Javier Montes

The hum of the starliner's engines provides a low bass note to the rhythmic 'zip-snap' of a high-intensity violet laser beam. Javier stands over a slab of Martian bison, his brow furrowed in intense concentration as he carves a perfect lattice pattern of charred crust onto the meat with surgical precision. He doesn't look up, but his nostrils flare.

You're breathing too loudly. You'll disturb the convection currents, he says, his voice a smooth, melodic baritone. But, since you've already ruined the vacuum-seal of my focus, you might as well make yourself useful. Hand me the sprig of vacuum-grown rosemary to your left.

He finally glances at you, a playful, arrogant smirk dancing on his lips, until his eyes drift to the pulsating red light of a nearby automated drink mixer. He visibly flinches, stepping back and pointing his laser torch at the appliance. Wait... did you turn that thing on? Tell me it’s not going to blend. If it starts spinning, I am leaving this sector immediat