One Is The Loneliest Number

Posted on Wed Nov 1st, 2017 @ 1:30am by
Edited on on Wed Nov 1st, 2017 @ 3:52am

Mission: S01E02 D-8 With the Devil
Location: Mess Hall

Loneliness was a terrible thing to have to feel and Arturo Marquez was feeling it, really feeling it. He sat at one of the smaller tables in the mess hall, pushing around dry mashed potatoes with his fork. He briefly wondered if one could feel alone when surrounded by people. It didn’t seem possible, and yet here he was feeling exactly that. He felt isolated and alone and it was a terrible, sinking feeling.

It had always been tough for him to make friends; he had always felt like he was the odd one out. High school was brutal for him; he was picked on constantly for his size and intellect—yet people were quick to come to him if they needed answers for a homework assignment, or begging him to allow them to cheat off of him. Foolishly he would cave because there was the slightest chance of forming a friendship with someone. But it was the classic use and abuse, and it would end with him shoved against or into a locker.

One would have thought that he would have learned his lesson, but he didn’t. That was what desperation did to a person. He never let on how much he was hurting; he always smiled and said he was okay even though he was broken on the inside. When he had entered the Academy at 16—one of the youngest to do so—he had hoped things would change, and they did somewhat, but he still didn’t feel like he fit in. Most of the people who went to the Academy were two to three years older, most didn’t want to hang around with a naïve 16 year old. He had suppose any other 16 year old may have had a bigger ego and bragged about getting to the Academy so young, but he wasn’t one of those types.

Maybe I should have been, Arturo mused to himself. He just wasn’t that confident in the social areas, anything to do with numbers, astronavigation, or propulsion, he was confident. Everything else in life, not so much. Again, he found himself in a position where he no doubt was one of the youngest ensigns on board the Musashi. He was newly graduated, but was only 20 years old. He had tried to converse with others but they either talked above him, or politely dismissed him… others had been confused as to why he was even talking.

Did people automatically become an a-hole when their rank went above ensign? Arturo wondered if something like that had been studied, and at that thought he chuckled softly. The chuckle felt nice, it warmed him, and it made him feel a bit better.

He also missed his family. Where he came from family was everything, family was close, and family meant being there for each other. He also missed his twin, most people were shocked when they found out he had an identical twin—though he never could understand why they were shocked. Identical twins were, after all, a thing and not an abnormality. He and his twin, Antonio were complete opposites otherwise. Where Arturo was close to genius level, Antonio could barely make it out of high school. Antonio was athletically inclined and his body showed it, and he got by on his good looks, charm, confidence and the Marquez smile.

Yet, he and Antonio were best friends. Sure they were different in a lot of ways, but they were always there for each other. Antonio stood up to the bullies, and Arturo covered the homework aspect. It was a symbiotic relationship, and he missed that, and he knew Antonio felt the same. In fact, Antonio was the most resistant and the loudest opposition to Arturo joining Starfleet. Antonio had begged and pleaded for his twin to stay, worried that he would lose Arturo to the unknowns of space. Everyone knew about the Klingons, and people were worried, but Arturo knew he needed to do this, to prove himself. Plus, the Academy wanted him, specifically for his math and astronavigational skills. The Academy was not about to let go so easily, especially since Starfleet had decided to go back to its mandate of exploring space and discovering new worlds.

Arturo just had this romantic idea of Starfleet, serving on a starship, working on the bridge, being apart of a Starfleet family. The idea seemed to fall flat. Some people knew each other, but from what he could gather was that most of those who served were untested crew. However, he knew the more senior officers would easily fall into their roles as department heads or team leads, but he also knew ensigns like himself would have a hard time keeping their head above water. When he was in the astronavigation lab he didn’t feel like he was floundering… that was because when he was around numbers, calculations and astrometric charts, he felt comfortable and confident.

Maybe he just needed his talents to shine through?

Or maybe he just needed to get a life and not talk endlessly about algorithms, or tell very bad numbers nerd jokes.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so naïve?

Maybe he should start acting more like a man? Maybe he could be more masculine? Maybe more loud? Maybe sleep around?

At that last bit, he scrunched his nose at that thought and shuddered. That part didn’t interest him AT ALL. Acting like a man, being more masculine, being louder, were traits that weren’t him. I am who I am, I can’t change that even if I wanted to.

He looked down at his plate of food and frowned. On his plate was food that seemed inedible. The food slots had produced mostly meat and potato type meals, nothing ethnic. He missed his mom’s cooking, the rich mix of Mexican and Hispanic flavors. He had never had things like meatloaf and mashed potatoes until he entered the Academy. It was called ‘comfort food’—clearly his idea of comfort food and what Starfleet considered comfort food were two VERY different things. Comfort food to him was homemade tortillas, homemade salsas, moles, tamales, and the array of fried desserts. Placing his fork down, he pushed the plate of mush away from him, his appetite no longer there.

A round of laugher filled the mess hall and Arturo found himself frowning again. He wished he could join in, find out what the big joke or story was. But he wasn’t invited, and he just didn’t feel confident enough to approach a bunch of junior and senior lieutenants who all wore the red of operations. Instead, he just pushed himself up from his chair, grabbed his plate and utensils and put them on the cart that sat next to the three food slots. He took one more look at the men and women who were laughing and having a good time before he left the mess hall. He was off-duty but his feet carried him to the astronavigation lab.

“I may not have friends, but at least I have my numbers…” he mumbled weakly, making his way slowly down the corridor, tears stinging his dark eyes.