Ryan follows my eyes to the vid-monitor. "What's with you and this team, Keyes?" he asks, tugging on my crimson jacket.

I grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Family tradition, I guess."

"Rand's dad saved a whole platoon of ODSTs back when he was a Lieutenant. Admiral Cole promoted him to Commander for it," Raydee cuts in. "He's even got a HellJumper tatt on his arm...oh..." he trails off after catching my glare that would have him in ribbons if my eyes could actually pierce through human flesh.

"Forgive Quijano's history lesson, which he got wrong. He idolizes my dad."

That's an understatement as Raydee has worshipped my dad since we were kids, something I hate because my father is the last thing I want to be reminded of in regards to my career in the UNSC. When the War's over, my dad's gonna have a biography written about him and Raydee will be the author. That's how bad his obssession is.

"But anyway," I continued, "the Helljumper team got wind of what he did, and they send him tickets to all their matches."

My back takes another beating from Ryan's palm. "Alright, I believe ya.'" He stood up from the table. "I'll be right back. Gonna grab us some more drinks."

We all hand him our empty glasses, except me because I haven't finished mine yet. I'm hoping it will escape his notice.

"That better be finished when I get back, Keyes," the six-foot, five-inch bridge navy officer tosses over his broad shoulder at me.

Damn.

"That's a pretty sweet deal."

The three of us turn around at the voice that joined our conversation, to the blond-haired second-shift bridge officer playing moons next to our table.

He landed a ball into a corner-pocket, then leaned on his moons cue. "Getting free tickets to games and all that jazz."

The smile that graces his boyish features is a mocking smirk to me. Lieutenant Joseph Lucas has had it out for me since the day he found out he was transferred to second-shift and being replaced by a female junior officer. Which is understandable; I would be pissed too if it happened to me, but it soon became personal when he brought "Daddy" into the picture, whispering nepotismic accusations in my ear.

So when I hear his even voice tell me, "Congratulations on your promotion," I know he's lying through his teeth. Him being a superior officer has always meant that I had to endure his bullshit quietly, but I decide to hold my tongue tonight now that we're equal in rank.

I sucked in a breath and held it. "Thanks," I exhale after three seconds.

"But it's like what Quijano was saying earlier about your Dad. If you save a whole company of ODSTs, maybe Hood'll promote you straight to captain," he "jokes."

I gave a humorless snort. Lucas was taking advantage of Ryan not being here, and pushing his luck too, as I see he brought two of his buddies (whose names I forget, but I know them by face because both are built like Sinjin and taller than her). They're definately for show, but even still, we'd lose a fight if punches got thrown, no matter how good Sinjin could throw some.

Raydee joins in the tense conversation to correct his earlier mistake. "It was a million civilans he saved, not a 'toon of Helljumpers that got him promoted."

I inwardly cringed. We need to stop talking about my dad right now. Raydee's only giving Lucas more fuel to burn me with.

Lucas shrugged. "Either way, you don't have to do much, I'm sure," he says almost casually, as he shoots another ball.

I glance back at Ryan at the bar, trying to telepathically tell him to get his ass back now because my patience is wearing thin, so thin my hand is numb (not because of the chilled glass, but because I'm gripping the cup so hard my knuckles are white).

"I do the same damn thing everybody else does, Lucas."

"Oh yeah, I forgot," he dismisses. "It just garners more attention because of your dad."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sinjin clenching her fist around her cup and I shook my head at her, trying to tell her it's useless to do anything.

Another glance back at- Ah hell, he's chatting with someone, unaware of the escalating situation here at our table and it really makes me hate his personable loquaciousness right now.

Lucas is right behind me and I'm pretty sure he's positioned himself that way at the moons table just to pester me.

I was right.

His elbow "accidentally" nudges my back.

"Whoops. Do you mind scooting a bit? I gotta tricky shot here."

I sighed, but moved anyway. I'm so sick of his bullshit, but I'm tired too; the slight buzz from earlier is turning into a throbbing headache. Ryan just needs to get his ass here so I can drown in another beer.

The one in my hand is suddenly very empty, I notice, and because I want more booze, I reflexively bring the dry glass to my mouth to lap at the trickle of dregs.

Lucas's foul words creep into my ears as the foamy residue in my glass reaches my tongue.

"How do you do it? Are you sleeping with Admirals?"

Hunched over in "concentration," his voice is low as he tries to calculate his shot.

"Or is daddy doing it so his princess won't have to?"

The three-ball sinks into the pocket the same time his words sink into my brain, but he's only watching the ball; he doesn't see the empty glass in my hand coming down hard on his face.