Building a Cover

Posted on 2026, Thu Feb 26th, @ 12:57am by Captain Samuel Woolheater & Lieutenant Daven Voss

2,248 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Episode 2 "Demons of the Past, Friends of the Future" - USS Halo
Location: Starbase 113 - Deck 180 - Private Security Debrief Room
Timeline: Stardate 240301.3

Lieutenant Daven Voss sat across from Captain Woolheater in one of the secure briefing rooms, a stack of PADDs and data isolinear chips arranged with precise organization on the table between them. He'd spent the past seventy-two hours building what he considered one of the most comprehensive cover identities he'd ever created, and the professional pride was evident in how he'd structured the briefing materials.

"Captain Woolheater," Daven began, sliding the primary PADD across the table. "Your new identity. Elias Mercer. Interstellar Infrastructure Stabilization Specialist—which is essentially a reconstruction engineer. Someone who helps rebuild city and planetary infrastructure after disasters or conflicts."

Lt. Voss pulled up a holographic display showing the cover background in layered detail. "Your employer is the Korvat Reconstruction Consortium—a neutral organization that restores power grids, shield grids, and environmental systems on recovering worlds. They're legitimate, they're established, and most importantly, they work in politically sensitive areas without triggering sovereignty concerns."

Lt. Voss expanded the holographic data to show Mercer's employment history. "You've worked on seven different worlds post-supernova. Each assignment is fully documented—contracts, technical assessments, local government endorsements. The Tal Shiar will verify this background. They'll find exactly what they expect to find."

Samuel was impressed. The man knew what he was doing and the cover was good. Voss had kindly mapped it all out and the cover played to Woolheater's strengths. His default, his natural behavior would echo the cover. The details he could memorize but the core of his identity was...himself.

"Well hell...this is solid work. I know the KRC...I mean, I know their work. The good and the bad."

Sam continued to review the PADD and the on-screen data. The isolinear chips were arranged precisely. Sam could see that they had been deliberately aligned. Not just dropped on the table. That told him a lot about the man across from him.

Daven noted Sam's observation with the kind of analytical satisfaction that came from having his work recognized by someone who understood operational tradecraft. The careful arrangement of the isolinear chips hadn't been accidental—organization helped him think, helped him ensure nothing was overlooked.

"The alignment isn't obsessive-compulsive disorder, if that's what you're wondering," Daven said with dry humor. "It's systematic verification. Each chip contains a different layer of your background—employment, education, financial records, personal correspondence. Arranging them in sequence helps me ensure the timeline is coherent and cross-referenced properly."

"I appreciate the details and the attention to the details. I can appreciate the effort done in just 72 hours. The KRC are bleeding edge as far as engineering. I could use an edge up in case they ask me to work it out in my head. Tal Shiar can be...surprising."

He set the PADD down and looked at Voss.

Lt. Voss gestured to the technical specifications displayed. "When the Tal Shiar tests you—and they will test you—your responses need to feel instinctive, not rehearsed. That's why I mapped the cover to your existing knowledge base. You can talk about power grid restoration or shield generator installation with genuine understanding because you've dealt with similar systems in military contexts. The terminology shifts slightly for civilian applications, but the underlying principles remain consistent."

"The Tal Shiar will create scenarios designed to make you break character." Lt. Voss continued. "They'll ask unexpected questions. They'll reference details and expect immediate, natural responses. The only way to survive that scrutiny is if Elias Mercer becomes as real to you as Samuel Woolheater."

Because if your cover gets blown and the Tal Shiar kills you. . . Daven thought to himself. . . .that's going to look absolutely terrible on my next Officer Evaluation Report. 'Lieutenant Voss: Built comprehensive cover identity. Asset deceased within first week of deployment..

Sam nodded in agreement, "With what you've built here, I can fall back on what I know pretty easily. I'll spend some time getting to know the details."

Sam set the PADD down on the table, the tattoos on his right arm peeked through as the sleeve of his uniform pulled and then relaxed with the motion.

"I can tell that you spent time and made an investment in building this cover. And I want to thank you for this. I know that we are both thrust into working together. Not having any, or much, time to get to know one another. And I know that we also don't have that luxury to get to know one another as we probably should." Sam paused a moment and then sat forward a nudge.

A beat.

“Elias Mercer doesn’t scan rooms like a Marine. He doesn’t track exits. He doesn’t default to threat posture.” His eyes lifted to Voss. “So tell me what Mercer’s blind spots are.”

Not confrontational. Just focused. “What does he miss that Sam wouldn’t?” That question hung in the room for a moment.

“And if something goes wrong,” Sam continued calmly, “I need to know the abort signal. One phrase. One trigger. No debate.”

"Elias Mercer's blind spots," Lt. Voss repeated to himself as his fingers moved through the interface with practiced efficiency. "What he does instead: He evaluates infrastructure. When Mercer walks into a building, he's looking at power conduits, structural integrity, environmental system access points. Not because he's planning infiltration routes—because that's literally his job. He notices when systems are maintained poorly or when emergency protocols aren't up to standard."

He leaned back slightly. “If the Tal Shiar starts probing for fracture points, I won’t hesitate. But I won’t freelance either.” Sam considered the consequences. "I've no plans to be...dissected...literally...under the 'care' of the Tal Shirar doctors or intel agents."

Lt. Voss looked back up from the display to the Marine. "The Tal Shiar will be watching for exactly that kind of slip—the moment when your behavioral patterns don't match your supposed profession. Because that's how trained intelligence officers identify other trained intelligence officers. Behavioral patterns that don't align with cover identity." He added for clarity.

Sam gave a faint nod toward the aligned isolinear chips. “You built this carefully. Help me so that I’m not going to be the variable that cracks it.”

Sam wanted to ask the man for something tangible that he could hang on to when and if things got dark. Something that would mean trust was present and active. But, he held that question back.

"In terms of an abortion signal, if you need emergency extraction, the phrase is: 'I need to contact the Consortium about contract specifications.'" Lt. Voss explained. "Doesn't matter what context you use it in—if those specific words reach any Starfleet communication channel, it triggers immediate extraction protocols."

He pulled up the extraction procedures on a separate display. "Once you send that signal, you have approximately twelve to eighteen minutes before assets can reach your position, so you better move fast or. . .at least faster than the Tal Shiar." Lt. Voss said.

Woolheater smirked. He liked the no bullshit approach and appreciated when someone didn't sugarcoat reality. "I'll be sure not to pull the panic button then. I could use some of your...advice? Craft? on a few things that I can work on before deployment?"

"Advice?" Lt. Voss replied, his tone carrying both professional guidance and uncomfortable honesty. "Yes. And you're not going to like it."

He stood, organizing the isolinear chips into their carrying case with systematic precision. "You need to make yourself vulnerable, Captain. That's the hardest part of deep cover work—especially for someone with your background. Marines are trained to project strength, maintain defensive awareness, control situations. Elias Mercer doesn't do any of that."

Lt. Voss met Sam's gaze directly. "Mercer is competent at his job, but he's not a warrior. He's not trained to handle threats."

Samuel rose from the chair with deliberate calm. Not slow. Not hurried. Because he was starting a new mindset and transitions mattered. He reached for the civilian jacket and draped it over his forearm. The fabric was lighter than uniform issue. No weight of rank in it. No authority stitched into the seams.

Just plausibility.

He rolled his shoulders out of habit. The subtle square that came from years of entering rooms as the one responsible for what happened next.

He caught it. Rolling the shoulders was too deliberate. Marines commanded the space and a civilian contractor was hired into it. He tried again.

Samuel let tension drain from his frame. One shoulder lowered slightly. His stance narrowed. He shifted weight to one hip instead of planting like he was bracing for contact.

Different balance and a different silhouette. His eyes moved once across the room. Door. Panel access. Vent dimensions.

He stopped himself. That was wrong too.

The Trill saw the shoulder roll—too deliberate, too controlled. Saw Sam catch himself and adjust. Then saw the analytical scan of the room that followed. And there it is. The instinct that's going to get him killed if he can't suppress it.

"Stop," Lt. Voss said quickly but firmly. "Right there. What you just did—the visual sweep of door, panel access, vent dimensions. That's exactly what I'm talking about."

Lt. Voss gestured around the briefing room they were in. "When you walked in here earlier, what did Mercer notice? Not exit routes or defensive positions. He noticed that this facility uses older EPS relay systems that civilian contractors stopped installing five years ago. He noticed the ventilation is adequate but not optimal for sustained occupancy. He noticed the holoprojector is commercial-grade rather than military specification."

Exhale. Elias Mercer would have noticed lighting efficiency before exits. He would have clocked environmental inconsistencies before defensive angles.

Samuel redirected his focus toward the wall display. Power flow. Structural stress markers. System diagnostics. Things that broke instead of bled. He stepped forward, then shortened the stride mid-motion. Less ground taken. More civilian pace.

His sleeve shifted as he flexed his hand. Ink traced along his forearm. Clean lines. History. Mercer does not have service ink.

Sam's body had tats on his arms, chest, torso and legs.

Lt. Voss' attention immediately fixed on the exposed ink before Sam covered it with the jacket. His expression shifted to professional concern edged with analytical precision. He gestured to Sam's forearm where the ink had been visible. "Elias Mercer doesn't have service ink. He's never served in any military organization. Those tattoos—the clean lines, the placement, the style—they scream military background to anyone who knows what to look for. And the Tal Shiar absolutely know what to look for."

He highlighted the dermal cover procedure specifications. "You need to stop by Medical before you leave today and get a dermal regeneration treatment. It's a temporary biofilm that masks tattoos at the skin level—invisible to visual inspection and undetectable by most standard scanning technologies. Lasts approximately six to eight weeks before requiring reapplication."

"The Tal Shiar use biometric scanning as standard verification protocol," Lt. Voss continued, his analytical focus sharpening. "They'll scan you ostensibly for security clearance purposes."

Samuel slid the jacket over it without ceremony. Not hiding his ink. Just reframing it. He ran a hand through his hair and let it settle less precisely. Military neat softened into practical.

He glanced at his reflection in the dark LCARS panel.

Not softer. Redirected.

Sam repeated the observations that Voss was giving him. “Mercer evaluates stress fractures,” he said evenly. “Load bearing failure. Fault tolerance. Redundancy gaps.” A pause. “He does not calculate fields of fire.”

His jaw tightened briefly as he suppressed the instinct to map angles automatically.

“His blind spot is trust,” Samuel continued. “He assumes infrastructure fails from neglect or incompetence. Not deliberate sabotage.”

He picked up the PADD again. Read it again. Voss had anticipated the need for notes, prompts and cues. This time he held it loosely. Not a briefing tool. A working instrument.

“If they test me, I lead with curiosity. Ask for schematics. Request site access. Offer optimization recommendations.”

His gaze lifted to Voss.

"Exactly," The Trill said with precise approval. "Curiosity, not suspicion. Technical detail as deflection, not evasion. That's how Mercer operates."

He gestured to the PADD Sam was holding. "And you're holding it correctly now—working instrument, not tactical briefing tool. That's the kind of physical adjustment that makes the difference under sustained observation." His tone sharpened slightly. "Remember: when you overwhelm with technical terminology, Mercer does it because he's genuinely enthusiastic about infrastructure optimization.

“If they escalate beyond that, I overwhelm with technical detail. Civilians can disappear inside terminology. Grid harmonics. Load balancing. Shield lattice resonance.”

A pause.

“And...if it goes wrong, I use the phrase. No hesitation.” A beat. “I do not freelance.”

He slipped one hand into the jacket pocket and let his posture settle into something nonthreatening but grounded. The Marine was still present. Just not forward.

Samuel met Voss’s eyes steadily.

“I will make him real.”

"Good," Lt. Voss replied, his tone carrying both professional respect and analytical certainty. "Because real is what keeps you alive. Not the documentation, not the technical knowledge—your ability to make Elias Mercer feel authentic under sustained scrutiny."

He gestured toward the door. "Medical first. Get those tattoos covered. Then rest—you'll need it. By the time you deploy, Elias Mercer won't be a role you're playing. He'll be a version of yourself you can inhabit instinctively." Lt. Voss said with finality.

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