Spiced Tea and Root Beer
Posted on Mon Jan 19th, 2026 @ 8:02pm by Senior Flight Officer Cormus & Science Officer Lindsy
1,027 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Acquisitions & Contracts
Location: Mess Hall
Timeline: Date 2380-01-04 at 1500
The Dutchman’s mess hall was quiet in the late afternoon, the kind of lull that settled in between shifts when the ship seemed to take a breath. Soft lighting warmed the compact space, and the replicator alcove hummed gently to itself. Outside the viewport, New Ferenginar’s marsh clouds drifted past in slow, looping currents, green and gold under the distant sun. The ship held steady in orbit, but with crew finally aboard, the corridors had begun to carry the faint sounds of movement and purpose.
Lindsy stepped inside, her stride light and unhurried. She had just finished her afternoon Keth-Vael session in the Deck 4 alcove, and the familiar calm still lingered with her. The practice always left her focused and quietly energized, the kind of balance that made even a simple meal feel intentional instead of rushed.
She went straight to the replicator, already smiling.
“Rigellian vegetable stew with extra herbs, medium portion. Spiced herbal tea, hot, with a touch of honey.”
The tray materialized with a soft chime. Lindsy carried it to her preferred table by the viewport, set it down carefully, and pulled out her PADD. A holographic star chart bloomed above it, constellations unfolding like something waking up.
A minute later, the door slid open again.
Cormus Fletcher walked in with an easy confidence, flight jacket half zipped and hair still slightly tousled from a long afternoon in the shuttlebay. He paused just long enough to take in the room before spotting Lindsy. His expression brightened immediately.
“Hey,” he said, nodding toward her table. “Mind if I join you? I was told the new navigator is someone I should probably know. Also, I skipped lunch and regret everything.”
Lindsy looked up, her smile warm and open. She laughed softly, the sound unguarded and welcoming.
“Lindsy Vaelor. Please, sit. I was hoping I would run into you sooner rather than later. You are the pilot who gets to make my routes actually mean something.”
Cormus crossed to the replicator with quick steps.
“Cormus Fletcher. Resident shuttle jockey and professional optimist.”
He keyed in his order without hesitation.
“Double cheeseburger, real beef if the system is feeling generous. Fries. Root beer. Tall glass.”
The tray appeared, and he balanced it easily before dropping into the seat across from her. The savory smell of hot food mixed with the spice of her tea, grounding the moment.
“Good table choice,” he said, glancing out the viewport. “Hard to argue with a planet doing slow turns outside your window.”
“It helps me think,” Lindsy replied. “Watching something that big move so calmly makes the rest of the galaxy feel less overwhelming.” She gestured to the chart. “I usually plan better when I can remind myself how small the ship really is.”
Cormus raised an eyebrow. “That is funny. I fly better when I stop thinking about scale entirely.”
She smiled at that. “How so?”
“If I think about how much mass is around me, or how fast everything is moving, I get stiff,” he said between bites. “If I just think about feel and timing, things line up.”
Lindsy nodded slowly. “That actually explains a lot.”
She tilted her PADD so the star chart hovered between them again.
“I was narrowing down our first realistic options. Nothing ambitious yet. Just enough to learn how the Dutchman behaves with a full crew.”
Cormus leaned in, attention fully on the display.
“Erabus is clean and predictable. Good place to stretch our legs without anyone breathing down our necks. Tautine is rougher, but that is where the interesting contracts hide.”
He traced a path through the asteroid belt with his finger.
“There is a slingshot around the third moon here. If we time it right, we cut hours.”
Lindsy studied the vector, eyes brightening. She adjusted the projection, fingers moving with practiced ease.
“That eddy at the exit worried me at first, but if we scout it ahead of time and adjust the entry angle.”
She overlaid his vector in green and watched the numbers update.
“There. That brings it well within tolerance.”
Cormus grinned. “You make it look easy.”
She laughed. “Years of worrying about worst case scenarios.”
“I like that,” he said. “Most navigators I have flown with either plan everything to death or throw the chart out entirely.”
“And you?”
“I like knowing where the edges are,” Cormus said. “So I can decide when to get close to them.”
Lindsy’s smile softened. “That is a good way to put it.”
He took another bite of his burger, then glanced back at the chart.
“These routes of yours are impressive. They are not obvious. Where did you dig them up?”
“Years of work,” Lindsy said. “Some from validation contracts, some from captains who trusted me with paths they did not want advertised. I have always liked the quieter routes. The ones that still exist because everyone stopped looking for them.”
Cormus nodded thoughtfully.
“Flying is the same. Most people chase the clean lanes. The ship feels different when you take the ones that are a little forgotten.”
“Keth-Vael teaches that,” she said. “Observe the flow. Do not fight it. I practice every afternoon. It keeps me from forcing answers when they are not ready.”
Cormus lifted his root beer.
“To not forcing answers.”
She lifted her tea.
“And to listening when something is trying to tell you the truth.”
They clinked glass and ceramic gently.
Cormus leaned back slightly, studying her with easy curiosity.
“You have a good laugh. Makes the ship feel less like metal and more like somewhere people actually belong.”
Her cheeks warmed just a touch, but she met his gaze.
“Thank you. You make flying sound less like showing off and more like partnership.”
“That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my piloting.”
A comfortable pause settled between them. Not awkward. Just unhurried.
Outside the viewport, New Ferenginar continued its slow turn.
Inside the mess hall, two parts of the Dutchman’s future sat over a late afternoon meal, learning how naturally their instincts aligned, and quietly realizing that this ship might already be starting to feel like home.
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