A quick drink!

Posted on 2026, Tue Feb 24th, @ 2:59am by Commander Jack Riley Jr & Captain Samuel Woolheater & Lieutenant Daven Voss

1,833 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Episode 2 "Demons of the Past, Friends of the Future" - USS Halo
Location: Star Base 113 - Deck 068 – Recreational Hub
Timeline: MD-01

((The Bar, Concert Hall))

Voss and Riley made their way down from the mezzanine and stood in line at the bar on the concourse.

"Whats your poison Lt." Riley asked.

Daven looked at the selection of bottles behind the bar with the kind of analytical focus he usually reserved for threat assessments. After the past few weeks— Commission evaluations, Admiral Reacher's chaotic diplomacy, building cover identities on impossible timelines—he needed something stronger than replicated synthehol.

."Aldebaran whiskey," Daven said to the bartender. "Double. Neat." He took the glass and swirled it slightly, the Aldebaran whiskey catching the light. It was notoriously potent—the kind of drink that put most humanoids flat after two glasses.

One of the few benefits of his particular joining—he could actually drink without immediately embarrassing himself due to the symbionts strong tolerance and ability to process alcohol.

"I'll have a white russian, make it a double." Riley said to Barkeep, who promptly returned with their drinks.

Daven took a long sip, welcoming the burn. "You know what's ironic, Commander? I spent six years at the Academy preparing for operational intelligence work. Maybe eventually running intelligence operations in contested sectors."

He gestured vaguely with his glass. "Instead, I'm a desk analyst building cover identities, compiling threat assessments, you know, the OH-SO-GLAMOURS staff duty work. The Commission loves it—keeps me visible, monitored, and safely away from situations where my 'irregular joining' might cause problems." he said in a frustrated tone.

"Well, wanna head out to frontier with Halo next week then? See if we can get your some operational time and ruffle some Commission father's while we're at it." Riley asked with a smile. He had already prepared orders to have the Lt sent with the flagship to investigate the mysterious disappearance of the vessels out near the edge of their AoR.

Daven paused mid-sip, his brown eyes sharpening with sudden interest as Riley's words registered. The Aldebaran whiskey had loosened his professional filter, but it hadn't dulled his analytical processing.
Wait. Did was he just offered an actual operational assignment? Away from Admiral Reacher's unpredictable chaos?

"Operational time on the frontier," Daven repeated slowly, setting his glass down with deliberate precision. "With the Halo. Actual field work instead of trying to anticipate whatever unhinged tactical decision Admiral Reacher is going to make next.?"

"I'd jump all over an opportunity to investigate actual intelligence problems with some kind of logical operational framework than trying to predict which foreign dignitary the Admiral might assault next."
He picked up his glass again, his tone carrying dry humor. "Plus, the Symbiosis Commission will absolutely hate it. They prefer me in controlled environments where my 'irregular joining' can be monitored." He said ruefully.

"I'll file the paperwork tomorrow morning then Lt. The current chief intel officer on a the Halo is a full el tee like you, so there shouldn't be any issues there, as I recall he is a field operative by trade, so you might want to trust his input on that front. But yeah, Ill make sure the orders just slot you in as the senior officer in that department for this mission." Riley nodded at his young compatriots and offered his glass in a toast.

((Middle of the bar))

Samuel was out getting a few drinks with friends and watching a game of Parresis Squares. He had just been promoted and he was buying. He also had one bar of gold pressed latinum bet on the Marine team from Titan in the Sol sector. The bar was busy but not too packed. There was a break in the action and Sam went to get another frosty cold one. That's when he saw Lt. Voss whom he had briefly met earlier. He wasn't sure if he should be seen knowing the man just yet. He was with another officer whom Sam did not recognize. He decided not to approach in case that was a thing.

Daven was mid-sip of his third double Aldebaran whiskey when he spotted Captain Woolheater across the bar, very deliberately not making eye contact. The Marine was clearly trying to blend into the crowd watching the Parresis Squares match, studiously avoiding looking in Daven's direction.

Under normal circumstances, Daven's professional paranoia would have maintained operational security—proper separation between handler and asset, standard tradecraft protocols about not being seen together in public venues.

But the accumulated frustration of being assigned yet another impossible project—create a bulletproof cover identity for someone he'd barely met, on a three-day timeline, while managing regular intelligence assessments—combined with watching that same person now deliberately avoid him was too much.

"CAPTAIN WOOLHEATER!" Daven called out across the bar with sharp clarity, his voice cutting through the ambient noise. The exaggerated wave that followed made several nearby patrons turn to look.

Sam heard Voss' voice loudly carry over the din. He wondered if one of those previous hosts might have been a fan of Klingon opera? He turned, excused himself just as a three-point flatpack was made and parts of the bar erupted into cheering.

The Commander he didn't recognize but he sounded agreeable as Samuel approached.

"Congratulations on the promotion skipper." Riley said as he raised a glass to the Marine Captain as he approached them.

Raising his own whiskey tumbler to the greetings.

"Thanks! Lieutenant Voss, Commander, I'm sorry...you look familiar. I'm still getting up to speed on the senipr staff" Sam said as he extended a handshake. A firm, solid grasp.

He gestured toward Riley with his whiskey glass. "Commander Riley is the Deputy Chief of Staff. Also known as the person who assigns me impossible projects with three-day deadlines while Admiral Reacher creates diplomatic incidents."

"Speaking of projects," Daven continued, his tone carefully neutral given their public setting, "you and I need to schedule time tomorrow to discuss that... documentation work Commander Riley mentioned. I have a compressed timeline to prepare the materials, which means we need to coordinate so I can develop something workable."

He took another sip of his drink, his tone carrying professional confidence without specifics. "Though I should mention—the work I'm going to produce will be exceptional. Comprehensive, verifiable, and appropriately aligned with your background. I'm quite proud of what I'm about to create, even though I haven't technically started yet."

"Riley...Commander Riley DCS," snaps his fingers, "...right. I'll get it. Yeah, I didn't see this coming. Just out yukking it up. This is the place to be it seems."

He took another sip of his drink, his professional pride unmistakable despite the vague phrasing required for operational security. "I should tell you, Captain—by the time I get done, it could be teaching material at the Academy. Comprehensive documentation, fully verifiable background, perfectly cross-referenced across every layer. The kind of tradecraft they'd use as a case study for how legends should be built.. If it wasn't classified. . . .which it will be. But still—this is going to be exceptional work." The Trill said proudly.

Samuel could sense the pride of craftsmanship and he nodded affirmatively. He was looking forward to seeing the profile.

"Let's can the shop talk gentlemen." Riley said quietly and discreetly as he took a sip, implying that the topic of conversation should change immediately. Though no protocols or trade practices had been broken at this point, the public disclosure of info, even tangentially related to an undercover identity was easy enough to avoid.

"But yeah, this place is bumping tonight. The idea for the mass briefing, serves a variety of purposes...gets the crew of the flagship mingling and helps create an esprit de Corps and circling of the wagons in regardless to the charges the boss is facing... so Captain, you're a recon guy and sniper by training right? Seen any action so far?" Jack segwayed to a topics that he knew most Marines enjoyed, thumping their chest and explaining their quals and specialties.

The question from the dark haired Commander was honest and genuine. There was a warmth in him and in his question. Even so, Samuel never really enjoyed talking about this aspect of the job. and Sam didn’t answer immediately.

He rolled the question once in his mind, then took a slow sip before setting the tumbler down.

He nodded once before looking up, “Seen enough to respect it.” His tone wasn’t dramatic. Just steady.

“What a lot of folks get wrong about this job, present company exempted, of course, is that recon’s not about action. It’s about preventing it. Y'know...I just feel...if things go loud, something upstream already failed.”

A faint, almost private half-smile touched his mouth. “Sniping’s even less glamorous. Long hours. Bad weather. Worse coffee.” He let the humor settle, then continued—quieter.

“I’ve operated in places where one bad decision costs more than pride. You learn to measure before you move. You learn to wait. You learn to own the consequences.”

A small shrug. “Not to drag shop talk back into frame, but since you asked Commander. You don’t rise in recon by talking about what you’ve seen.”

His gaze shifted toward Voss. “That’s why intel and Marines work well together. You guys build the picture. Marines move inside it.”

Then back to Riley, relaxed but centered. “Frontier’s just terrain. Fundamentals don’t change.”

He lifted his glass slightly. “Discipline travels."

Sam took a swig, "And there I've gone and spoiled the mood, I thought we're not talking shop over here. Although, I'd love to hear what you do."

Apparently Riley had met one of the quietest professionals.

"You didnt spoil anything skipper. I'm the Theatre J5 for Plans and Policy. Hence, the place where all of your ops orders and operational info comes from." Riley replied.

Samuel let the noise from the Parresis Squares match wash over the bar as Riley finished explaining his role. Three drinks for Voss, but who's counting.

Sam said, “Theatre J5,” he repeated with a nod. “So you’re upstream from the rest of us.”

No edge. Just acknowledgment. “That’s a heavy lift.” He took an easy sip, letting the conversation breathe instead of filling it.

"I've been doing it long enough that it ain't so bad." Riley replied.

Woolheaters eyes shifted briefly to Voss at the mention of Halo and the frontier. Curiosity and appreciation for what was coming. Voss and Riley weren't desk jockey's then. Samuel was not assessing. Just taking measure.

“Frontier’s honest work,” Samuel said simply. “Strips things down to fundamentals.” A faint half-smile. “Hard to hide out there.”

He rested his glass lightly against the tabletop.

“I figure if Plans writes it and Intel reads it, Marines just make sure it survives contact.” He glanced between them, relaxed. “But that’s tomorrow’s problem.”

He lifted his glass slightly.

“Tonight we just watch SFMC Titan earn me a bar of latinum.”

He stepped back half a pace, "Another 'round?" he asked.
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