Siren scoured the Dromedary; Every inch, every panel accessible by hand or utility tool, every little nook and crook she spotted. Nothing. Perhaps unsurprisingly. If the Cobra wanted her dead, he would just do it himself. He's a man of action. Of being in the action. Setting up a bomb just for her isn't his style. Or so she's surmised.
Once again, against her better judgement, the agent settles in the bridge of the Dromedary. Could you call it the bridge? It barely had room for three persons; two seats at the front screens, and a third that made it impossibly cramped to try and get out into the main body of the ship. Following the Cobras instructions, she sets the coordinates in the Dromedary's computer, and lets it handle the traversing of the lanes.
The suited pilot stares through the visor of her helmet, the tactical display inside of it warning her at times that it cannot interface with the dated systems of her chosen vessel. Dead isn't quite the word, no. Maybe not even piercing. Her gaze remains locked on an imaginary dot on the center of the screen before her, waiting for the familiar Prosecutor to pop up on scanners.
"Cobra." She says, her voice distorted just slightly in the faint static and crackling of the dated freighters communications system.
Cobra being here ahead of time was to be expected, if he flew alongside her and took escorted her straight to the station then it was incredibly unlikely that the local patrols would try to interfere and would presume the Dromedary to be that of an ally. "There you are." His communication comparatively came through quite clearly, the static was quite minimal.
Throwing his ship into the other direction, he expected she would follow him. It wasn't as if she had a choice, the Dromedary had the exact amount of fuel required to make the trip, if she tried to run off or get down to any funny business it was going to end up with her stranded in open space. A jump anomaly cropped up on the scanners and then visibly fluctuated ahead of them. Passing through was fairly mundane, though it did come with rattles and groans of the hull from the inherent volatility of jumpholes.
When they were thrown out on the other end a healthy amount of dark brown would greet them. They were in a thick nebula that inhibited the scanners. It would take a few more moments of cruising before a station became clearly visible despite the obscuring nature of the cloud. "Here we are. I've gone ahead and cleared us for docking. I hope you wore something fairly civilian, the suit's a dead giveaway." The doors cracked open to welcome both their ships, dim lights visible on the inside.
Something civilian. No, she hadn't considered that. As the freighter settles with its automated docking guidance, she raises her left arm, examining the small display built into the wristguard. She flips through a few of the screens on the panel, and begins to tapping on the screen, features of the suit changing for her whims. The blues of her suit fade into a pale, faded yellow, like the deserts of Houston. The Liberty eagles and other familiar markings blink out, before the lighted fibers flash the flag of a mercenary company no one has ever heard of.
"I suppose you can call it civilian." She says only to herself, lowering her arm. Hidden under her helmet, she unconsciously frowns at her new appearance, and carries on out of the ship, right hand loosely resting on her sidearm. She stops, and considers herself for a moment as she stands before the rear bay doors of the Dromedary. Deep inhale, deeper exhale. She lowers her hand, and relaxes her otherwise overly serious posture, letting her shoulders slip forwards, and dipping her chin down just slightly.
The agent presses her half-clenched fist against the control panel, and the rear airlock opens with a considerable rumble, and a low hiss. The rear ramp begins to settle itself on the floor of the station, and she prepares herself her meeting with the most dangerous snake in Liberty.
He was waiting for her outside, wearing a fairly stylish albeit quite worn flight suit that looked like a vintage jacket set. Either shoulder was adorned with trinkets, so was the left side of his chest but what stood out was the armband depicting a crowded cobra. "Welcome to Beckley." Almost as soon as he stepped out and stood before him, people became curious. One individual even approached Morreti, seeming to be his personal mechanic. He cautiously gestured at Siren with a questioning expression, hoping the Cobra had an explanation for a sudden guest.
As one would expect of a snake, Cobra was quite clever. He'd already come up with a mostly honest but misleading answer. "She's a friend with benefits." It seemed fairly obvious that he was implying that the stranger provided supplies and otherwise. And to his credit, it eliminated any further questions from the mechanic or the other occupants of the deck, most of whom seemed quite convinced by the answer and the subsequent coiling of Morreti's arm around the agent's waist.
When nobody was looking anymore, he quickly withdrew his arm and gestured for the guest to follow him. This had gone better than expected, especially given the paranoid nature of the crew on Beckley.
One could almost hear the agent recoil internally as the mans arm wrapped around her waist, but the helmet did wonders to hide any and all reactions one could read on her face, much to her relief. A breath escapes her as she's freed from his grasp, restrained to sound more like relief, as opposed to annoyance. "I'm not certain what I expected inside of this station." She admits, though the neutral tone of her voice made it hard to discern what she meant. She follows along behind the Cobra, head turning briefly to the sides whenever they passed a door or corridor.
"Everything I tell you today will be between you, myself, and Miller. She already knows some of it." She begins, but does not continue, waiting until they are both thoroughly out of earshot of anyone nosy enough to follow the Cobra and his guest.
The station seemed fairly run down, like there were not enough people to maintain it and not enough parts either. Every automated door groaned and took its own sweet time opening, it would take them a solid three minutes to reach a thoroughly empty meeting room, its only furnishing being a table that played host to a large but visibly glitchy holographic display. It seemed to be on standby for the time being. "You can speak freely here. Fairly isolated from the rest of the station, and people will assume we're having sex as a result of my little act in the hangar. So there'll be no interruptions or eavesdropping." He walked to the far end of the table after 'reassuring' her of secrecy, his back was turned to her as he leaned against the table, idly scrolling through notifications on his PDA while waiting for the agent to continue talking.
The agent drums her fingers on the table as she looks around the room, largely unimpressed on his promises of privacy, but it was his house. She couldn't exactly do much about it now. "There was a bit of a government battle following the end of the war. Out of nowhere, there was a powerful movement to expand Liberty. To the untamed wilds of the Omicrons." She stares at the mans back as he remains facing away from her. She wasn't disarmed, she could just throw the majority of the Xenos into disarray. Or a mad frenzy. "There is a species of alien creatures that linger mostly in the Omicrons. According to the eggheads, they're called the Slomon K'hara. About everyone else calls them the Nomads." Her lips purse, a pang of some unidentifiable emotion settling in her chest before she continues. "Neither the Liberty Security Force, nor the Navy wanted anything to do with this plan, but the construction for a gateway has begun, and as the reports go, it's aimed at the Omicrons. Cobra, we cannot let that gate be completed."
He turned around to look at her, visibly emotionless if not for the slight frown which seemed more out of contemplation than frustration. Talk of strange creatures wasn't new, he'd even accidentally killed one of their thralls on a gut feeling which prompted a gun reaction. Though one thing was clear, he wasn't playing around anymore and the tonal switch was eerily similar to Miller's. "You have a problem and want me to make it go away. Where is this hulk of taxpayer money located?" He was quite certain that the answer would not prove to be convenient or inspiring. If anything, all the commercial traffic diverting off the lanes in New York was quite indicative. There were only two appropriate venues for a project of this scale and he had eyes in one already. That just left one conclusion. But despite knowing this, he wanted to hear her say it.
She shakes her head, staring at the man from behind the visor of her flight helmet. Eventually her voice comes through, lightly filtered through the electric noise of its external speaker, amplifying her otherwise muffled voice to a proper speaking volume. "Classified. I know you know what that means. And this will not be just you. The Liberty Security Force may be partly, or wholly involved. There's also elements from the Liberty Navy. I might even have to contact Harmony." She shakes her head, leaning forwards and resting her hands on the table, propping herself up. "Cobra. The gate itself may just be a symptom. Those aliens are capable of infiltration. I could be an agent. You could be. The President could be." She says, staring at him again as she attempts to collect herself and her words.
"We may have to kill a lot of high profile people."
He smiled at her response, but it was a gesture that faded so quickly that it could have caused whiplash, clearly he wasn't happy with the lack of details and he wasn't doing anything to hide that fact. "Ah, yes. The Force and its secrets, makes me wonder if there's even a real woman underneath all that apparatus. Let me be clear though, if you intend for me to consider anything while also concealing important material facts from me, then it isn't going to happen. Just because I enjoy a good kill doesn't mean I'm stupid." His jawline pronounced itself momentarily, an effect produced when clenched in mild frustration. She'd done something to make him feel disrespected or even undervalued, at least that was the presumption.
His frown cemented itself as he proceeded to speak. "Ditch the helmet, it's as if you're some entitled brat with your shades on indoors. Not very polite of you." If her claim about infiltration truly was correct, then maybe he ought to just kill everyone else, he knew for a fact that he wasn't one of them. But he couldn't say the same for her or anyone else she mentioned for that matter.