Volver a empezar: Part I - The New House

Posted on Fri Jan 23rd, 2026 @ 1:17am by 1st Lieutenant Ángel Martinez
Edited on on Fri Jan 23rd, 2026 @ 1:19am

2,768 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Character Backstories
Location: Arizona, Earth
Timeline: 2386

2386: Arizona, Earth

The sun looked wrong.

It was too low, too gold, no blue halo at sunset or sunrise….it looked too wide across the sky. Martinez stepped off the shuttle and felt it immediately, not just in the light, but in the way the air settled into their bones. Earth gravity didn’t ask permission. It just took hold and held. Everything felt half a degree heavier than it should, and no terraforming or exercise or life on Starships where the gravity was artificial, yet mimicked Earth could have prepared them for the true sense of what Earth did: pulled every atom of you downward.

They had changed in the shuttle station bathroom, before the final transport from the Moon. Civilian clothes, soft cotton and canvas, sleeves rolled, collar loose. Nothing with rank, nothing that marked them anymore than the scars they had on their face. Certainly nothing that said Marine, except their duffle bag…which was Ground Forces Blue, with a Marine patch searched on it.

From the general shuttle arrival, it wasn’t a long trek. They caught another transport which dropped them off a forty minute walk along an old road…some scattered houses, mostly just nature trying to reclaim. People preferred cities for the most part. Here, the land was just too barren for most to want to settle. For people born on Mars? Maybe it was perfect. More houses came after twenty minutes walk. They felt the sun on them, but had made sure they’d put on sunblock before going. They weren’t stupid either. They started to see clean fences, low hedges, pale blue paint on windowsills…

And a path from the road. Desert plants stood in patient rows along the drive, some blooming stubbornly in the heat. A few stones had been placed with care along the path, set in spirals and lines. Not decorative, exactly. Deliberate. At the gate, they stopped.

A small wooden sign leaned slightly forward, clearly not properly secured. Sloppy…wouldn’t have stood on Mars. Or remained standing if a sandstorm hit.

Martinez Family.

The number matched. The lettering had been done by hand, their father’s careful strokes still recognisable. Martinez read it twice before lifting the latch.

The air smelled like stone warmed all afternoon. A trace of sage. A faint chemical sweetness from the clay pots that flanked the front walk. None of that slightly rusty scent, or the hint of sweetness…or, even post-terraforming…that hint of sulphur in the soil. They walked slowly, not because they were unsure, but they didn’t want to rush. There was no need.

Halfway to the house, they froze.

There was a cat on the low garden wall, stretched out in a patch of sun. Its fur was the colour of sand and dried bark, ears flicking lazily in the light. It turned its head and met their eyes.

Martinez didn’t move.

They had never had a cat. Mars had rules, of course. Restrictions, licences, all the expected layers. But that was something you could work around, or with, and even with that knowledge, it had never come up. Diego was allergic to cats. Not…dangerously so, but enough for it Martinez to get told off if they ever had a cuddle with Helios, the neighbourhood tomcat, and didn’t wash and change their clothes after.

The memory wasn’t sharp. It didn’t cut. It just settled, quiet and real, in the back of the throat.

The cat blinked once, then turned and leapt off the wall, vanishing behind a pot of rosemary.

Martinez let out a slow breath. They adjusted the duffle on their shoulder and kept walking.

At the front step, they paused again. One foot on the tile. Their hand hovered near the chime. The last time they had visited their parents, it had been in New Vallis. The house had been too quiet. Diego’s room was still made up, a shrine to a child lost…but cleaner than Diego had ever kept it when he was alive. Someone had cleaned the walls with lemon oil. That was 2384. Before Mars burned. Before the old house was gone.

This place was supposed to be near the ocean. That was what their parents had told people. Something about always wanting to live by the sea. But there was no salt in the air here, no gulls. Just desert and the sound of wind in dry branches. The truth had been quieter. After Diego, the old house had never felt the same.

They pressed the chime. The sound rang out, soft and clear. They heard her footsteps, familiar in their thread, but slower than they remembered. The door opened, not slowly, but pushed to the side with meaning.

Lucia stood in the frame, sleeves pushed up, a dish towel over one shoulder. Her hair was wrapped in a loose scarf, and her face lit up the moment she saw them. She didn’t speak. Just stepped forward and folded them into a hug. “Mi cielo,” she said, as if no time had passed at all.

Martinez closed their eyes for half a second and let themselves be held. The air smelled like cinnamon, rosemary, and clean cotton. It felt strange, in that moment. She felt smaller, frailer, here than she ever had on Martian soil. Her dark hair, curling slightly like theirs, had a few grey streaks hidden under the scarf. They’d be coloured black sooner or later, whenever she had the time. That, at least, had not changed yet.

Lucia’s arms didn’t loosen right away. She held them for a moment longer than expected, rocking slightly on her feet like she was measuring the weight of them. Then she stepped back, looked them up and down, and clucked her tongue with soft disapproval.

“Your boots,” she said, swatting gently at their arm. “Take them off. You’re not dragging half of Arizona into my kitchen.”

Martinez half-smiled and bent to comply. The floor tiles were warm underfoot, leaking through socks to touch skin, the kind of tiles that stayed just a little dusty no matter how often you swept them. Lucia was already turning, gesturing for them to follow with one hand as she disappeared deeper into the house.

“And you’re too skinny,” she called back over her shoulder. “Not enough food on those starships. I keep telling your father they should have you on a proper diet. He says it’s not our business. It’s absolutely my business. They’re starving you.”

Martinez stepped into the kitchen, boots now by the door, duffle still on one shoulder. The space was sunlit and lived-in. A bunch of fresh herbs hung over the sink. The ceramic mugs were stacked in an open rack, familiar shapes in unfamiliar places. A small clay bowl of citrus sat by the window. They noticed the cat bowl in a corner…and a water glass next to it.

Lucia turned to face them again. Her eyes softened, but she didn’t stop talking. “And those marks,” she said, brushing a knuckle along their cheekbone and to their eyebrow. She huffed. “You could have them removed, you know. There are treatments now that don’t even hurt. You don’t need to carry it on your face forever, such a pretty face when you let yourself be.”

Martinez raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It was not unfamiliar. None of it ever was. They let it wash over them, through them, but never settle. They had learned not to take their mother’s words too close to heart: they might remember them for a lifetime, she’d insist it had just been an offhand comment, not worth remembering.

She smiled. “I know. You like them. Still. A mother can wish.” Her hand dropped away, but the warmth of it lingered. She stepped aside to reach for a jar in the cupboard and added, quieter this time, “It’s good to see you.”

They nodded. “You too,” they said, voice quiet as they put the bag down, by the door…to the side, so no one could trip over it. The kitchen felt unfamiliar. Looked unfamiliar. It was larger, yet somehow managed to look more messy.

Lucia opened the jar, peered inside, frowned, and reached for a second one. “I was going to make lentil stew. Unless you’d prefer tamales. I have masa harina, and there’s chicken filling in the freezer. Or black bean soup, maybe. Something with weight to it. Something that sticks a little to your ribs.”

“I’ll eat whatever you make,” Martinez said, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs. It creaked slightly under them, familiar even in this new place.

She gave them a look over her shoulder. “Don’t think I won’t hold you to that. I have two years of ‘whatever you make’ stored up.” There was something careful in the way she moved. Not stiff. Just measured. As if she had planned this moment long before they arrived. The rhythm of a mother preparing to feed someone she had not seen since before the world fell apart. She filled the kettle and set it on the hob. The scent of cinnamon hung faint in the air.

From outside came the distant sound of cicadas, their rhythm slow and even. It made Martinez tense up, briefly, until they could identify it as what it was and dismiss it.

Lucia placed a bundle of cloth on the table. Inside were dried herbs, loose tea leaves, and small packets of spices. “I was going to send these to you,” she said. “Now you can just take them.”

Martinez touched the edge of the bundle. “Gracias.” They watched it, taking a deeper breath. It had been a long while since they have had one of these…care bundles.

“You’re staying for dinner, obviously,” she continued. “And overnight. And tomorrow too if they don’t drag you back to the stars.”

“I’ve got two nights,” they said, looking at her before giving a small smile. “The crew of the Pathfinder got some leave while we were in the Sol system. I took advantage.”

Lucia beamed. “Then I’ll make the lentil stew and tamales.”

Martinez didn’t argue. There was never any point…and they had never been able to down their mother’s Martian lentil stew. The table felt solid under their palms. The gravity still felt unfamiliar, but her voice did not. They didn’t say it was strange to be in a house they had never lived in. They didn’t say that Mars still echoed in their sleep. They didn’t need to.

Lucia reached for a pan. “You’ll help chop. And don’t roll your eyes at me. You used to be good with a knife.”

Martinez stood and put the bundle in their duffle bag. They gave a small smile to themselves and went to open a drawer, found the cutting board without asking. “Still am,” they said, but their voice was quieter now.

The chopping settled into rhythm. Tomatoes, garlic, onion, then peppers…each piece stacked in careful rows, just the way Lucia liked it. She didn’t hover. Just passed ingredients wordlessly, glancing over now and then to check their work, to do minor corrections when she felt they had cut something too big. Martinez didn’t speak much either. The quiet was companionable. The knife moved with steady precision. The smell of cumin and garlic began to rise from the pan.

Time floated. Lucia started humming on a song, Martinez found themselves joining in as well…letting themselves be swept away in the memories of cooking through time.

Outside, a door creaked. Footsteps on tiles. Then the sound of whatever had been in hands or pockets clattering into the dish by the front door. “Why,” Javier said loudly from the hallway, “do we still have that cactus next to the stairs? I swear it’s trying to stab me. We should have left it behind on Mars!”

Lucia didn’t look up. “Because it’s older than our marriage and it’s the only thing in this house that listens.”

Javier stepped into the kitchen, brushing sand off the sleeves of his shirt. “It’s got vendetta energy. I’m telling you. One day it’s going to shove me straight down the steps.”

Martinez looked up. Gave a small smile, a nod in greeting. Lucia continued. “You took the long walk, even when you knew elle was coming…” she chastised him, but with a small smile.

“Of course I did,” he said, already pulling out a chair. His hand went to Martinez’s arm, briefly, a squeeze. “All the way around the ridge. Figured I’d beat the sun before it turned the whole valley into a plasma vent. Failed miserably. Got bitten by a mosquito the size of a shuttle pod and then stabbed by that demon cactus.”

Lucia handed him a bowl and a spoon without looking. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m precise,” he said, tasting the stew. “And underappreciated.” He hummed at the taste, with approval. He had always been the chief taster in the family.

From the hallway, the cat padded in as if summoned. It moved silently, tail held high, then rubbed up against Javier’s ankle like they had an arrangement. “You again,” he muttered. “She fed you already.” The cat meowed once, loud and self-assured, then hopped onto the low bench by the door. It curled into a loaf and immediately began ignoring everyone.

Lucia wiped her hands on her apron. “Don’t let her fool you. It’s been fed. Twice.”

“Thrice,” Javier said. “I gave her a bit of fish at lunch.”

Lucia shot him a look. “That’s why the cat won’t leave,” she accused him.

“She’s a good cat,” he replied, reaching to scratch behind the ears. “Besides, if Diego were here he’d be telling us off.”

Martinez looked down at the cutting board. The peppers were nearly done. They moved to wipe the knife clean.

Lucia’s voice gentled without softening. “She showed up a few months after we moved in. Wouldn’t leave. We tried shooing her off at first. But you know how it is.”

“Persistent,” Martinez said, with no judgement. And quietly thinking that their father had a soft spot for animals…and that he might have said he shooed, but he would most likely have tried to pet the cat.

“Exactly,” Lucia said quickly, wiping her hands before she reached to take the chopping board and all that was on it with her.

The cat gave a small chirp and flopped onto its side, belly up, tail twitching once. Javier leaned back in his chair. “I named her Reina, by the way. She only listens to me.”

“She doesn’t listen to anyone,” Lucia corrected, with a soft sigh of annoyance. “You’re just the loudest.”

Martinez smiled, small and brief. The kind that stayed tucked just at the corner of their mouth.

Dinner came together easily. Tamales steamed beside the stew pot. Lucia layered dishes without comment, setting them down on the table with the quiet confidence of someone who had done this a hundred times and would do it a hundred more.

Javier set out glasses and passed Martinez a bottle of tamarind pop from the fridge. “Don’t roll your eyes. It’s nostalgic.”

“I’m not rolling them,” Martinez said, already opening it with practice ease. It had been a rare treat as a child, even if you could just replicate it.

Lucia set out a bowl of limes. “It’s food for the living,” she said, then went silent for a moment. Just…there, but not really there. “He would’ve wanted that,” she breathed and bowed her head. No one needed to ask who.

The cat remained where she was, tail curled neatly around her front paws, eyes half-closed like she had judged the meal and found it worthy. The sun dipped below the horizon, turning the sky to fire through the kitchen window. The light caught in the glass, on the edges of the plates, across Martinez’s hands. They ate and mostly listened to their parents talk about their sisters, what Marisol was doing on Titan with her husband, what Sofia was busy doing. No real questions directed at Martinez, but that was…comforting. Familiar in its own way.

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