Fumes hovered in the smokey air of the Pilot's Den, the duel poisons of alcohol and desperation mingling in the club. The night was still young, and the Den's usual patrons hadn't yet joined the night's revelries, leaving the bar to a depressing crowd of drunks, and a gang of younger men heartily slapping each other on the back as they split a tray of what could have been beers between them. Whether they were or not wasn't the sort of thing it was wise to give too much thought to in a place like this. Patches on the youth's jackets identified at least two of them as Universal Shipping pilots, probably celebrating an early run.
From the ape-like bouncer to the thin coating of dirt that ground underfoot, the whole scene seemed strangely surreal to the bar's latest patron. Hair tied back in a bun tight enough to challenge starship armor in a contest of density, Jane Hartman found did not fit the usual image of a Den patron. For one, she was sober. Secondly, she was a soldier. A full Commander of the Liberty Navy. It had only been days since she'd taken up the uniform again, but the civilian world still seemed as strange and frustratingly alien as ever. The bar's security had hesitated when she presented her veteran's card, but eventually relented. She found a seat in one of the room's corners, facing the door, and settled down to wait; eyes flickering between the door, the youths, and an ellipsoid communications station cupped in her hands.
Lewis wasn't late, not yet. Hell, if she was honest with herself, she hadn't sent her message out until her shuttle was halfway to L.A. For once, the flight had been uneventful, a fact Hartman was grateful for. A moment's peace meant an opportunity to think, and heaven knew she needed every one of those she could get. She wandered up to the bar, avoiding the pilot busying himself with another round, and, after determining that the room was not likely to be hiding any Rheinland Agents behind the booths, returned to her seat, glass in hand. It was an irrational fear, and she knew it, but it wasn't one she could force away. The same instinct that drove her to sit in the corner with the best visibility prompted her to scan, constantly, for any sort of threat, even in the heart of Liberty. Strange; how she could sit in the middle of the most militarily developed house in Sirius, and not feel safe in a bar. She flicked the glass absently, ripples dancing across its surface, and wondered how Lewis was coping.