Olivia eyed the entrance to the bar from her booth in the far corner, hidden mostly in shadows. She tried to give off a relaxed impression to the few people who noticed her, but her clenched jaw gave away her uneasiness to anyone who cared to look closely enough. Luckily, few did. Most of the establishment’s patrons were busy drowning their weariness in alcohol and what passed for trendy music in a place like this. Some slouched in their bar stools, passed out from heavy drinking. Others shouted and laughed, knocking over glasses and spilling beverages with not a care in the world. A few sat apart, like Olivia, quietly minding their own business.
It was the usual scene at Ames’ main bar. A hodgepodge of merchants, pilots, and crewmen from all over Sirius, seeking respite from their long, arduous journeys and the massive, violent dark matter storm that raged outside the station. The cosmic weather did little to abate the constant flow of traffic through the sector of space and, thus, the station. The warnings given by both Kusari’s and Liberty’s government authorities seemed only to encourage travelers to risk the tempest. Of course – despite the danger the storm posed to any ship passing through it – the route through Kepler was still ever so slightly shorter than the alternative through Galileo. And if there was one thing Olivia knew, it was that the people that frequented this freeport were keen on moving as quickly as possible from one point to another.
So the mercenary mused, her eyes still firmly locked on the doors leading in and out of the establishment, when she noticed a newcomer enter. Shoulders hunched forward and head kept low, the figure’s eyes darted around the bar, searching. They landed on Olivia. She raised her eyebrows at him but figured that the gesture was lost in the shadows enveloping her booth. The newcomer approached skittishly, glancing around with a nervous gaze, as if at any moment someone from amongst the drunken crowd would leap at him, and wrung his hands.
The man came to a halt before her booth. He looked at her timidly, shifting from foot to foot, unable to keep still. Olivia glared at him.
“Yes?” She finally hissed, straightening in her seat to come closer to eye level with the man.
He swallowed hard and muttered, “Olivia Sable?”
“That’s me,” Olivia replied, nodding her head at the seat across the table from her. With obvious relief, the man scampered to sit down. He ran a hand anxiously through his wavy hair and took a deep breath.
“It’s a pleasure to, uh, meet you, Miss, uh, Sable,” he managed to stutter as his right leg started nervously bouncing under the table. Olivia gave it a light kick. It stopped.
“Drop the miss,” she growled in response. “Just Sable.”
The man swallowed again.
“Uh, of course. Sorry, Miss- uh,“ he caught himself and gave her a weak, apologetic smile. “Sorry. Sable.”
Olivia sighed again, this time aloud. Here she had been, waiting for someone serious, someone competent. Instead, it looked as though she would have to deal with a fool so skittish, she worried he might piss himself if a drunk so much as belched at him.
“You’re Dax?” She inquired.
“Y-yes, that’s, uh, right,” the man, Dax, answered. His eyes finally let go of Olivia and darted once more around the bar, searching for some unseen threat. Olivia rolled her eyes. No one here posed any danger to them, save for the danger of vomiting alcohol and bile into their laps.
“Your message made me expect someone,” she paused, looking for the right word, “tougher.”
Dax gave a nervous laugh and looked back at the mercenary.
“So, what’s this about?” She asked, leaning back in her seat and throwing an arm over the backrest. “Your message said it's something about LPI?”
Dax shifted in his seat, clasping his hands before him, and leaned towards the mercenary.
“That’s, uh, right.” Again, he let his eyes dart across the bar. Seemingly satisfied that the patrons were, indeed, not going to pose a threat to them, his gaze finally landed on Olivia again and stayed there. “You’re wanted for, uh, murder. Right?”
Olivia raised an eyebrow. Straight to the point.
“That’s right.”
A grin lit up Dax’ face for an instant, before it vanished again, and he leaned in even closer.
“I, uh, think I can fix that,” he whispered.
Olivia raised her other eyebrow, too.
“I don’t think you can unmurder someone,” she muttered jokingly.
“No, no, no!” Dax insisted, missing the sarcasm in her tone. “I mean, I can get rid of your wanted status!”
At this, Olivia straightened in her seat, her attention captured.
“How?”
Dax chewed his lips nervously, clearly considering what to reveal about himself to the mercenary. But the claim had piqued her interest and the idea of no longer having to sneak around Liberty like some pirate or terrorist was too enchanting for Olivia to keep her patience.
“Spit it out,” she growled.
“I, uh,” he started, shifting anxiously, “I work for LPI.”
At this, Olivia’s right hand slid down under the table, resting firmly on the sidearm holstered to her thigh. Noticing the motion, the man across from her hurriedly waved his hands at her and stuttered, “N-no, no! I’m not here to take you in!” He swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
“Start talking,” Olivia hissed.
Dax took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts.
“I work in the cyber-investigations department.” He looked at Olivia expectantly. Olivia returned his gaze, waiting for him to go on. He didn’t.
“And?” She prompted.
“Oh! Sorry,” Dax replied. “That means I, uh, am good at getting into computer systems. Hacking, data mining, that, uh, sort of stuff.” He wrung his hands in front of himself again. “So, I, uh, can get into your files and, uh…” He trailed off.
