Happy Hour, Part I
Posted on Thu Oct 30th, 2025 @ 12:42pm by Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal & Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Edited on on Fri Oct 31st, 2025 @ 6:26am
1,263 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
Cold Cases
Location: JAG Office, Starbase 315
Timeline: 2386
The JAG office smelled of recirculated air and paper that actually wasn’t really paper, PADDs stacked in neat, square piles across the desks. Outside the viewport, the ever-present starfield remained patient and still, unbothered by the laws of men and women.
Ezra sat at a side desk, his new assignment jacket still open on the screen before him. Starfleet JAG Office, Starbase 315. Law clerk. Three years of long nights in the Academy’s moot courts, a master’s thesis on comparative Federation jurisprudence, and here he was: a clerk.
“Van Wijnbergen,” came a voice from the next row of desks. Federico Cannavale–a lieutenant junior grade, JAG attorney, dark hair combed back with an overabundance of grease–was peering over the edge of a data PADD like he might be peeping at a restaurant bill. “You ever draft a charge sheet before?”
Ezra straightened in his chair. “Not outside of simulation,” he admitted. His voice stayed respectful, though inside he felt the same old mix: the excitement of being here and the sting of knowing he was going to be tested, possibly unfairly.
Federico sighed. “All right. Charge sheet. Accused is Petty Officer Third Class Lora Verren, Operations department. USS Vilnius. Unauthorized access to secured records. Article one-twelve of the Starfleet Code. The convening authority wants charges on his desk by zero-nine-hundred tomorrow.” Almost disdainfully, he tossed the PADD across Ezra’s desk.
Ezra caught it, a large hand covering the corner of the frame. “Elements to prove: unauthorized access, knowledge of the restriction, and intent,” he said to himself, his baritone voice softening. His Betazoid upbringing had taught him to keep his tone low. It was always better to weigh a word before using it.
Federico raised an eyebrow. “Good. At least you read the Code.” He leaned back, folding his arms. “Don’t get clever, kid. The trick isn’t showing off. It’s laying out facts clean enough that the convening authority doesn’t have to guess where the hell you’re going. Facts, witness statements, chain-of-custody. You put too much theory in it, you’ll just irritate the judge advocate who gets assigned the case.”
Ezra nodded, scanning the preliminary investigation file. Encrypted access logs. Testimony from an Ensign who had caught the discrepancy. No motive yet. Just footprints in the dirt. “And if she requests defense counsel?”
The junior attorney smirked. “Then she’ll get one. That’s the beauty of this–we build the case strong enough, the defense’ll trip over it themselves.” His smirk faded into something tougher, more fatigued. “Look, Van Wijnbergen, I’m not interested in babysitting. I’ve got three summary counts lined up this week and an Article Thirty-Two hearing breathing down my neck. So here’s the deal: you draft the charge sheet, I’ll redline it. You screw it up, you’ll fix it until you don’t.”
Ezra inclined his head. “Understood.” He let his eyes drop to the file on the PADD once more, fingers already tapping away to call-up the standard template for charges and specifications.
Federico lingered a moment more, surprised the kid hadn’t yet flinched, then muttered, “Don’t stay here all night, either. Nobody’s impressed by martyrs.”
As the lieutenant walked off, Ezra allowed himself a moment to enjoy a little smile. Being a martyr wasn’t his ambition. Survivors were. Survivors were always his concern. And if it meant staying late and getting a slight tan from the glow of the PADDs, then so be it.
A few hours later Ezra could tell it was getting close to 1700 hours by the restlessness in the people around the office. Legal assistants popped into the doorways of the attorneys, checking for last minute projects, murmurs of small talk drifted down the hallway among those who had reached stopping points and were just waiting to punch the clock.
“We should go out,” Pablo’s voice carried throughout the office. “I mean like all of us. To Elroy’s or something. We can get drinks and appetizers. We never do that. Layal finally closed the Cardassian Convoy cases today. We should celebrate.”
“PTSD, no!” Layal’s voice was heard bellowing out from inside her office before she appeared in the doorway. “If I ever have to look at another travel log or manifest ever again it will be too soon.” She looked tired, yet somehow still upbeat.
“Well, we’re using you as an excuse to go out, so come on let’s go. It’s 1700. You deserve to leave on time for a change,” Carlos nudged.
Layal grinned as she looked around the office to see who was still lingering. “Yeah sure, just for a little while. I still have to be functional tomorrow.”
As if they’d been waiting for her cue, Layal’s response acted as a dismissal of sorts, the junior staffers beginning to file out of the office eagerly, only Zeya, her Andorian legal assistant stayed back to walk with her, and then there was Ezra who seemed engrossed in his work. Layal paused at his desk on their way out.
“Ezra, you coming with us?” She asked.
He blinked up from the PADD, the faint blue glow still shining along the lines of his hands. He had been drafting the charge sheet slowly and meticulously–almost like a child coddling a loose tooth. He’d structure it around the elements: act, knowledge, intent. Each specification trimmed of any fat, the evidence cross-referenced. It was far from perfect, but it was beginning to look like a real document instead of an exercise for a law clerk.
“Coming?” Ezra said, oblivious. “Where are you going?”
“Elroy’s,” Layal replied, an amused grin on her face. “Half the office is going. Where’ve you been?” She asked playfully.
Ezra weighed the moment. He could stay. Redline his own draft before Cannavale got the chance to scrawl over it. Maybe make it watertight. It was how he’d survived university on Betazed, the Academy, and then law school–outworking the margins. But then again, law wasn’t made in isolation, not entirely. You had to know people. You had to sense the current in a room–it was half of trial work, after all.
He saved the document and powered-down the data PADD. “One drink,” he said, standing. His baritone voice was calm but it always carried, especially through this office.
Rising from his desk, his eyes caught Layal’s for the briefest of moments. Her dark brown gaze seemed to carry a directness that could slice through an argument between drunks or lull an infant into calm, depending on how she aimed it. She stood tall, shoulders square, her frame quite lean. There was something tacitly magnetic in her form–hair pulled back, makeup minimal, no ornaments but her steely posture.
Ezra allowed himself to take notice, the way another man might observe the flames in a hearth on a cold night, and then, being but a gentleman, he tucked the thought away before it could find any legs.
A Joint Post by
Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal
Judge Advocate General, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Victim Advocate Counselor, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
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