Olivia neither accepted Damien's invitation to sit, nor did she take her eyes off of the blue orb, its light seemingly mesmerizing. Nevertheless, she listened to what the man had to say. At the mention of getting unknown others involved, she felt her hand slowly inch towards her holstered sidearm, as if of a mind of its own. Irritated, she stopped it, clenching her fist.
"If it's up to me, I'll get out of here and out of Liberty as soon as possible," she muttered, finally turning her head to face Damien. Her features looked drawn, the previous stand-off's adrenaline wearing off again and exhaustion reclaiming her mind and body. Nonetheless, her tone was that of determination. She knew that she had to set herself simple, straightforward goals, one after another, if she was going to get through this ordeal and to the bottom of whatever was happening to her.
Of course, she thought to herself, escaping Liberty with the help of the Xenos was unlikely to be either simple, nor straightforward. Nor was she certain whether the decision was, at this point, hers to make.
He grit his teeth for a moment in contemplation instead of frustration. "None of that contained an answer to what I just said, but if the only way you're willing to let me help you is to get you out of Liberty. Then fine, that's what I'll do. I've already said I'd do it and there's no choice now with that warrant out. I just hope you know what you're doing, because you've got me worried." Since she wasn't inclined to sit, he found his way to the other side of the desk and sat down in the chair reserved for him, no doubt brooding over the current situation and how to go about this.
"You should eat something and rest, we might need to make a move on getting you out of the House early or whenever the opportunity presents itself. So you'll have to be ready to move when that hour comes." For a moment he thought he was in his office on Ramsey and spun around to look out the main window, only to then realize this was neither Ramsey and they were underground. So he would spin back to his desk full of silent disappointment.
The idea of food and rest was an appealing one - Olivia noticed just how famished she was. However, even with the strange calming effect of the crystal orb, she couldn't help but get anxious. She needed to get out of Liberty as quickly as possible, that much she was sure of. In fact, that was the only thing she could currently be certain about.
"The last time you mentioned food, two armed guards greeted me," she muttered, half in jest, half in accusation. She reached out and swung the crate's lid shut again, bathing the room again in relative darkness. "Will I run into them again when I step out the door?"
Half chuckling at her question, he gave her an honest answer. "Two on either side of the door, they stand there to denote I'm in this room. Nothing else." At least this time it didn't seem like there were any tricks afoot, because he had more or less conceded that she would have to handle whatever was going on by herself and after she'd escaped from Liberty. The only thing he could do for her at this stage of that quite perilous endeavor was make sure she was safe until then.
Olivia huffed once and gave Damien a nod before lifting the crate back into her arms and turning on her heels towards the door. Indeed, as she stepped out, she found a group of armed men waiting in the hallway, each one giving her a curious glance but not moving to stop her. Olivia eyed them suspiciously for a moment, then gave a tired shrug and headed down the corridors towards where she vaguely remembered the hideout's cafeteria being located.
- - -
A few hours passed, during which the mercenary was able to down a plate of nearly expired food paste and catch some much needed, if only restless shuteye. When she woke, she found the canteen as lifeless as it had been when she first sat down. Her feet still rested atop the crate, tucked neatly beneath the small table she had chosen for herself. She eyed the handful of men and women who inhabited the space, collected around a handful of booths, occasionally shooting her distrustful looks. Olivia didn't care.
Her PDA vibrated inside her jacket and she pulled it out, finding a message from Prower in her communications inbox. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, not certain whether communicating with her would be a good idea. But she could guess what the subject of her message would be and knew that not replying would only make her worry more - and be more suspicious. So, as she waited, she composed a brief reply.
Sending it off, she would keep on waiting for Cobra to come up with a way to ferry her out of Liberty undiscovered. Olivia hated it. Her helplessness in the face of her circumstances, the sitting and twiddling her thumbs, her inability to make sense of what was happening.
Images of the two bodies on Fontana and Doctor Macintosh, lying on the floor, his head twisted backwards, shot through her mind. She shook her head wearily, trying to cast them away. She couldn't.
Just as her mind was drifting backwards into those horrific images, she'd feel a hand tap against her shoulder, a way of requesting attention without the need for words. Looking up to check who it was would reveal the obvious, "Cobra" was back for whatever reason and put down a cup of coffee on the table for her. "We'll be making a move in twenty. LPI ran a sweep of the area where you ditched your Lich, turned up nothing. Played it off like bait so we have a window to work with, how are you holding up?" It was strange because he'd ask her that knowing quite well what her answer would be. Still, it almost felt like formality to make sure she was prepared to keep pace with whatever had to be done to pull off this escape. And not just physically either, this was precisely why he seemed so concerned, because he knew she wasn't going to be herself any time soon. What was worse is that she'd be out of the House and presumably out of his reach after that point, essentially stranded and left to her own devices to sort through whatever was going wrong.
Olivia eyed the cup of hot coffee, wondering whether drinking it was a good idea or whether it would just spur on her overactive imagination. Stifling a yawn, however, she decided that it was worth it and gratefully accepted the mug.
"I've felt better," she muttered quietly. While the brief sleep and food had done wonders for her body to recover, her mind was still as jumbled as before. Tentatively, she hoped that, by the time this was all over, she would find herself someplace where she could just lie down and not have to think for a while.
Getting ahead of yourself, she chided herself at the thought.
Finally, she glanced up at Damien and gave him a weary smile, trying to look like someone whose mental state didn't resemble a library after a bomb detonation.
Since he still had arrangements to see to and wasn't at ease with the situation at all, he remained standing as he offered her some elaboration as to what the plan was. "I've arranged for a freighter to take you from here to Hudson. It'll drop you off at another base of ours and from there arranging further transportation in the form of a shuttle or whatever you can manage is on you. But at the very least you'll be out of Liberty and beyond any police patrols, and it's extremely unlikely that Rheinland is going to give a damn about some Liberty issued arrest warrant, even if they did find out." If there was something the criminals of the Sirius Sector were good at, it was navigating around the overwhelming forces of the Houses with the help of jumpholes. The Hudson route seemed like his best choice for now, familiar territory and all the recent unrest in Rheinland made it extremely difficult for them to be checking for unwanted immigrants. And even if it turned out to not be the best option, it would have to suffice because every other alternative was either on par or worse.
"I'd do more, but my ability to help ends where the border does. Ship will be waiting for you in the hangar." This was as close to a goodbye as he was going to get, and it would be the last time they spoke here unless there was something else on her mind or questions which needed to be asked.
Nodding in agreement with the plan, Olivia rose from her table and stood before Cobra, sizing him up one last time.
Saving me again, she thought to herself, wondering whether it was some strange cosmic joke that kept crossing their paths. She reached out and clasped the man's hand in her own, giving it a grateful squeeze. She held it for a brief moment, then released him again, picked up the black crate and turned towards the hallway labeled with directions towards the hangar.
"Guess I owe you again," she said quietly, gave him a nod, and strode off, leaving the Alliance commander behind in the cafeteria.
The hangar was a little busier than it had been when Olivia arrived a few hours ago. Xeno personnel were hurrying about, hauling fuel tanks and ammunition crates across the cavernous space. It seemed the freighter she would be taking had just returned from a supply run. Stepping around the form of Damien's Eagle, still parked where they had left it earlier, she found the ship that would ferry her to Hudson. Her heart sank at the sight of it and she let out an exasperated groan.
"You've gotta be shitting me," she muttered as she read the name painted across the Kestrel's hull. The pilot, leaning against the scored and pockmarked chassis beside the access ramp wore a shit-eating grin and gave her a mischievous wink.
- - -
Once again, Olivia found herself strapped into the No Time to Decompress' jump seat, staring out over the pilot's shoulder as the ship shot out of Pittsburgh's atmosphere at speeds that even Dublin racers would have considered reckless. Like a guided missile, the craft dodged and weaved through the debris field surrounding the planet, either through the pilot's sheer skill or through a miracle avoiding any fatal collisions with the billions of tons of scrap that littered the vicinity.
Wisely, they avoided New York's trade lane network, opting instead to climb above the system's plane and cruising towards the eerie miasma that covered many of the system's southern sectors. Through further luck and thanks to the cloud's electrical interference masking their sensor signature, they managed to plow through the Badlands at a record pace, finally finding the jumphole anomaly that would take them to Texas.
On the other side, they promptly stumbled across a convoy of Junker ships, all parties surprised about the unexpected encounter. Furious at their intrusion into the North Dallas debris field, the scrappers didn't hesitate to open fire on the Xeno freighter. However, their salvaging ships stood little chance to actually hinder the Kestrel's flight, and so it quickly escaped out of their weapons and then sensor range.
As the freighter raced on, parallel to the Texan trade lanes, skirting along just out of range of the weapon platforms that lined them, Olivia sat back in her seat, savoring the respite from the wild maneuverings and stunts that had brought them this far.
This is it, she thought. No turning back now.
Her mind wandered to thoughts of the people she was leaving behind - this time, likely, for good. Isla and Reyes. Prower. Her mother and uncle. Even Cobra. Against her better judgment, she had made friends in Liberty, to some degree or another. The mercenary didn't know if she would ever see any of them again, or, if she did, under what circumstances. A solitary tear ran down her cheek and she let out a quiet sigh.
One step at a time, she reminded herself, closed her eyes, and focused again on the journey that lay ahead. The Xeno pilot would deliver her to another of their bases in Hudson, from which she would have to organize her own transport to Rheinland. Once there, she would need to find a place to rest. She would need a new ship, too. The Lich remained behind on Pittsburgh. Whether Cobra would leave it be or claim it for the Alliance, Olivia didn't know, nor did she much care. It was well outside of her reach now, one way or another.
Then, she would need to find out what was going on. What was happening to her. What was causing the blackouts and fits of murder.
With renewed determination, she opened her eyes again and glared out through the canopy as they approached Liberty's border.
"Thank you for choosing Free Republic Starlines," the pilot said with a laugh as the Kestrel settled into Barrow's narrow hangar bay. Cursing under her breath, Olivia hurried down the ship's access ramp, crate firmly clasped before her. She let out a sigh of relief as she felt the relatively solid ground of the dock's steel deck beneath her feet. No worrying vibrations, no reckless accelerations, no excessive g-forces tugging at her body. She watched as a crew of men approached the freighter for servicing - some of them glanced at her and grinned, knowing how disagreeable a trip aboard the Kestrel could be.
Keeping her head down to avoid any unwanted attention, the mercenary strode towards a bench set up against the hangar's far wall, the only accommodation for travelers awaiting transport. She suspected that the Xenos did not experience much in terms of through-traffic, especially out here in the border system of Hudson. Wearily, she placed her cargo on the bench and sat down beside it. She let her eyes wander over the small landing bay, watching the dock's crew bustle about the handful of ships present. Most of them were the common civilian ships used by the movement; Eagles, Hawks, Falcons. Here and there, however, she could see the strange, utilitarian forms of small mining ships - likely leftovers from DSE's ownership of the installation. None of them would do Olivia any good; Xenos rarely, if ever, crossed the border into Rheinland.
One ship, however, caught her attention. A freighter, the hunchbacked shape of which she was well acquainted with, stood at the far end of the hangar, devoid of any activity. She squinted, trying to find the Dromedary's pilot, but couldn't find anyone who didn't wear the scarred star-and-stripes of the Xenos. Shrugging, she leaned back against the bench and reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out the folded piece of paper that was the only belonging, aside from the crate and her sidearm, that she had bothered taking from her home on Manhattan. She inspected it, slowly flipping it over between her fingers, not sure what it was she was looking for. With a frown, she unfolded it and let her eyes wander for the nth time over the words that were written on it.
"Miss Olivia Sable, ... I am certain that you must be quite confused about your current state, so I will do my best to explain."
"Bullshit," she muttered to herself as she read the description of her rescue and treatment. For the past two months, she had accepted what it read, believing her anonymous benefactor's words without too much doubt. She was alive, after all, and that was all that had mattered. But the letter was too vague. It omitted too much and made claims that she was now certain weren't true. Prolonged oxygen deprivation causing brain damage, resulting in her ongoing migraines? Olivia frowned. Doctor Macintosh had found no signs of brain damage - but his diagnosis that her recurring headaches were caused by mere stress had clearly been no more accurate.
A pang of guilt struck the mercenary at the thought of the man. He had been kind to her, treating her without any questions asked. Now, he was dead, brutally murdered by her very hands. And she couldn't even remember doing it.
Pull yourself together, she thought to herself. With a shake of her head, she returned her attention to the letter.
"I am certain you have many questions. These may be answered in due time."
Olivia's hands clenched into fists, wrinkling the paper. Questions. She had lots of them. And, so far, none of them had been answered. When would due time be, she wondered. Was she going to have to live in uncertainty until her rescuer decided to seek her out and share with her what had happened? What was still happening?
The mercenary shook her head. No, she thought spitefully. She would find out herself, and if that meant searching the entire expanse of Sirius for her mysterious benefactor, so be it
But first, you need a ride.
A voice speaking beside her tore Olivia away from her thoughts, and she jumped in surprise. Glancing up, she saw a man standing before her, looking down at her with bright, curious eyes.
"Excuse me," the man said in an apologetic tone. "I asked whether you need a ride?"