Olivia eyed the stranger suspiciously. His bright hair and young, friendly face stood in stark contrast to the black cloak he wore over a similarly dark combination of shirt and trousers. She watched him as he smiled down at her, nervously shifting from foot to foot as he waited for her answer.
"You're that Dromedary's pilot?" She finally asked. The man nodded enthusiastically and turned his body towards the ship, still resting atop its landing pad in the hangar's far corner.
"Yeah, that old girl's mine," he replied, still smiling. Olivia nodded slowly.
"How did you know I need transport?" She inquired, not taking her eyes off the stranger. He seemed harmless enough, with his friendly attitude, but it wasn't enough to settle her uneasiness. Under her current circumstances, she wasn't about to trust any person that walked up to her with a friendly face.
"Well," the man said, "I saw you come in on that Xeno hauler," he pointed a thumb over his shoulder in the Kestrel's general direction, "and then you walked over here and sat down. Didn't take much to guess that you didn't have a ship of your own here, so..." He trailed off, awkwardly smiling at her again. Olivia sighed. As much as her instincts told her to be careful, she couldn't afford to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"You're headed to Rheinland, right?" The stranger asked. Olivia simply nodded. "And that's all you're taking?" The man gestured at the crate beside her. She nodded again. "Well," he said with a carefree shrug, "I can take you there, if you want. Won't cost much."
Olivia gave a final nod.
"Alright. When are we leaving?" She asked.
"Just gonna get her refueled and off we go!" The stranger replied with a grin. "You can get onboard and get settled in already, if you like." He spun on his heels and headed off towards the bay's far side, gesturing for her to follow. Olivia remained seated for a moment, watching the man stride off with a light step, seemingly not having a care in the world.
Guess I'm jealous, she thought to herself and chuckled quietly. Then, she stood up from the bench, hoisted up the black crate, and followed the stranger to his ship.
Up close, she noticed just how clean and well-maintained the freighter looked, contrary to what she would have expected from a freelance hauler running routes through terrorist stations. Its hull lacked any of the burn marks and rust that one might have expected, and the paint job seemed to have been only recently reapplied.
"How long have you been flying?" Olivia asked as she caught up to the stranger, falling in beside him. He glanced at the crate in her arms, then at her, his expression asking whether she needed help carrying it. She shook her head.
"Ever since I won the old girl in a game of poker seven years ago," he answered, breaking a smile both mischievous and proud. Olivia whistled, impressed.
"She looks good."
The stranger nodded.
"I take good care of her. She's my home, after all, you know?"
The Dromedary's interior was as neat as its exterior. Olivia squeezed past the several hundred crates of Liberty ale that were tidily stacked in the freighter's cargo hold and into a small section that was separated from the main space by a heavy, plastic curtain. Within, she found a small living quarter, narrow bunk built into the wall, lockers, stove, sink, and mirror providing all the basic necessities a pilot could need on a prolonged hauling trip.
The stranger climbed up the short ladders at the far side, into the cockpit.
"Make yourself at home," he called back to the mercenary. Tired, she sat down on the edge of the bunk, placing the crate at her feet, and glanced around. The small living space was cozy enough, compared to the sparse accommodations she had been able to fit into her previous ships. She thought back to the Sutinga and Lich and their tiny, cramped cargo holds. How she had ever managed to live in such compartments was beyond her, months of living in comfort on Manhattan having spoiled her. Reminiscing, she sighed. Who knew what sort of conditions she would need to make due with from now on?
The ship shuddered as the engines sprang to life, lifting it from its landing pad.
"Off we go!" The stranger exclaimed from the cockpit and the Dromedary lurched forward, out through the station's airlock and into open space.
- - -
The pulsing, glowing tear in space and time loomed before them, bathing the Dromedary's cockpit in eerie, fluctuating light. Standing on the top rung of the ladder leading to the cockpit, Olivia eyed it with a mixture of apprehension and longing, uncertain of what her life would be like once she crossed over. Liberty now lay behind her, and with it her friends and family. Ahead lay an uncertain future, questions to be answered, and mysteries to be solved.
I'll figure this out, she told herself. I have to.
"Ready?" The stranger in the pilot's seat asked over his shoulder, his voice cheerful. Olivia wasn't certain whether he could sense her apprehension or whether he was just always in a jovial mood, but his attitude helped calm her nerves at least a little either way.
"Yeah," she said quietly. The pilot pushed the throttle and the freighter crept forward, closer and closer to the rift in space until it enveloped the ship entirely. Space around them flashed and stretched into a winding tunnel of blinding light as they raced across lightyears upon lightyears in an instant. A mere moment later, the Dromedary dropped back into real space, amidst a field of small rocks, tumbling about in slow, tranquil chaos.
"Welcome to Hamburg," the stranger announced with a laugh. Olivia only nodded as she glanced out through the canopy at the vista of Rheinland's northern-most system. It didn't look like much from their vantage point, the sole inhabited planet barely visible in the distance, a greyish-white orb against a backdrop of white stars.
"Where exactly do you want me to drop you off, anyway?" The pilot asked, turning his head slightly to look at the mercenary. "You look like you want to keep a low profile," he went on before she could answer. "There's a Junker station in New Berlin."
Olivia nodded again. Laying low on a scrappers' base sounded like the right thing to do while she tried to figure out how to proceed.
"Sounds good," she said and climbed back down into the small living quarter, sitting down on the bunk, resting her feet atop the black crate.
Kreuzberg Depot's cramped hangar bay reeked of oil, toxic fumes, and rust, with an appearance to match. Yet, strangely, the dirty space, with tons upon tons of tools, scrap steel, and partially dismantled ships strewn about gave Olivia a sense of security and comfort. This was not a place the law visited and, therefore, not a place she would need to worry about being arrested. Not that she believed that Rheinland's authorities would bother executing a Libertonian warrant, but setting foot on a Junker base only reinforced her assurance.
Olivia set the crate down on the rusty deck and stretched, exhaustion from the long escape out of Liberty threatening to overwhelm her. The stranger strode down the Dromedary's access ramp behind her, chuckling happily.
"Not the prettiest place around, but they've got decent drinks," he said, stepping up beside the mercenary.
Olivia smiled. "If you ignore the layer of engine oil floating on top."
They both laughed. It felt good, Olivia noticed. Good to be in a safe harbor, good to have something to joke about. She needed it.
She turned to face the stranger and handed him a few credit chits. With a grin, he deftly pocketed them in his black cloak.
"On to New Berlin?" Olivia asked.
He nodded. "Gonna refuel here first, though." Then, with a smile, "Be seeing you around." With that, he turned and strode off, in search of a dock crew to service his freighter. Olivia spent a few moments looking after him until he finally disappeared behind what she figured had once been a Sabre, but now only served as a heap of spare parts for ships in slightly better condition. Taking a deep breath of the station's musty, acrid atmosphere, Olivia picked up the crate and made her way out of the hangar, following directions towards the bar.
- - -
Dex and Brody leaned against a pile of scrap metal, lounging about and watching from afar as the two new arrivals parted ways. The black-clad man walked off towards the rest of the crew, while the tall woman, carrying a valuable looking container, disappeared into one of the corridors that led deeper into the station.
Brody nodded his chin after her. "Thatta chick from tha bulletin. Tha killa."
Dex reached up and pulled the toothpick he had been chewing out from between his teeth. "Yeah, that's her alright."
"Think we can getta bounty?" Brody asked.
Dex nodded. "Yeah. Libbies'll pay us for sure."
The two men straightened up, grabbed a metal pipe each off the pile and followed the woman down the hallway.
"Hey, lady," Dex called out as they got closer, concealing his makeshift weapon behind his back and nudging Brody to do the same. "You new here?"
The woman paused, then turned to face them. She frowned as she eyed the two men shambling towards her, then nodded.
"Looks heavy, want help?" Brody asked, nodding towards the black crate in her arms.
She shook her head. "Thanks, I'm good." She took a step towards one side of the hallway, positioning herself with her back to a wall, as the two men strode up to her, Brody stepping to one side, Dex to the other.
Ain't stupid, Dex thought, running his eyes over the woman. She didn't look like much; slim, tired, and anxious. He spotted the large sidearm strapped to her right leg, but, holding on to the crate as she did, she wouldn't be able to draw it. Ain't a problem, either.
"You look familiar," Dex said with a shark-like grin. The woman's frown deepened.
"You're mistaking me for someone else," she said quietly.
Brody shook his head with an unfriendly smile. "Nah, we saw ya on tha net."
"Pretty sure the cops up in Liberty'll pay a nice price if we bring you back," Dex went on, taking a step towards the woman. "Now, be a good girl and come quietly, or we get nasty." He swung his metal pipe out from behind his back for her to see.
The woman's frown vanished. "Not going to happen," she replied coldly.
In a sudden burst of motion, the woman tossed the heavy crate at Brody. It struck him in the chest, sending him stumbling back with a groan. At the same time, she lunged towards Dex, reaching out with one hand for the pipe, with the other for her holstered sidearm. Dex yelped in surprise and swung at her, only for her to catch the weapon in her outstretched hand and with surprising strength wrench it clear of his grip. The woman spun around him in a flourish, striking at him with the hijacked pipe and raising her pistol at Brody in one fluent motion. He, having recovered from his initial surprise and the impact of the crate, charged at her, his own metal shaft raised high over his head for a downward blow.
Dex cried out as the woman's pipe struck him between the shoulder blades, forcing him to his knees. Then. a deafening blast echoed through the corridor as the woman fired her gun, aiming low for Brody's legs. He howled in pain and tripped as a bullet tore through his left shin, his forward momentum sending him sprawling onto the floor with a loud crash. Dex struggled back to his feet just in time to watch the woman stride over to Brody and ram her metal pipe down into the back of the man's head with a crack and a squelch.
"Holy shit!" He cried, eyes wide.
The woman turned on him, raised her pistol, and fired.
An instance of complete senselessness overcame her...
... and she found herself in the middle of the hallway, standing over the prone corpse of one of the two men who had assailed her, her hand still tightly clenched around the steel pipe now embedded in the back of the man's head.
Eyes widening, Olivia's gaze slowly wandered from the body at her feet down the length of the corridor, landing on the second man, sprawled on his back. Half of his face was missing. and blood and brain matter slowly oozed out of his shattered skull, seeping onto the rusty deck. Shock, horror, and confusion overcame Olivia like a tidal wave, and she fell to her hands and knees, retching. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as what little her stomach had to offer splattered onto the deck beneath her.
It happened again, she thought to herself, heaving. Her heart raced at the realization, beating loudly in her chest. But, over the pounding, she heard something else - the sound of approaching foot steps. Shaking, she staggered back to her feet, turning to face the direction she heard them coming from. Sweat and tears blurred her vision, but at the end of the hallway she could make out the vague, dark shape of a person, slowly moving towards her.
"This sure is a mess," an oddly familiar voice spoke.
"They-" Olivia stammered, "they attacked-"
A stinging sensation penetrated the cloud of fear and confusion and Olivia's gaze slowly wandered down the length of her body. A dart protruded from her chest. Then, a second time, all went dark.
- - -
Images of the dead flooded Olivia's mind, snapshots of the violent scenes she had left behind. Mangled bodies sprawled over the floor, pools of blood and viscera, dead eyes staring up at her, accusing her.
Murderer.
She tried to scream, but couldn't. A thundering noise deafened her, pounding in her ears like colossal drums. It threatened to consume her, crush her into dust until nothing remained. But she fought, pushing against the clamor, refusing to let it destroy her.
Through the ceaseless din, she could make out voices - mere wisps of conversation. She tried to concentrate on them, struggling to make out the words.
"It's over. It's out of control!" One voice said angrily.
"Everything is fine..." Another spoke calmly, older than the other. "Some adjustments..."
"... too late! It killed five random people..."
"He."
"... not the time for that! We have to shut this down!"
"If we stop now..."
"Can we fix this?" It was a third voice. It sounded familiar.
"No, listen! We have to..." The first cried.
"Yes," the second stated.
"Do it," commanded the third.
The pounding grew louder and louder, drowning out the voices until there was nothing else.
- - -
Olivia woke with a start. Adrenaline flooded her system, washing away the exhaustion and soreness that attempted to claim her. With eyes wide and alert, her head shot from side to side, scanning her surroundings. She was in a small room, its walls, ceiling, and floor featureless save for creeping spots of rust. She herself was sitting on the floor. She tried to get to her feet, but lances of pain arced through her shoulders. Wincing, she relaxed and glanced down at herself. Her feet were bound before her, her arms were cuffed behind her back to a table leg bolted securely to the floor. She was stuck.
"You're awake," a familiar voice noted. Olivia's eyes shot up again, finding a man clad in black clothes and a cloak leaning casually against the door that was the room's sole entrance, concealed in the frame's shadow. "It's about time."
She recognized the voice - though it lacked the joviality she was used to. The man stepped forward into the light, revealing himself.
"You?" Olivia said in surprise.
The Dromedary's pilot nodded. His once friendly face was hard, his bright eyes cold. The sight of him sent a shiver down Olivia's spine. She shifted her shoulders, trying to pry her bound hands out from behind her.
"You can stop that," the stranger said, noticing her struggle. He held out a hand, revealing a small remote control. "The cuffs come undone when I want them to."
Frowning, Olivia relaxed again.
"Who are you?" She asked. The man remained silent. "What did you do to me?" Olivia demanded.
The stranger shrugged. "Can't you feel it?"
The mercenary perked up. Indeed, through the rush of adrenaline, she did feel something. A stinging pain in her right temple, like the migraines she had grown used to, but weaker. Instinctively, she tried to reach up to feel her head, but her bound arms simply smacked against the table leg. She looked up at the stranger and saw from his expression that he wouldn't give her any details.
A sudden thought shot through Olivia's mind.
"The crate!" She cried. "Where's the crate?"
The stranger chuckled and nodded past her. Olivia twisted around, turning to look up at the table top behind her. The black crate sat atop it. She let out a sigh of relief at its sight.
"Interesting thing to be lugging around," the stranger noted. Then, dryly, "I'm leaving now."
Turning back to face towards the room, Olivia saw him spin on his heels and step towards the door.
"Wait!" She called out after him. "You saw what's inside?"
The man paused, then shrugged. "Yeah." He continued towards the exit.
"What is it?" Olivia demanded. The stranger didn't answer. The door opened before him and he stepped through it, turning on the threshold to glance at her one last time.
"At least tell me who you are!" Olivia pleaded. In the door frame's shadow, she thought she could see a faint smile tug at the stranger's face. Then he stepped out of the room and the door closed behind him.
Hours passed, Olivia sitting on the floor, propped up against and bound to the table leg. Soon, fatigue and weariness returned, but sleep evaded her. Shoulders stiff and arms numb, Olivia sat quietly, staring blankly ahead, waiting.
Her thoughts wandered, revisiting the events of the past days in her mind. The gruesome killings on Fontana, the brutal murder of Doctor Macintosh, the savage slaughter on Kreuzberg. The confusion and the fear, the stress and the helplessness. The hurried farewells from her friends and the flight from Liberty. The mere memories were enough to sap her of what little energy she had left.
Taking a deep breath, Olivia shut her eyes, trying to focus on ... nothing. She exhaled slowly, paused, and inhaled again. Then she did the same again, over and over, until her mind began to clear of the confused jumble of thoughts. Finally, even her sore, tired body relaxed, and a light sleep overcame her.
A buzz and a click woke her from her shallow slumber and her eyes shot open at the sound of the metallic cuffs around her hands and feet falling to the steel floor. Olivia leaned forward, rolling her stiff shoulders and massaging her wrists. She glanced around the room, finding herself still alone. Cautiously, careful not to overexert her tired legs, she climbed to her feet and turned towards the table at her back. The black crate still stood atop it, untouched since the stranger had left her behind.
Interesting thing to be lugging around, she remembered him saying, and a sudden fear overcame her. Hastily, she pressed her thumb against the container's lock, waiting impatiently for it the scanner to read her print and open the pressure-sealed lid. With a hiss, it unlocked and the mercenary flung it open, revealing the crate's content. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as the crystal's blue light washed over her, her soreness and fatigue evaporating like mist in the sun. A smile crept over her face as she bathed in the orb's radiance and she reached inside the container, letting her hands run over the ball's smooth, strangely warm surface. A sense of immense calm poured into her mind, cleansing her of the worries and fears she had been struggling with, soothing her thoughts until she could barely feel anything at all, until she-
Olivia frowned and looked past the crystal. A sheet of paper rested underneath the glowing orb, one that she hadn't placed there herself. Torn loose from the crystal's influence, she pulled the paper out from under it and turned away from the crate. In the blue light, she read.
Miss Olivia Sable,
I write this letter with great regret and even greater hurry, for I am afraid that I have little time before we depart. You must have many questions, even more so than before, but I am afraid most of them must wait. One, however, I will answer.
You were chosen for a great purpose. An experiment that, should it bare fruits, may bring about a revolution of the human experience. I fear the details must remain hidden, for the success of this endeavor requires utmost secrecy. Do know, however, that the pain and confusion you endure now serves the betterment of mankind and that all you have yet to suffer will ultimately prove to be a small price to pay for man's salvation.
Or so I hope. I do wish there was another way, one that did not force this torture upon you. For failing to prevent it, I sincerely apologize.
Knowing that you will find little of it on your journeys ahead, I nevertheless wish you good luck.
- - -
Tiredly, Olivia stepped out of the room into a narrow, dimly lit corridor, the black crate in her arms pressed tightly against her chest. The air reeked of rusted metal and oil and she knew that she was still aboard the Junker station. She turned and strode down the hallway, hoping to find her way to the installation's hangar. How long she had been here was a mystery to her, one that she supposed didn't matter much. There were other, more worrying questions on her mind.
An experiment, she thought to herself. A revolution of the human experience. It made little sense to her and, instead of answering her questions, only raised more.
Man's salvation. Salvation from what? How? Why was she, a random merc, involved? What did it have to do with her migraines? The blackouts? The murders? Balancing the crate on one arm, she reached up with one hand and gingerly touched her right temple. A fresh scar ran vertically across it, an inch or so in length. It was still painful to the touch. Frowning, she walked down the winding corridors, passing by a handful of salvagers who, to her relief, paid her no heed, and shook her head. You must have many questions.
Yeah. Now I do. But they would have to wait. She had more pressing matters to figure out.
She needed a ship. She needed gear. She needed to contact her friends to let them know she was still alive and - relatively - well. She needed to find out who the stranger in the cloak was, who had written the letter, who was responsible for what was happening, what was even happening, how she could-
Relax. Her mind raced, pounding against her skull. Olivia drew in a deep breath, calming herself. One step at a time, she reminded herself.
Equipment and a ship. That was what she needed first.
Finally, the corridor opened up into the hangar, its deck still littered with discarded scrap, freshly salvaged wrecks, and a handful of vessels that looked like they might be spaceworthy. A craft, half obscured in a shadowy corner, the green shape of which reminded her of Damien's Eagle, caught her attention. She strode towards the ship, seeking out the handful of mechanics who were busy servicing it with fuel, spare parts, and paint.
Weeks had passed since Kreuzberg. Upon purchasing a new - or rather old and refurbished - ship from the Junkers, Olivia had quickly made her way south, out of Rheinland. After what had happened on the salvagers' station, she had not wanted to stick around New Berlin, and a run-in with overzealous law enforcers had convinced her that a prolonged stay in the freshly reunified house was not for her.
And so, Olivia found herself in a part of Sirius she had hoped she would never need to revisit. The Omegas. A region of space the mere thought of which brought up a whirlpool of unpleasant and long-repressed memories. But there had been nowhere else to go.
The mercenary still had contacts in the area. She knew that the former leader of the Colors, Blue, still lived in Omega-3, though he no longer roamed the local freeport's bars and had instead joined his former colleague and best friend, Red, resettling to Sprague. Olivia had considered reaching out to them, thinking that seeing a friendly, familiar face might help her get through her current troubles, but had thought better of it. She didn't want to risk hurting anyone, especially not people she knew well, if another murderous fit overcame her.
So, she had spent the past weeks in self-imposed isolation, either locked up in her cheap quarters on Freeport One, or sitting in the cockpit of her ship, traversing the system in solitude.
The Sichel, or Sickle, as Olivia called it, having given up trying to properly pronounce the craft's Rheinic name, lazily weaved through one of the systems numerous asteroid fields, its green engine glow illuminating the frozen rocks as they tumbled past. Olivia herself let the autopilot handle the mundane maneuvers, staring down instead at the communications panel to her left. She was considering reaching out to her family and friends in Liberty, as she had been doing for weeks. She wanted to let them know that she was still alive and well - relatively speaking. But she was afraid that there was no point.
She was still as clueless about her circumstances as she had been when she fled Liberty. More so, even, since what had happened on Kreuzberg. She was still searching for answers to questions she could barely formulate, still stumbling blindly in the dark.
The mercenary eyed her list of contacts. It was short, few people convincing her to share her details with them. She sighed.
They will forget you, an uninvited thought sprang into her mind. You should forget them.
Shut up, she thought to herself in response and shook her head, as if to clear it of the intruder. It had become a more and more frequent occurrence, negative thoughts haunting her, nagging at her, preying on her loneliness and frustration. At first, she had ignored them, hoping that they were just a manifestation of the stress she was enduring, but the disregard seemed to have only encouraged them. Now, it felt as though a part of her was actively acting against her, hiding in the back of her mind, cowering in the shadows of her thoughts, lashing out at her in moments of weakness.
Olivia clenched her hands into fists. She needed someone to talk to, she realized. If only to take her mind off of her solitude.
Finding someone to talk to had been surprisingly easy. Maybe even a little too easy. Olivia was still angry with herself for not noticing the false wall in her quarters aboard the freeport sooner. It had been through mere chance, when she had collapsed against the bulkhead beside her cot during an unusually sudden migraine, that she had noticed its strange hollowness. A few exploratory touches later, and a sheet of thin metal had come clean off, revealing a hole the size of a dinner plate in the wall. Peering through it, she had found a surprised face staring back at her.
The face belonged to a young Zoner who - to no surprise of Olivia's - went by the name Ears. Pressed on the matter of the listening hole, he had admitted that he had installed a number of these throughout the station's habitat sections, allowing him to spy on travelers as they came and went, collecting rumors and information that he could later sell in the freeport's bars. He admitted to having gotten frustrated with Olivia; she was too quiet, didn't speak with anyone aboard the station unless absolutely necessary, and remained alone most of the time. But something about her that Ears couldn't put into words had captivated the young man and he couldn't help but keep observing her.
And so, Olivia had found a conversational partner. That had been roughly two weeks ago.
Her initial anger at the youngster for spying on her had quickly evaporated in lieu of finally having someone to talk to. Someone to take her mind off her own problems. Someone else's voice to listen to for a change.
Every evening for the past two weeks, the mercenary had returned to the freeport from her lonely treks around the system and its neighbors, quickly finding herself in her small quarters, sitting with her back against the wall. Her and Ears would discuss the day's news and rumors through the small window that connected them - Olivia was too wary of her "fits" to risk speaking with the boy face to face. She would tell him about what she saw in space, what ships she encountered, what they were hauling, and in return, Ears would reveal what newcomers had arrived at the station, whom they had met with, what had been discussed behind closed doors. Neither shared much in terms of personal information.
It was a strange agreement they had come to, but it was good enough for Olivia's needs. No replacement, perhaps, for the friends she had left behind in Liberty, but better by far than spending all day with only herself to talk with.
"Alright, Ears," Olivia muttered, stifling a yawn as the boy finished his retelling of a heated argument between a group of Bretonian miners and Rheinic transport crewmen. "I need to get some sleep."
"Sure thing, Sable," Ears' voice rang hollowly through the listening hole. "Same time tomorrow?"
Olivia chuckled quietly. "Same time as every day."
She got to her feet, raised the thin metal plate from off the floor, and reattached it to the bulkhead, covering the window to Ears' compartment.
Olivia settled down in her now usual spot on the floor, back against the wall, loose sheet of metal beside her. She wiped her hands with a ragged towel, staining it with black oil smears from her work on the Sickle.
"You there, Ears?" She asked aloud, turning slightly towards the hole in the wall to the neighboring compartment. Through it, she heard a faint shuffling of feet and a thud as someone sat down against it.
"You're late," came the response. The young man on the other side of the bulkhead sounded impatient, even agitated. Olivia frowned.
"Sorry, I just had to do some work on the-"
"There was someone looking for you," Ears cut her off. Olivia froze, her hands clutching the towel. "Big guy, kinda mean looking," the boy went on. "Knocked and rang, then went off to the bar to ask about you."
Olivia swallowed. "Is he still there?"
"Nah," Ears answered. "He rented a room a few hallways down."
Olivia sprang to her feet, tossing the towel into a corner.
"Take me there."
- - -
The two of them stood outside a nondescript door, one of many that lined the habitation deck's corridors. Ears nervously fidgeted, looking from the door to Olivia and back again. The mercenary stood still, hand on her holstered sidearm, breathing deeply. She nodded at Ears.
The young man pulled a stack of keycards out from his trouser pockets and deftly flipped through them. All of them were copies of the originals, used by him to get into the freeport's living quarters and install his portholes. He found the one for the door before them and slid it through the reader on the wall. Its light blinked green and the door slid open.
Olivia dashed over the threshold, drawing her pistol and sweeping it across the room she found herself in. Small, like hers, furnished only with a table and chairs, some storage compartments, and a bed. A bed, which appeared to be occupied by what could have been mistaken for an angry bear. Howling, a man clad in a heavy, fur-collared coat sprang up to his feet, swinging a multi-barreled scattergun up at Olivia. She raised her own handgun at the man's chest, finger tightening around the trigger.
On the verge of splattering each other's blood across the room, both froze. Olivia looked at the man in astonishment and watched his enraged features soften into a smile of recognition.
"Blue?" She exclaimed, lowering her gun.
The man laughed loudly as he returned his own weapon to its hiding place within his coat.
"So, how did you know I was staying on One?" Olivia asked, seated in one of the two chairs at the small table at the room's center. She watched Blue move around the room with a slight limp she hadn't seen before, stowing away his weapon. Olivia's right hand rested gently on her empty holster, her pistol and knives handed over to Ears before sending him back to his own quarters. She did not want to risk being armed if one of her strange fits overcame her.
"Come on, Sable," Blue replied with a rough chuckle. "This place was my home for years. I may've moved, but I still know what goes on around here."
The large man slumped into the empty chair across from Olivia, leaning back with a sigh. She noticed a few new scars on his grizzled face, cutting narrow paths through his scruffy beard.
"So, what do you want from me?" Olivia asked simply. Blue huffed bemusedly at her bluntness.
"I've got a job," he answered. "Over on Sprague. Remember that smugglers den we cleared out a few years back? The one in the abandoned dig site?" Olivia nodded. "Well, some folks have set up shop there again. Sprague's been having a rough time of it for a while. Bretonian police can't handle it by itself, so they've set up local militias to do most of the law enforcing. Problem is, people are desperate. That planet just can't provide for all of 'em, and some folks are looking to profit off of that fact. Much needed supplies that get shipped in go missing, only to turn up later on the black market - at a huge markup." Blue grunted derisively, shaking his head to himself.
"So, a local BPA contact of mine reached out to me with coordinates of a smuggling hideout. Apparently those bastards are storing food and medical supplies there. BPA doesn't trust the local militias with the job, so I got it instead."
Blue eyed Olivia as he paused for a moment.
"Should be a simple mission. The smuggling crew's just a bunch of local muscle, nothing dangerous. Maybe a dozen of 'em. I need you to get into that old dig site, clear out those guys and secure the supplies."
Olivia glanced back at the man, her brows furrowed. "If it's so simple, what do you need me for?"
Blue gave a short laugh, leaning back in his chair. Then he raised his right leg up onto the table with a loud, metallic clank. With a grim smile, he pulled up the trouser leg, revealing a simple, thick metal rod where his lower leg should have been. Olivia raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"What the hell happened?" She asked, letting her eyes linger on the simple prosthetic.
Blue simply grunted. "When you, I, and the others - well, mostly you - sent Pedro to hell, I thought of something. With that bastard gone, his spot would just get filled by one of his lieutenants. So, I decided to go after 'em. First two I found and dealt with easily enough. Third one, however," he tapped his metal leg, making it ring dully," turned out to be a bit more tricky."
Olivia frowned. "Can't you afford something better than ... that?" She pointed at the primitive prosthetic.
Blue laughed. "Sure, once this job's done." He grinned at her, a twinkle in his eyes. "So, can I count on you?"
Olivia's frown deepened. The prospect of going on a mission that would more than likely involve killing people did not sound particularly enticing to her - not in her current, unreliable condition. But she knew that she had little choice in the matter. Blue was one of the few people she considered to be a friend. It had been him who had brought her into the Colors' fold, had stood up for her when others accused her of being too cold, too aloof to work with. It had been Blue who helped her gather the former crew for their final mission against Pedro. She owed him more than she could ever repay.
"Looks like four standing watch on the outside," Olivia muttered over her shoulder, looking out over the enormous hole that scarred the arid landscape around them. At its bottom stood the remains of what had once been a large archeological site - now little more than ruins itself. Most of the infrastructure had been reduced to rubble decades ago, but a few old warehouses, still mostly intact, remained. Outside one of these, lazily scanning the perimeter, stood four men.
Blue huffed as he scrambled up towards the crater's lip to join Olivia. Lying down beside her, he rubbed his right thigh and grimaced.
"Makes eight more inside," he said, glancing over at Olivia. "Can you handle it?"
Olivia scoffed, keeping her eyes on the warehouse and its guards. "Last time we were here, we went up against way worse." She crawled forward, getting a better view of the artificial valley. "There's plenty of junk lying around to cover my approach. Getting in should be easy."
"Alright," Blue replied, awkwardly shrugging from his prone position. "Then I'll leave it up to you. Take those guys out, secure the supplies, and I'll pick you up in the Sickle." With that, he scrambled back away from the crater.
- - -
Olivia had circled the warehouse twice, in hopes of finding a secondary point of entry she could sneak through, but had come up empty-handed. The front entrance, guarded by the four thugs, was the only way she was getting inside. Carefully, she crawled up to the rusted remains of what had once been an excavator, only a few dozen yards from the warehouse's front. From behind her cover, she eyed the men standing watch, casually conversing with each other. Watching them, she weighed her options.
All four of them were armed with guns of some type or another. Even if she managed to get close enough without getting shot to use her knives, there were too many for her to take out quietly. That left her with her own pistol and the mag rifle Blue had given her. Neither of them were silenced. Gunshots and screams would alert the rest of the smuggling crew inside the storehouse. One way or another, Olivia would have to go in loud.
With a quiet sigh, she raised the mag rifle, resting its barrel on the excavator's treads. The guards were smart enough not to bunch up too closely, eliminating the option for her to mow them down in a single burst. Instead, she sighted the man standing closest to her and pulled the trigger once.
Without a sound, the thug collapsed to the ground as blood sprayed from his chest. The gunshot and his companions' surprised cries, however, echoed throughout the excavation site. Olivia quickly adjusted her aim, and fired a burst at the man farthest from her. Struck twice in the chest and once in the shoulder, he sprawled to the dirt, sending up a cloud of dust. One of the survivors turned in a panic to run for the warehouse's front door. Olivia put her sights on him and squeezed the trigger.
A shower of sparks flew up around her and her shot went wide.
"Shit," she muttered, ducking down behind the excavator. The other surviving thug had spotted her and fired salvo after salvo from his machine gun at her position. Cursing again, Olivia crawled to the other side of the excavator, sparks raining down around her, bullets whizzing through the air and impacting the digger. Leaning around the machine, she quickly raised her rifle at the gunman. He saw her, adjusting his aim at her, but too late to stop the mercenary from planting two rounds in his abdomen. Dropping his gun, he clutched his gut and fell to his knees. A third shot put him down for good.
Dusting herself off, Olivia slowly got to her feet, surveying the battlefield. Three men lay dead on the ground, their blood slowly soaking the dirt. The fourth had escaped into the warehouse, leaving the door swinging loosely on its hinges. Carefully, Olivia approached the entrance, pausing just outside. From within the warehouse sounded cries of alarm.