Shannon Trevor
One Thousand Club
John Haverson leaned back into his seat as he scanned the crowd, looking for a face that matched up with the various dossiers he had perused over the previous weeks. It was early evening but the Dark Star Lounge had a healthy crowd, more than enough for John and his three companions to blend in with.
The private booth they were seated at had been chosen specifically for the meet. They had met Runcorn’s man outside the bar and followed him to the spot. He had insisted that the booth had been thoroughly swept for bugs and other recording devices. Of course, once the man had left John let Van Stiver perform his own check. Only then was the former Colonel satisfied the booth was secure.
Conversation between the four seated around the large table was at a premium. Each seemed to be either lost in their own thoughts or anxious to see who, if anyone, turned up. John took a sip of his drink and just about stopped himself from grimacing. He hadn’t caught the name of the beverage and only knew it was an Asari concoction that tasted vaguely of cinnamon. He’d have preferred a whiskey but the drink was only for appearance purposes, an illusion that they were here for pleasure rather than business.
John looked up from his drink and around the table. They were an eclectic group, he had to admit. Directly across from him sat Van Stiver. The engineer was older than dirt, a battle tested, hard drinking, hard living sailor of legendary proportions. Stories had followed Van Stiver throughout his career. If they had been associated with anyone else you would have called bullshit. Once you actually got to know the engineer, one would start to wonder if certain parts had been left out.
John didn’t care about the stories, for all of Van Stiver faults, he had been a good friend to John and more importantly, knew how to keep a ship running. When his dossier had fallen across John’s desk, he knew it was no coincidence. The investors funding the expedition wanted to show just how clever they were. Knowing that the pair had served together was an impressive piece of knowledge that could only have been known by someone with access to their service history. Still, as soon as John saw the name, he knew there was only one real choice for his engineer.
Nadine Garcia was the opposite to Van Stiver in almost every respect. Bubbly and energetic compared to the engineer’s acerbic grouchiness. She was also unnervingly young. At a mere twenty four years old she already had a stint with the Navy under her belt and a somewhat brief period as an independent operator flying out of Omega. Runcorn had been particularly quick to sing her praises and John had decided to trust his judgement on the matter.
The young pilot had been an enthusiastic presence on the ship from the moment she came on board and had quickly warmed to John, Van Stiver and Ellen, deferring to their age and extensive experience with the Alliance. To John, the young woman seemed almost honoured to be included in the expedition alongside a group of veterans.
Sitting closest to John was Ellen Navarre. Tall, imposing and almost as thickly muscled as John himself. A long scar running across her face was worn almost proudly, a reminder of what Ellen had given to the Alliance. The former N7 operative had pulled John’s ass out of the fire more times than he cared to remember. She was loyal, perhaps to a fault, and fiercely protective of him. Despite the former Colonel making it twenty five years in the Alliance, a large portion of it involved in spec ops, Ellen always kept a watchful eye over him. She was the only member of the team that had no dossier. After meeting John on the Citadel and hearing about the expedition, she had volunteered herself. John had readily accepted. Runcorn had not been happy about including someone who had not been vetted by his superiors but there was no argument to be had, John insisted Ellen came or he walked and Runcorn quickly relented.
The fifth member of their team, Tara Rheid had decided to stay on the ship, her attention firmly affixed by her current project rather than by a desire to meet the members of her team. Rheid was something of a prodigy in archaeological circles, earning her Doctorate at only twenty three. John had been somewhat wary of bringing someone so young onto the team but had been assured that the young Doctor was the best he would find for the job they were being paid to do. So far, Rheid had impressed the Colonel with her maturity and levelheadedness.
He took another sip of his drink, masked another grimace and wondered how he had got here. Five months of retirement hadn’t been able to kill the career soldier in him. He still possessed the easy confidence of a man comfortable in a position of power. He held his shoulders high and his posture was always straight. His muscular frame suggested someone used to a life of high-intensity physical activity and the deeply tanned face and arms reflected a lifetime spent under a sun rather than behind an office desk. Hell, he still dressed as if were Alliance. His short sleeved fatigue top and camo pants were military issue, both pressed perfectly and worn tight to his body. His combat boots were polished to a perfect sheen and the stainless steel Rolex clasped to his left wrist glinted with every move of his arm.
After twenty five years of service, John had decided to take a new path. After a month, he knew a life of leisure was not for him, even with the generous retirement allowance a Colonel received. He had been set to take a high paying job with a private military contractor before Runcorn had contacted him with stories about big money investors and a fabled Prothean station.
John had laughed Runcorn off as a quack but he couldn’t laugh off the large sum of credits soon deposited into his account. Within two months the expedition had its own ship and a respective crew. The invisible investors had been remarkably hands-off. Any communication was solely through Runcorn and he seemed content to allow John to make his own recruiting decisions.
And he had. Now it was just a matter of seeing who actually followed through. The former Colonel glanced at his Rolex and waited for the next member of his team to join them.
The private booth they were seated at had been chosen specifically for the meet. They had met Runcorn’s man outside the bar and followed him to the spot. He had insisted that the booth had been thoroughly swept for bugs and other recording devices. Of course, once the man had left John let Van Stiver perform his own check. Only then was the former Colonel satisfied the booth was secure.
Conversation between the four seated around the large table was at a premium. Each seemed to be either lost in their own thoughts or anxious to see who, if anyone, turned up. John took a sip of his drink and just about stopped himself from grimacing. He hadn’t caught the name of the beverage and only knew it was an Asari concoction that tasted vaguely of cinnamon. He’d have preferred a whiskey but the drink was only for appearance purposes, an illusion that they were here for pleasure rather than business.
John looked up from his drink and around the table. They were an eclectic group, he had to admit. Directly across from him sat Van Stiver. The engineer was older than dirt, a battle tested, hard drinking, hard living sailor of legendary proportions. Stories had followed Van Stiver throughout his career. If they had been associated with anyone else you would have called bullshit. Once you actually got to know the engineer, one would start to wonder if certain parts had been left out.
John didn’t care about the stories, for all of Van Stiver faults, he had been a good friend to John and more importantly, knew how to keep a ship running. When his dossier had fallen across John’s desk, he knew it was no coincidence. The investors funding the expedition wanted to show just how clever they were. Knowing that the pair had served together was an impressive piece of knowledge that could only have been known by someone with access to their service history. Still, as soon as John saw the name, he knew there was only one real choice for his engineer.
Nadine Garcia was the opposite to Van Stiver in almost every respect. Bubbly and energetic compared to the engineer’s acerbic grouchiness. She was also unnervingly young. At a mere twenty four years old she already had a stint with the Navy under her belt and a somewhat brief period as an independent operator flying out of Omega. Runcorn had been particularly quick to sing her praises and John had decided to trust his judgement on the matter.
The young pilot had been an enthusiastic presence on the ship from the moment she came on board and had quickly warmed to John, Van Stiver and Ellen, deferring to their age and extensive experience with the Alliance. To John, the young woman seemed almost honoured to be included in the expedition alongside a group of veterans.
Sitting closest to John was Ellen Navarre. Tall, imposing and almost as thickly muscled as John himself. A long scar running across her face was worn almost proudly, a reminder of what Ellen had given to the Alliance. The former N7 operative had pulled John’s ass out of the fire more times than he cared to remember. She was loyal, perhaps to a fault, and fiercely protective of him. Despite the former Colonel making it twenty five years in the Alliance, a large portion of it involved in spec ops, Ellen always kept a watchful eye over him. She was the only member of the team that had no dossier. After meeting John on the Citadel and hearing about the expedition, she had volunteered herself. John had readily accepted. Runcorn had not been happy about including someone who had not been vetted by his superiors but there was no argument to be had, John insisted Ellen came or he walked and Runcorn quickly relented.
The fifth member of their team, Tara Rheid had decided to stay on the ship, her attention firmly affixed by her current project rather than by a desire to meet the members of her team. Rheid was something of a prodigy in archaeological circles, earning her Doctorate at only twenty three. John had been somewhat wary of bringing someone so young onto the team but had been assured that the young Doctor was the best he would find for the job they were being paid to do. So far, Rheid had impressed the Colonel with her maturity and levelheadedness.
He took another sip of his drink, masked another grimace and wondered how he had got here. Five months of retirement hadn’t been able to kill the career soldier in him. He still possessed the easy confidence of a man comfortable in a position of power. He held his shoulders high and his posture was always straight. His muscular frame suggested someone used to a life of high-intensity physical activity and the deeply tanned face and arms reflected a lifetime spent under a sun rather than behind an office desk. Hell, he still dressed as if were Alliance. His short sleeved fatigue top and camo pants were military issue, both pressed perfectly and worn tight to his body. His combat boots were polished to a perfect sheen and the stainless steel Rolex clasped to his left wrist glinted with every move of his arm.
After twenty five years of service, John had decided to take a new path. After a month, he knew a life of leisure was not for him, even with the generous retirement allowance a Colonel received. He had been set to take a high paying job with a private military contractor before Runcorn had contacted him with stories about big money investors and a fabled Prothean station.
John had laughed Runcorn off as a quack but he couldn’t laugh off the large sum of credits soon deposited into his account. Within two months the expedition had its own ship and a respective crew. The invisible investors had been remarkably hands-off. Any communication was solely through Runcorn and he seemed content to allow John to make his own recruiting decisions.
And he had. Now it was just a matter of seeing who actually followed through. The former Colonel glanced at his Rolex and waited for the next member of his team to join them.
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