Olivia strode down the long hallway towards her apartment's door, shifting the weight of the grocery bags she held tightly to her chest as she walked. Most of it wasn't for herself but rather for the neighbor across from her - a kindly old woman who had welcomed the mercenary warmly when she first moved into the building. Since then, Olivia had tried to repay her inexhaustible kindness by helping her with chores when she could; when she happened to be around instead of in space.

The door to the elderly lady's home slid open and she stepped out to meet the younger woman, a wide smile adding a dozen additional wrinkles to her face.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, my dear," she cooed as Olivia stepped over the threshold and dropped the bags off on a counter. "What would I do without you?"

Olivia chuckled softly in response, rolling her shoulders. She could live off of the groceries for two or three weeks, but she knew that she would be out buying more for the old lady in less than a week's time. How the dame managed to burn through all the food so quickly would likely remain a mystery forever. Not that she minded the shopping trips; they got her out into town and provided some good exercise, exercise she wouldn't get sitting in a pilot's seat all day long.

"Oh, before I forget," the lady called out as Olivia stepped up to her own door, sliding her keycard through the wall-mounted reader. "There was a man here for you earlier."

The mercenary turned, furrowing her brows.

"A man? What sort?"

Another smile broke out over the old woman's face and Olivia could see a faint blush creep up.

"Oh, a very friendly older gentleman! Very well dressed and his manners..." For a moment, Olivia feared her neighbor might swoon but the lady caught herself and laughed. "I think he slid a note under your door after I told him you were away."

Olivia nodded a thank you and said goodbye, opening her door and stepping into her flat. Indeed, lying on the carpet was a small, paper envelope with her name written in neat cursive on it. She stooped down and picked it up, closing the door behind her. Her curiosity was triggered - she, like many people in this day and age, had never actually received a physical letter before. She sat down on her couch and tore the envelope's lid open, revealing a small sheet of paper within, and pulled it out. Unfolding it, she read what was written in more cursive on it, struggling a bit to make out the handwritten font.

Letter Wrote:

Dear Ms. Sable,

I am sorry I was not able to happen upon you in person nor that I could wait for your return, but I am afraid old age limits my time spent on foot.

My name is Julius Arbentyne. You may be familiar with the name from your time in Bretonia though you would of course be forgiven in case you are not. I am sure the war kept you well distracted. I do not wish to reveal too much within this letter as to why I am contacting you. Instead, I would like to make your acquaintance in person and discuss further details on the matter with you over dinner, if that would please you. You will find, moored in orbit over Manhattan, the Mona Lisa, a yacht I have chartered for my travels. I cordially invite you aboard at your earliest convenience.

Signed with the utmost regards,
J. Arbentyne

Olivia looked at the letter blankly. She could feel the gears grinding in her mind, trying to make sense of what she had just read.

Arbentyne? She remembered the name - Arbentyne Agriculture Inc., one of the largest food producers on Cambridge. Many of the military rations she had come to get used to during her time on the front lines had been produced by the company. Why would its founder and owner be here, seeking to get into touch with a mercenary? How did he know about her?

Questions, she realized, that would likely be answered by the man himself if she chose to accept his invitation. Olivia was, of course, suspicious of it but her curiosity was too intrigued to consider ignoring it. And how often did she get the opportunity to dine aboard a luxury yacht?

The shuttle burst out of the cloud cover at supersonic speeds, leaving a long, faint vortex of hydrogen vapor swirling in its path. Many more kilometers above, visible against the darkening sky as the atmosphere grew thinner, were the lattices of Manhattan's many orbital mooring fixtures. Pinpricks of lights darted to and fro between them as distant ships maneuvered from through them and around them, arriving at and departing from Manhattan.

The sight never failed to awe Olivia, even after the many years she had spent flying in the void of space herself. A masterpiece of human engineering, the vast facilities hung over the planet like a fine, dark spider's web, barely visible from afar, yet massive in their scope.

The small craft was buffeted gently as it ascended through the final, thin layers of the atmosphere, diving into the network of artificial arrays. Transports small and large clung to their fixtures, drones and cargo tugs ferrying goods to the orbital elevators that would deliver them to the surface far below. Small police ships deftly flitted between them, inspecting the containers and ships' holds, ever seeking contraband to claim in the name of the law, while here and there larger naval warships patrolled at a safe distance, ever vigilantly safeguarding Liberty's grand capital.

The shuttle pulled up to a smaller mooring platform, orbiting a small distance apart from the rest, reserved for ships owned by the wealthy elite. One fixture was occupied by a large yacht, its hull painted a dark, matte gold with crimson highlights running along its length from bow to stern. Stenciled in black letters across its prow was the name Mona Lisa.

The small ferry circled around the luxurious craft once, twice, thrice, before pulling away and into a docking bay attached to the platform where it finally settled down on the deck.

Olivia stepped off of the lowered access ramp into the bay. By hangar standards, it was decadently decorated, enormous eagles' busts mounted in each of its four corners, and an actual red carpet extending from each landing pad to the main entrance. Why anyone would waste their credits on something as pointless as turning a docking bay into a work of art was beyond the mercenary.

She was met at the door by a woman only slightly shorter than herself, dressed in what appeared to be an officer's uniform, but lacking any military adornment.

"Miss Sable," the woman greeted her, reaching out for a handshake. Olivia accepted it. "I'm Victoria Mays," her escort continued in a noticeable Bretonian accent. "First officer aboard the Mona Lisa." Releasing the mercenary's hand again, she pointed down the corridor that lead towards the mooring point. Olivia nodded and stepped down the hallway, her new acquaintance falling in beside her.

"Mister Arbentyne is very pleased that you chose to accept his invitation."

Olivia shot her a sidelong glance.

"Any idea what I can expect?"

Mays chuckled.

"Good food and drink."

They soon arrived at the airlock that bound the luxury yacht to the orbital platform and stepped aboard into a compact but beautiful lounge. Olivia whistled, impressed. It was her first time aboard a vessel of such class and she had a hard time believing she was standing inside a spaceship - the only crafts she was used to being combat fighters and cargo haulers, none of which even offered a fraction of the comfort she witnessed in this small lobby alone.

"State of the art OSC interior," Mays stated. "Only the finest furnishing and decoration for our finest clients."

"Orbital Spa and Cruise?" Olivia asked.

"That's right," her company straightened her back proudly. "We provide what the wealthy desire." She locked eyes with the mercenary and smiled. "Please, follow me. Mister Arbentyne awaits you in the dining room."