grin returned in full force. "Good man. Get your things together. You'll be shipping out in two days. Dismissed."
* * *
His quarters weren't much--prefab walls, floorplates that never quite lined up properly--but Emiliano had made them his own. Black-out curtains covered all three windows, shut tight against Barisa's bright glare. A white-noise generator in the corner hummed with the deep pulse of warp engines.
Mateo trotted in ahead of him and leapt onto the cot, circling once before flopping down in a gentle huff.
"Time to pack," Emiliano said aloud, kneeling beside the footlocker. "We're heading back to space."
He didn't expect a reaction, but Mateo thumped his tail twice.
They'd only lived planetside a few times in Emiliano's life--repairs, shore leave, one unfortunate stint during a cargo union dispute--but he never adjusted well. He didn't trust environments that didn't recycle. He never liked the way sound carried in the open air.
He folded his uniforms, and stacked his personal tools into their foam compartments. There wasn't much else--he didn't collect things. Most of what he owned could fit in one locker and a carry case.
He paused at the shelf beside his bunk and picked up a battered, faded photo. His younger brother, grinning with two missing teeth, grease smeared across his cheek. Their mother, in the midst of a chuckle. Their father in the background, one hand gripping the edge of a hatchway. The whole shot had been taken in the narrow corridor of a transport freighter when Emiliano was thirteen.
He gently slid the photo into a canvas folder.
He exhaled slowly and sat back on his heels. The warp hum rolled on throughout the room.
Two more days and they'd be back where you could see stars at any time of day. Where space behaved like space.
He reached out and scratched behind Mateo's ears. The dog grunted his contentment.
"Hope Astrea's got some good Jefferies tubes," he said. "You'll like that."
And maybe this time, he'd get to stay in space a little longer.
Crewman Emiliano Echevarria
Operations Technician
USS Astrea
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