It was a busy morning for Avery and his team. Before he knew it, morning had turned to afternoon and he was getting hungry. He and Mei-Lin had made significant progress in maintaining and upgrading ship’s systems. The trust and confidence between them had grown in the last few days and Morgan was pleased in that regard.
He decided to take a break after climbing in and out of Jefferies tubes for several straight hours. Morgan made his way to the lounge to grab some lunch. One of favorite dishes was hasperat, accompanied by Acamarian parthas. The ship’s replicator made a fair approximation. The first bite made him smile despite knowing it was not the genuine article. Avery watched several people wander in and out, mostly paid labor, and not permanent crew members.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a tall, blond man sitting alone at a table. He thought for a few moments trying to figure out who it was. He looked familiar, but just couldn’t place him. It suddenly hit him as the man crossed his leg over the other and lifted his glass to take a drink. ‘Shit, you have to be kidding me… could it really be him?’
The mystery man was a former student from over six years ago. Of all the places in the universe, how did he end up here?
Avery set down his napkin on the table, rose from his seat and walked over.
“Mr. Meral? Ragnar? I can’t believe it,” Morgan said in surprise with his arms crossed in front of him.
Ragnar stilled the moment he heard the familiar voice, the glass hovering near his mouth for half a second before he lowered it and turned. His eyes widened before he could stop them. “Professor Morgan,” he said automatically, and then frowned, because the reality of the man standing in front of him took a moment to line itself up with the location, the arse-end of nowhere in the Gamma Quadrant, and the fact that Professor Avery Morgan, former Head of Engineering at Starfleet Academy, was standing there wearing something decisively not Starfleet issue. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?” The words came out before he could dress them up into anything more polite, blunt in the way an ice pick was blunt.
Morgan stifled a laugh and said, “I could ask the same of you. As for myself, I just needed a change of scenery. Mostly. I just wanted to contribute my knowledge and skill in some useful way. Word spread of Sykes’ enterprise here on Dutchman and I jumped at the chance. You’re looking at your Chief Engineer.” Avery changed the subject. “What was it the other students used to call you? Rags, wasn’t it? Welcome to our band of privateers, Rags.”
Ragnar tensed at the nickname, a slight grimace touching his face as if he had tasted something bitter. He had not heard it in years and had never liked it in the first place. “Ragnar or Meral,” he said. “Either works.” He gave a small nod as he watched him. Change of scenery...so what had changed for the Professor? “Thanks. It’s...well, it seems like a steady ship.”
“Ragnar it is, then. As far the ship goes. so far, so good. We’re in the process of upgrading some computer and engine components. Be underway soon enough,” Morgan said as he extended a hand to greet his new shipmate. “Welcome aboard, Ragnar. So what’s your position aboard ship?”
Ragnar took the hand, half on instinct and half because it was so surreal to see the other man here. "Combat Lead, whatever that is meant to be. I'm...just the guy with the gun," he said with a small nod, holding his eyes. "Well at least I know the warp core won't explode on us."
“Brand spanking new warp drive for all intents and purposes. No blow-ups on my watch. Do me a favor, Ragnar. It’s not a moniker I really like, but you can call me ‘Chief’. You can drop ‘Professor’. We’re not in class anymore. Besides. I’ve gotten used to it since I’ve been aboard. Let’s get a drink when we’re both free. Good to see you, Ragnar.”
Ragnar gave a small nod, releasing Morgan’s hand. “Chief, then,” he said, testing the word before it settled. It suited him better here somehow, less lecture hall and more grease under the nails. “And I’ll hold you to the no blow-ups thing. Ships trying to kill me gets old fast.” He glanced at him for a moment, still measuring the strangeness of finding an old Academy professor this far out. “A drink works,” he added. “Wouldn’t mind hearing how you ended up trading classrooms for privateers.”
“I’d be happy to discuss that with you. I’ll let you get back to your drink; I won’t invade your privacy any longer. I’ll see you around, Ragnar,” Morgan said. He returned to his seat to finish his lunch.
Ragnar watched him go, watched him return to his lunch as if the whole thing had been strange but simple. His fingers stayed around the glass for a moment, tighter than they needed to be, the cool surface pressing into his palm while his shoulders held too still beneath his jacket.
For a moment, with Morgan’s back turned and the old title still sitting somewhere in his mouth, Ragnar felt nineteen again. Too old to be as lost as he had been, too rough around the edges, sitting with his jaw locked and his boots planted flat because if he moved wrong, spoke wrong, reacted too quickly, someone would notice exactly where he did not fit.
He let out a slow breath through his nose and looked down at the food he had barely touched. He was not hungry anymore. So he stood, the chair shifting back with a quiet scrape, and carried his glass to the recycler. Then he left the lounge without looking back.