Formal Charges
Posted on 2025, Sun Oct 19th, @ 1:00am by Vice Admiral Jack Reacher Jr & Captain Kate Reacher & Commander Jack Riley Jr & Lieutenant Daven Voss & Lieutenant JG Eska
Edited on on 2025, Thu Oct 30th, @ 11:34pm
4,114 words; about a 21 minute read
Mission:
Episode 2: Pillars of the Theater - USS Vigilance, Star Base 113
Location: SB 113
Timeline: Day 8
Riley took a bite of his grilled Tarkalian Pheasant Bites and followed it up with a big swig from his pint of lager.
"So, Lt, you're a joined Trill...with 2 previous hosts? Is that right?" Riley asked as the two sat across from each other in a booth along the back wall.
Zark was a typical Ferengi who ran a typical bar and Grill. The prices were decent, if you knew what to buy, and it was always a fun but relaxed atmosphere.
Daven sat across from Commander Riley, nursing what the Ferengi proprietor had assured him was "genuine Earth whiskey" but tasted suspiciously like something synthesized in a replicator approximately twenty minutes ago. He'd ordered it partly because he needed something after the chaos of the conference, and partly because Miran's memories suggested alcohol sometimes made small talk easier to tolerate.
Small talk. The universe's most inefficient form of communication.
"That's correct, sir," Daven replied, setting down his glass with deliberate precision. "Two previous hosts. Miran Voss—diplomat, served from 2275 to 2341. Telak Voss—engineer, 2341 to 2396. Then me, the accidental addition to the family line as of 2396."
"The Commission selected someone else to receive the Voss symbiont. Nira Koreth. She'd trained her entire life to join. Had the profile, the psychological preparation, and the full endorsement of the evaluation committees. Everything by the book."
His brown eyes were fixed on his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the varied lighting of the bar. "Then Telak died in a warp core accident. Wrong place, wrong time, and suddenly the symbiont needed an emergency host within minutes or it would die. I happened to be at the medical facility. Compatible physiology. Strong enough mental discipline to handle the integration shock. So they joined us."
"The Commission still considers me an 'irregular host,'" Daven continued, his tone carrying an edge that surprised even him. "They monitor my integration progress like I'm a laboratory experiment that might contaminate their precious cultural traditions. Annual evaluations. Quarterly reports. Constant scrutiny about whether I'm 'worthy' of carrying the Voss symbiont."
Riley had listened closely to the young man. He had known a few Trill officers throughout his career, but it sounded like this Daven had a unique path in life, even for his own people. Having someone like that who was a keen analyst on the staff would help, at least in the short term, while the 2 dozen or so other members of the Theatre staff reported for duty.
"Well, that's a new one. Sounds like a lot for a young man to handle, especially early on in your career. Do you control the memories with ease yet, or do you still get the floods from time to time?" Riley asked, hoping he wasn't too deeply. But he recalled a few Trill he had known over the years had mentioned how, during the first several years after joining, they would sometimes receive 'floods' of memories, usually after a sensory-stimulating event. An event like the one they had just been through.
Riley's question was direct—the kind that required more than deflection but didn't necessarily demand full disclosure of just how complicated his integration actually was.
"The floods are... manageable," Daven replied carefully, his tone measured in a way that Miran's diplomatic training made almost automatic. "They were worse in the first year after joining. Sensory triggers would bring up entire cascades of memory—smells, sounds, specific visual patterns that one of my previous hosts associated with significant events."
He took another sip of his dubious whiskey, using the pause to decide how much to reveal. "Miran's memories are easier to integrate. Diplomatic negotiations, cultural observations, interpersonal dynamics—those translate relatively smoothly because they're cognitive rather than visceral. I can access her experience analyzing political situations without losing track of which consciousness is processing the analysis."
When I'm not stressed or dealing with high-stakes conferences where Admirals punch people. He thought bitterly.
"Telak's memories are more challenging," Daven continued, his analytical precision serving as armor against deeper vulnerability. "Engineering failures, catastrophic system malfunctions, the physical sensations associated with technical crises—those are harder to compartmentalize. They're experiential in ways that override conscious control sometimes."
Although Daven was hesitant to disclose it, there were moments when he could remember with perfect clarity the moment the warp core breach alarm sounded, and Telak knew with absolute certainty that no matter what he did, he was going to die, and the symbiont needed a host immediately or everything would die with him.
He met Riley's gaze with practiced composure. "The Academy helped develop coping mechanisms. Grounding techniques. Ways to differentiate between my memories and theirs. The Symbiosis Commission provided minimal guidance—mostly just monitoring to ensure I wasn't psychologically deteriorating in ways that might reflect poorly on their emergency protocols."
"The real challenge isn't the memory floods themselves," Daven added, redirecting slightly. "It's learning when to trust those memories versus when to question them. Miran operated in a different political landscape decades ago. Telak's engineering experience predates current technology. Knowing when their expertise applies and when it's outdated—that's the harder integration work."
Reacher stepped into the bustling cafeteria alongside Kate, who wore her new Captain's insignia with pride after having received the promotion during the morning meeting. The excitement from her achievement still radiated from her, a contagious energy that filled the air around them.
As they made their way to the lunch line, Reacher couldn't help but steal glances at her, admiring how the weight of responsibility seemed to suit her. However, there was a nagging thought at the back of his mind—he hadn’t yet shared the incident of taking down the envoy guard. The memory of that tense confrontation lingered, but he resolved to keep it to himself for now. It was a story he planned to tell her later, in the comfort of their home, where they could discuss it without the prying eyes of colleagues. For now, he wanted her to enjoy her moment of triumph, unburdened by the complications of their world.
"Hey, Riley, Voss, how's it going?" Reacher asked.
Daven looked up from his plate of Andorian tuber fries—which he'd been methodically reorganizing rather than eating—as Vice Admiral Reacher approached with a newly-promoted Captain he didn't recognize. His hand moved reflexively to his temple spots before he caught himself and stood at attention.
"Admiral," Daven replied with crisp professionalism, his voice carrying appropriate military courtesy despite his internal monologue screaming several less respectful observations. "Sir."
He offered a respectful nod to the Captain beside Reacher, noting the fresh insignia with the kind of analytical precision that came naturally. "Congratulations on your promotion, Ma'am."
Daven remained standing at attention, every ounce of Academy training and Miran's diplomatic discipline keeping his expression professionally neutral. His brown eyes met Reacher's with the kind of steady respect appropriate for a Lieutenant addressing a flag officer—nothing in his posture or tone suggesting the simmering frustration beneath.
"Things are going well, sir," Daven replied with measured composure. "Commander Riley and I were just discussing integration processes and career development over what Zark assures us is genuine food."
His hand gestured slightly toward the booth where they'd been sitting, the movement precise and controlled. "We successfully concluded the follow-up discussions with the Zytchin delegation after you departed. All questions regarding the intelligence assessment were addressed. Coordination protocols were established for information sharing going forward."
No thanks to you abandoning the conference mid-negotiation, Daven wanted to say aloud, but he was too professional to mention that to a Vice Admiral in a public cafeteria.
Riley, for his part, continued eating and didn't stand. They were off duty in a private establishment; there was no need for formality, so he simply turned to face Jack and Kate. "Boss, ma'am," he nodded curtly.
"Would you like to join us?" Riley smiled, knowing the turmoil that would quickly infest the LT's mind if the Admiral and his wife accepted the offer. Riley wasn't doing it to torture the young Intel officers; the opposite, in fact, he wanted to get him comfortable working around officers more senior than him. If he were as smart as Riley thought he was, Voss would be hanging out with officers a few grades above him and a few IQ points lower than him in a lot of cases. Even though he was an officer, he had to be comfortable being just a person off duty. Some of the most incisive and astute conclusions Riley had ever made had been made while he was half drunk in a bar, just hanging out with his seniors.
Kate offered a warm smile, her expression softening the formal atmosphere that had briefly overtaken the table. The young Lieutenant’s posture and tone hadn’t gone unnoticed, nor had Riley’s deliberate ease. She could see what the Commander was doing—helping the junior officer breathe around the brass. It was something she herself appreciated when she’d been in his shoes.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Kate replied, her voice calm and confident but not unkind. “It’s been quite the morning. I don’t think it’s fully sunk in yet.” She set her tray down on the table as she spoke, the faintest gleam of amusement touching her eyes as she glanced toward Jack. “He still insists it will hit me when the paperwork starts.”
She slid into the open seat opposite Riley, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. “Mind if we join you? I’d rather talk about anything but reports for an hour.”
Jack followed suit, a small, knowing smile forming as he took the seat beside her. “You’ll get no argument from me,” he said lightly, setting down his own plate. His tone was casual, but his gaze swept briefly across the table—first to Riley, then to Daven. “And for what it’s worth, good work with the Zytchin delegation. That report landed on my desk this morning. It’s not often I see clean follow-through on first contact protocols that quickly.”
He picked up his fork, spinning it between his fingers idly before taking a bite. “So,” he continued after a moment, looking between the two officers, “how are you both settling into the tempo around here? I know the integration process with the new personnel’s been... lively.”
Kate leaned slightly toward Riley, tone dropping just enough to suggest a more relaxed conversational pace. “And more importantly, what’s actually edible in this place? Because I swear this replicated chicken has trust issues.”
She chuckled softly, the tension around the table easing a little as her tone turned conversational and human rather than hierarchical.
"The cheese bread is good. Pheasant Bites are decent. I think they got gagh on special today...but, yeah, settling in fine, sir. Busy, but that's to be expected. Most of the rest of the staff will show up in the next week or so. Should settle down then." He waved over a waiter for Kate and took another bite.
"Please, join us," Daven said, though the invitation was somewhat redundant given they'd already sat down. His hand moved to his glass of questionable whiskey, then thought better of it and reached for water instead. More professional. Less likely to suggest he was drinking to cope with the day's chaos.
He took a deliberate sip of water, using the pause to recalibrate his approach. These were his superior officers attempting casual conversation. He should probably try to be less rigidly professional, even if his natural inclination was to maintain formal distance.
"The Zytchin delegation was... complex," Daven offered, attempting something closer to conversational analysis rather than formal briefing. "Their aggression toward Federation proposals wasn't really about trust or historical grievances, despite how it was presented. My assessment—informed by Miran's diplomatic pattern recognition—is that they're operating from a position of fear."
His analytical nature engaged more fully, his tone shifting to the kind of focused precision he used when breaking down intelligence patterns. "They already knew something was wrong before we arrived. Their own intelligence services detected enough anomalies to make them nervous—unusual ship movements, sensor readings that didn't match normal traffic patterns, communication intercepts that suggested external interest in their world."
He paused, his analytical mind catching on something that had been bothering him since reviewing the threat patterns. "What concerns me more is how precisely these external actors know Zytchin's defensive capabilities and sensor gaps. The approach vectors we identified exploit weaknesses that shouldn't be publicly documented."
His fingers tapped the table unconsciously. "Which suggests either exceptional reconnaissance or an internal source providing information. Possibly both."
Daven's brown eyes held steady on the Admiral. "I want to see just how cooperative the Zytchin actually are when I request access to their internal security analytics and communication logs. If they're genuinely willing to share intelligence as partners, they'll provide data on their own defensive systems and any unusual access patterns. If they deflect or compartmentalize that information, it tells me they either don't trust us yet or they're protecting something."
"The real test of this partnership isn't whether they accept our threat assessment," he continued with analytical precision. "It's whether they'll let us see their internal vulnerabilities. Because someone is feeding information to these external actors. Until we identify that leak—whether it's compromised communications, infiltrated personnel, or something else—we're treating symptoms rather than addressing the actual security breach."
He leaned back slightly. "So yes, cautiously optimistic about cooperation. But I need to verify whether that cooperation extends to the uncomfortable reality that they likely have an internal security problem enabling these external threats."
Riley sighed...apparently, they were going to talk 'shop talk' while off duty. "As a precaution, in case these bad actors try something, I've reassigned a squadron from TF17 here for defense. And I've also repositioned some of our larger cruisers onto missions that will have them a day or 2 away at most...just in case.
Reacher leaned back slightly in his chair, letting out a quiet breath that could have passed for a chuckle. “So much for a light lunch,” he said, glancing toward Kate with a faint grin. “Didn’t take long for shop talk to find us.”
Kate smirked. “You should be used to that by now.” She turned her attention to Daven and Riley, her tone still warm. “But honestly, Lieutenant, that’s solid work. The Zytchin situation isn’t simple, and you’re right to be concerned. Fear makes people unpredictable—and unpredictable partners make for messy alliances.”
Jack nodded in agreement, resting his forearms on the table. “You’re both handling it the right way. Riley’s adjustments to ship positioning are exactly what I’d have done. Caution without overreach.” He picked up his fork, idly prodding at his food. “Still, if these external actors know their systems that well, we need to assume someone’s talking—or someone’s listening where they shouldn’t be.”
He paused, lowering his voice slightly. “I want a full audit of what we’ve shared with them—communications, tactical data, mission logs. Quietly. If the breach ties back to us, I’d rather we find it before anyone else does.”
Kate gave him a knowing look, recognizing that particular tone of his—the one that meant he wasn’t going to let it go until it was solved. She reached for her drink, smiling faintly. “In other words, start planning tonight, but don’t actually work on it until tomorrow. Translation: the Admiral is pretending to let people rest.”
Jack smirked. “I’m merciful like that.”
She laughed softly, setting down her glass. “And since we’re already talking about new responsibilities… I suppose it’s as good a time as any to admit I’ve somehow been promoted again.” Her expression shifted from teasing to thoughtful as she continued. “Starfleet Command decided it was time to create a Medical and Counseling Division focused on preparing cadets for the psychological and ethical challenges they’ll face in the field. I’ll still serve as Chief Counselor of the station, but now I’ll also be overseeing how the Academy trains its next generation—ensuring every officer who graduates leaves not only skilled, but resilient.”
Jack gave a proud half-smile. “Translation: she’s about to make a lot of very young officers rethink every life choice they’ve made.”
Kate shot him a mock glare, though her eyes sparkled with humor. “Maybe. But if it keeps them from breaking when the galaxy starts throwing punches, I’ll consider it a success.”
“Just don’t let Command bury you in committees,” Jack said, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “I’d hate to lose my dinner partner to bureaucracy.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Kate replied smoothly. “If I start going mad from paperwork, I’ll just come find you during one of your ‘light lunches’ that turn into intelligence briefings.”
That earned a quiet laugh from Riley, and even Daven’s posture loosened a little.
Jack gestured to the tray in front of him. “Alright, before this turns into another strategic meeting—someone tell me the pheasant bites are actually good. Because I’m starting to think the cheese bread is the only safe option.”
Kate chuckled. “They’re better than they look. Just don’t ask what the sauce is. It’s safer that way.”
“Duly noted,” Jack said, finally sounding relaxed. “Alright, gentlemen. Let’s eat something before we turn lunch into another mission briefing.”
Kate grinned. “And before my new ‘Division Head’ title makes me responsible for everyone’s diet choices, too.”
Eska had arrived at the Bar and Grill. She was nervous with everyone around her, but this was something she needed to do, as she was trying to get over her social awkwardness. She had gotten her tray of chicken parmesan. As she walked, she failed to notice the Ranking Officers of the station. Before she even realized what was happening, she got bumped into, and her tray of food ended up on the Captain. And Eska is flat on her back.
"Holy shit, are you ok?" Riley lept out of his seat to help the women back up, while Kate held a frozen position with her hands up in the are, leaning forward slightly, wondering what was on her back.
Kate froze mid-reach, her brain catching up with the warm, sticky realization that something very saucy was now decorating her uniform jacket. A slow, resigned sigh escaped her lips as she turned slightly, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of her shoulder.
“...Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” she muttered, her tone equal parts disbelief and dark amusement.
Reacher, already half-risen from his seat, took one look at her back—and lost it. A low laugh escaped before he could even attempt to hide it. “Oh, it’s exactly what you think it is,” he said, trying and failing to sound sympathetic. “Chicken parmesan, by the look of it. Guess you’re really embracing command red now.”
Kate slowly turned her head toward him, eyes narrowed but a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Jack Reacher… I swear, if you make one more joke, I’m going to—”
“—‘Sauce’ you for insubordination?” he finished, barely containing his laughter. “C’mon, you walked into that one.”
She pressed her lips together, suppressing a laugh of her own as she tried to wipe some of the marinara off her shoulder with a napkin. “This uniform was replicated this morning,” she said, tone mock-serious. “First day as Captain, and I’m already wearing lunch.”
Jack leaned closer, pretending to inspect the damage like a crime scene investigator. “Technically, the lunch is wearing you.”
Kate gave him a flat look. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Can you blame me?” he said with a grin. “I don’t get to see you flustered very often. It’s kind of adorable.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back a small laugh. “You’re lucky we’re in public, Admiral.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he replied smoothly.
Kate took another breath, finally setting the napkin aside and straightening her shoulders. “Well,” she said dryly, “that’s one way to meet the new staff. I suppose it’ll make the next counseling session easier.”
Jack chuckled. “You’re going to be a legend in the mess hall by the end of the day.”
“Perfect,” she replied, smirking slightly. “Just what every newly promoted Captain dreams of—being remembered as the one with the marinara incident.”
Jack gave her that familiar look—the one that was equal parts admiration and mischief. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “you wear it well.”
Kate groaned, rubbing her forehead. “Remind me again why I married you?”
He smiled. “Because I make you laugh when you want to kill me.”
Kate laughed softly, shaking her head. “You have a point there… now be a gentleman and hand me another napkin before I start throwing breadsticks at admirals.”
Jack grabbed a few napkins and handed them over, still grinning. “Yes, ma’am. Though I’d pay to see that.”
Kate sighed but smiled despite herself. “You probably would.”
Eska stood there in pure horror; she didn't know what to do. She was going to apologize, but was cut off by the Admiral. "Sir, I am sorry." She said slowly and quietly.
Kate’s expression softened immediately at the cadet’s trembling voice. The humor in her posture melted away, replaced by quiet reassurance.
“Hey,” she said gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face and stepping closer, “it’s alright. Accidents happen. I’ve seen worse in the mess hall during midshipman week.”
Jack gave a light chuckle, lowering his tone to something meant to ease the tension rather than add to it. “You should’ve seen my first week out of the Academy — dropped a tray right on an Admiral’s boots. Took me three months to live that down.”
Kate shot him a sidelong glance, her voice firm but kind. “You’re not in trouble, Lt. Though maybe next time… look both ways before deploying chicken parmesan ordinance.”
That earned a faint smile from Jack. “Consider it a lesson in situational awareness.”
Kate extended a napkin toward Eska, her tone softening again. “Let’s get you another plate. You hungry?”
The message he was dreading came through. As the senior person present on the Theater staff at the moment, Riley was copied in on an official notification that Reacher was under investigation for assault. It was a preliminary investigation, and Reacher would remain in his position and on duty. The 2 Captains who would outrank him, one destined to be Reacher's Chief of Staff, and the other, the senior SCE Advisor, were still en route from the Alpha Quadrant.
Riley had never been in a situation like this before in his career. He was left holding the bag in a situation where he might have to relieve a 3 pip Admiral of duty as a lowly Commander. Instinctively, he typed off a quick message, attached the investigation notification to it, it sent the message to the person who got him the job.
Jacob Hawks received the message, nearly 35 light-years away, just as he was in his ready room, reading his padd. He called Riley via subspace within 45 seconds.
Riley's comm badge chirped, and he was informed of the call and had the tech route it through to his terminal.
"He fucking did what?" Hawks said as the comment link was established, dispensing with the usual niceties.
"Punched out one of the envoy's guards. Then, by some miracle, we finished the deal like 20 minutes later. Damndest thing I ever saw, bud. No joke. Without you here, I'm the senior person on the staff. It's me, a half dozen Lt Cmdrs, and about 50 Lt's that are organizing two dozen sectors and nearly 400 ships, boss. I could use a hand here, to be honest."
"Fuck." Jake said. He had just sent out the last of the training orders for the exercises he was running with TF 18. His XO was a strong leader and could easily finish the training scenarios without him.
"Yeah, I'll grab a runabout and head back. I'll be there by tomorrow afternoon...did the guard hit him back at all?" Hawks digressed.
"Couldn't, Jack laid him out cold." Riley chuckled.
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