Olivia came to with a start. Her eyes shot open, only to be immediately blinded by the bright light surrounding her. Tears swelled up in an instant, running down her face. Her ears rang. Confused and dazed, she squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to block out the agonizing glare. She gasped for breath. The air tasted of metal and chemicals.
Pain racked her body and she convulsed, agonizing spasms tearing through her. It felt like her entire being was on fire.
She screamed.
Something grabbed her by the shoulders, and gently shook her. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear a faint voice speak to her. It sounded calm, reassuring, but she could not make out the words. She opened her eyes again, trying to see who it was, but her vision blurred against the stark light. All she could make out was a dark shape above her, looking down at her.
Then a sudden exhaustion overcame her. The ringing ceased, the pain subsided, and her vision went dark again.
A distant rumbling woke the mercenary from her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open for the first time in weeks. This time, they were not blinded, but allowed to adjust to a dim lighting. For a moment, Olivia lay perfectly still, staring straight up at a steel ceiling. She took a deep breath. The air smelled musty.
Carefully, she rolled her head to the side, finding herself laying in a narrow cot in a small room. It was dark, save for a lamp standing upon a small bedside table, casting a cone of light at the ceiling above. She tilted her head and looked down the length of her body. It was covered by a thin, white sheet. Then she looked up again and sighed.
She was alive.
The last images she had been aware of flashed into her mind. The eerie green clouds of Omicron Minor. The razorsharp asteroids. A grotesque, looming shadow. A blinding light.
Olivia blinked.
How was she alive?
Carefully, supporting herself on her elbows, she sat up. A prickling sensation coursed through her body, as though every inch of it had fallen asleep. Then, the sheet that had concealed her body slid from her shoulders into her lap. Olivia glanced down at herself and gasped. Her eyes went wide at the sight of her body.
Her torso, from neck to hip, was covered in bandages. Her shoulders and arms, too, were wrapped in gauze, and she could feel the tight pressure of the bindings around her legs. A sudden fear grasped at her and the mercenary breathed hard, trying to remain calm.
What had happened?
Wide-eyed, her gaze shot around the room, searching for something recognizable, something to explain her condition and whereabouts. But, save for the nightstand and a small table in the far corner, the space was empty.
Olivia swung her legs out from under the blanket, sitting up now on the edge of the bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor and a sharp pain shot through her legs. Asleep, she realized, as the pain faded and was replaced with an unpleasant but not unfamiliar tingling. She took another deep breath to clear her mind, and looked around once more, more carefully. Placed on top of the small table, a few yards from her, lay a duffle bag, its contents hidden within.
Casting her eyes to the bedside stand, she noticed something tucked beneath the lamp. She leaned in closer. It was a sheet of paper. Cautiously, she extended an arm, ignoring the discomfort the movement caused, and pulled the sheet out from under its improvised paperweight.
Squinting in the dim light, she read the fine handwriting that covered it.
If you are reading this, you have survived against substantial odds and are recovering from a severely traumatic experience. I am certain that you must be quite confused about your current state, so I will do my best to explain.
You were found in the Omicron Minor system, sealed within an escape pod, drifting amongst the rocks. Your life support was on the verge of failure and you were suffering from hypoxia. What was, however, more concerning was the state of your body. You had suffered immense burns across its entirety, which demanded immediate attention.
Olivia lowered the letter and glared straight ahead, the memories of Omicron Minor rushing back into her consciousness. Something had attacked her and the convoy, something she had never encountered before. Her ship had been disabled, left stranded defenselessly in space, and she had to watch in helpless horror as the attacker launched a barrage of energy towards her. The pain had been incomprehensible, if brief.
The mercenary looked down at herself, her body wrapped in bandages. With a deep breath, she raised the letter to her eyes again and continued.
Letter Wrote:
Fortunately, you were promptly delivered to a medical facility, where your damaged skin was removed and replaced with cloned tissue. A tedious and, above all, dangerous treatment. However, you took to it quite well and survived. You will find yourself as good as new, save for some old scars that reached deeper than what was restored.
Holding on to the letter, Olivia stood up, her legs shaking from the effort. Trembling, she took a few exploratory steps towards the center of the small room she found herself in. Satisfied that she could support her own weight and wouldn’t collapse into a helpless heap on the floor, she glanced around the chamber again. On the far wall, near the small corner table, she found what she was looking for. A small door leading into what she hoped was a bathroom.
Stepping across the threshold, a ceiling light flickered to life, briefly blinding her. A flash of pain shot through the mercenary’s head like a bolt of lightning, only to dissipate a moment later. Gently rubbing her forehead, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the light and glanced about. A small compartment, only a few feet across, containing a shower cabin, toilet, sink, and - most importantly to her - a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
Laying the letter on a small countertop above the sink, Olivia stood herself squarely before the mirror, inspecting her reflection. She looked haggard, her hair unkempt, her skin sallow, her cheeks sunken in. She barely recognized herself.
Carefully, she felt along the edge of the bandages running along the base of her neck. A faint fear crept into her mind, a fear of what she might find beneath the gauze. But, taking a deep breath to steel herself, she dug her fingers beneath the wraps and tore at them. They came undone easily enough, falling from her shoulders and chest, unwinding around her waist and hips, and finally dropping from her legs in a bundle around her feet.
Olivia gazed at her naked body in the mirror. She was thin, as was to be expected after what were likely weeks of bedrest, but - much to her surprise - the muscles beneath her skin were still well-toned. A faint gasp escaped her lips as she inspected her skin. It was clear, free of the many scars that years of mercenary work had garnered her. Only a few faint marks remained, where injuries had cut or burned deeper into the flesh. A barely visible line across her stomach. A pale twisting of tissue on her right shoulder. There was no hint, however, at her skin having been nearly melted off.
She reached out and picked up the letter again.
Letter Wrote:
I hope the results are to your satisfaction. Your muscles were maintained through electro-stimulation and steroid treatment. You will nonetheless feel weak and require some exercise to regain your former capabilities. In addition to the severe damage to your skin, you also suffered from brain hypoxia due to the depletion of your lifepod’s oxygen supply. The damage to your brain was minor but may manifest itself as occasional migraines and sensitivity to light. This will heal by itself over time.
You have been brought to Newport Station in the Sigma-13 system. On the small table in your quarters, you will find a bag containing new clothing, food, water, and medication, and the access card to a ship awaiting you in the hangars.
I am certain you have many questions. These may be answered in due time. However, for now, you are free to go. You have been given a second chance at life.
Dressed in a fresh flightsuit and with the duffle bag slung over her shoulder, Olivia stepped into the small freeport’s hangar bay. Her gait was shaky and her back ached from the luggage’s weight, but the brief meal and drink she had had at the small corner table in her room had done wonders to restore her energy. Despite her continued discomfort, she was curious and ready to see what awaited her in the docks.
The access card she had been given by her mysterious benefactor led her to a landing pad at the far end of the hangar. There, floating motionlessly on a gravity cushion, the mercenary found her new ship. Approaching it, she let out a quiet whistle. Its tall space frame dominated the cramped confines of the docking bay, its stark grey hull reflecting the bright ceiling lights.
“R1-Series ‘Lich’,” a voice spoke up behind her. Alarmed, Olivia spun around as quickly as her weakened body allowed. A young man stood only a few yards away, leaning against a stack of crates that had previously hidden him from view. He gave her a friendly smirk.
For a moment, they stood still, gazing at each other in awkward silence. Finally, the man stood up straight and stepped forward - Olivia instinctively took a step back. Noticing her reserve, the man stopped and raised his hands, palms forward.
“Not here to cause any trouble,” he explained. “Was just told to introduce the two of you to each other.” He nodded towards the ship behind Olivia.
The mercenary’s eyes narrowed.
“Who told you?”
The man shrugged.
“Dunno. Someone left a note and a bag of credit chits on my office desk.”
“You’re the dockmaster?” Olivia asked, sizing the young man up. He didn’t look to be more than twenty-five years of age. He shrugged again, apologetically.
“Guess so.” Not waiting for any further questions, he stepped towards her and the ship again, pointing at the latter. “Now, this is a fine ship. Based on the good old Sabre, as I’m sure you can tell. Heavier and slower, but thicker armor and a bigger powerplant. This girl will take you wherever you want to go and make sure you get there in one piece.”
The young dockmaster circled around the ship, gazing up at its main fuselage admiringly.
“Good bit of room in the cargo hold, despite the extra fuel and power lines these two auxiliary engines need.” He glanced back down to Olivia and nodded at her duffel bag. “Need a hand with that?”
Olivia eyed the man, trying to get a read on him. After a second’s pause, she concluded that he was as innocent as he acted. Freeport crew rarely got involved in shady business that might tarnish their station’s reputation. She shrugged her shoulder, letting the duffle bag’s strap slide from it into her hand. The man reached out and took it from her, stepping back towards the ship. A ladder extended from beneath the canopy, stretching down to the deck below.
As Olivia watched the dockmaster clamber up to the cockpit, bag in hand, she took a deep breath. She was beginning to feel itchy, the flightsuit she had donned rubbing against her fresh skin. It was irritating, but she knew that it would ease with time. Time she was certain she would have plenty of on her way back to Liberty.
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
Liberty.
Isla.
She would have to make a detour to Sigma-59 on her way back. She had promised her friend a pretty postcard from that system weeks ago.
