Cuban Pete got up. Despite being nearly catatonic mere seconds prior, he had rocketed up to a standing position almost immediately, suffering no ill effects. Cuban Pete stared at Rattlesnake Jack, focusing on his guns. Still maintaining eye contact, he squeaked past Jack and walked to a small linoleum kitchen in the southwest corner of the pod. 

He cracked open the refrigerator and reached inside. Though the inside of the fridge was completely opaque, Cuban Pete managed to find two bottles of booze. One of the bottles had an unreadable label on it, though its brownish color and festive bottlecap was reminiscent of a cheap, space-themed beer. The other was a much more robust bottle, with *MAGNUM ALE* printed over it in big, friendly letters.

Cuban Pete procured a glass from a nearby cupboard and shook the bottles obligingly.