Planet Houston; Texas Penitentiary System; Republic of Liberty
Had this trip been settled on any earlier than it was, then the would-be tourists would have been plagued by a dust storm which had blown its way through Marlton's city streets only two days prior. And although these events were fairly tamed when compared to the more extreme environments Sirius offered, it was still a bother to the local population and put a wrench in affairs city-wide.
Arriving at the Starport, there was this prevailing sense of lost glory, with many of the buildings still embellished in a manner that seemed reminiscent of the traditional Liberty aesthetic that was grand and bold. Although even the dullest of eyes would be able to tell that wear and tear had worked its way across everything, where things must have all glittered like gold at some point, they were now dull and destitute. The older the building and the more pronounced this effect was.
Left to her own devices for about ten minutes, de Marco could perhaps appreciate the stark contrast this environment offered, prosperity was a foregone conclusion here, people forced to be more concerned with trying to live from paycheck to paycheck and everything here reeked of it. People had no time to be nice or to be warm even if the sun was exuberant in its apex overhead. Their futures had all been gambled away, and indemnity was reserved for the people responsible.
The streets below were a bustling affair, mostly vehicles owned by the major corporate interests on the planet, transporting raw materials and finished product back and forth. That monotony only broken up by dirtier shuttles full of commuters piled onto the only avenue of mass transit, trying to be on time for their shifts at the local factory. The few examples of personal transportation that could be observed were either pitiful or pristine and an example that seemed to reflect more of the latter blew by before quickly doubling back to stop in front of her.
It was a hoverbike, colored a striking combination of matte black and chrome orange to accentuate its style. The rider clad from head to toe in what seemed like a protective bodysuit that allowed for a balanced mixture of form and function and with the colors inverted from that of the bike. The most obvious giveaway of who this was would be the provisions strapped down and secured to the tail-end of the sporty looking thing. That and the fact they clearly recognized her, enough to come back this way and stop for her. With a few seconds of silence passing by as a visor on the helmet was yanked up, the voice that followed removed any potential for lingering doubt.
"Welcome to Houston. And no, it doesn't get any prettier." She was free to take her time before joining him, and there was even a helmet on the back for her to make use of, generously embellished with yellow roses and no doubt symbolic of something. If a creative spin was put on this trip, it was possible to get away with calling it an alien visitation.
Fiorella de Marco, currently hidden under her alias as Dawn Mayflower, was leaning against a nearby weathered concrete pillar, turning her head slightly in the direction of her arriving companion. She was wearing an unbuttoned dark red leather jacket with a black tank top under it, dark blue jeans and suede dark ankle-length boots. Her long and glossy raven wing colored hair was braided in a loose ponytail over her left shoulder and her eyes were hidden behind large and round mirror shades. Accessories like a belt in the same colour as her shoes and a watch on her left hand were commonplace, as were her earrings, several thin chains adorning her neck, and several bracelets on her right hand made of white gold. However, due to the restrictions based on her false identity, she was not visibly armed although some small firearm could easily be concealed in her leather jacket.
Even here, disguised as a Manhattan civilian, there was something strange about her body language and movements, something that was her own and not quite human. She stood there, watching him for several long seconds with a facial expression hidden mostly behind her mirrored shades until, with slow and unnaturally fluid movements, Fiorella straightened her posture and untangled herself from the concrete column she was leaning against. She clearly had all the time in Sirius as she approached him with her light, cautious, but also barely audible steps.
"I bid you a good day, Mister Doe."
Fiorella greeted her companion with the universal pseudonym, her peculiar accent placing melodic emphasis on every vowel. As always, she took care to pronounce each word - speaking slowly and deliberately - a stark contrast to the usual hurried and simplistic speech in Liberty.
"It seems that our nation is rather disorderly these days, is it not? Would you mind if I sit down and join you, Mister Doe?"
She picked up the hoverbike helmet decorated with several yellow roses and examined it before carefully donning it on her head and buttoning up its strap under her chin.
Glancing between the empty space behind him and the woman, he took a second before answering as if suggesting the fact that there was an empty space behind him should have made things obvious enough. All the same, he still humored her. "Yeah, things used to be nice around here. Pretty hopeful at one point. But that was a long time ago, now it's just a painful reminder of what could have been if a few people had more spine and priorities were different. By all means though, feel free to join me."
As soon as she was on the bike and had a minute to make any adjustments which she might need to make, he turned his head back to be able to check on her. "All good back there? If you've never been on one of these before, don't worry, it's not as bad as people claim it is. You'll be fine as long as you hold on and don't do anything silly." All that was left for this trip to start was for her to say it could, in anticipation for that nod of approval he gave the engine some power which produced an audible rumbling. From how smooth that noise was conveyed the engine seemed impeccably well-tuned, and an obsessive amount of attention was probably paid to this machine.
She settled carefully into the back seat of his hoverbike and casually wrapped her left arm around her companion sitting in front of her for additional stability.
"All is alright, Mister Doe."
Although the hoverbike began to accelerate as its engine gained power, Fiorella still seemed relaxed. She pulled out her commlink with her free right hand, the latest model made by the Kishiro, briefly checked its small display briefly before she tucked it back into her pocket.
"Feel free to go faster, I do not mind the higher speed and the overload at all!"
The melody of her careful diction faded a bit as she was forced to speak louder to drown out the engine directly below them with her voice.
"What do you mean that it is only going to get worse, Mister Doe, where are we going now?!"
Her lips moved in a slight, amused intent. It was hard to tell what intrigued her more - whether it was the sheer speed of their machine or the discovery of something new,,still unknown to her for the moment.
She could hear him laugh at her last question, if only barely audible over the engine and whizzing of traffic as he gracefully swerved his way past much slower vehicles. "I'm going to show and not tell! More exciting that way! Besides, we'll go somewhere nice to eat!" His voice needed to be raised in order to be audible, even through the shortrange radio receivers that linked the helmets together for communication's sake.
The further they seemed to speed along this route, the more the towering spires around them started to shrink and dwindle, as if crouching over in embarrassment of what was ahead. Unsightly pits littered the gravel and sand, dug into by large machines that drained the ground of whatever raw materials it could find for fertilizer. The tall and somewhat rustic designs of buildings seemingly relapsed into smokestacks and chimneys, spouting endless black fumes into the air. Like a predator chewing off the last specks of meat from a bone, if there was even a single substance of value on this planet, then odds were it was being exploited.
And this was saying nothing about the state of people on this planet. The frequency of people being put to hard labor in uniforms that bore serial numbers had increased sharply. Their status as undesirables meant they were pushed further into the outskirts rather than visible. The decrepit reality of this House, hidden in plain view.
The road passed and Fiorella took turns looking around as their hoverbike flew through Houston's streets.
"That depends whether I will have an appetite after the realities I will see in here - the cuisine reflects the nature of the culture which shaped it."
The people with numbers on their clothing caught her attention. As they flew past on their hoverbike, she scrutinised their clothes, the numbers and the depressed expressions on their faces.
"Who are these people around us, Mister Doe? They clearly do not like us, maybe even hate us. Mhm - they look like slaves to me. The numbers on their clothes are like their only identity, their only value to our nation. They envy our freedom. Am I correct?"
There were no worries in her voice or her body language. The presence of desperate and impoverished people around them not only did not matter for her, but she was not even afraid of them.
Easing off the throttle as they approached a junction, he pulled in along a series of offshoots and seemed to select one from memory, likely taking them somewhere specific. "Not just envy. They think everyone else is the reason they have no freedom anymore. That, and there's the fact they get paid nothing for their service, and everyone else on the outside benefits from how hard they're forced to work. That's the nature of the system so many people absent mindedly defend." Traffic seemed to be lighter by the time his insight had been provided, this district seeming more commercial in nature, covered in a variety of bright lights and clear signs to attract potential customers and patrons. One that stood out was a ubiquitous fast food franchise that could be reliably found all across Liberty, for the most part at least.
Slowing down more, he pulled in to what seemed like a driveway embellished with holographic representations of the visually pleasing food sold here. It seemed to appear to a more casual crowd and was by no means glamorous. Eventually, they reached a section that had an open window, with an employee manning it and ready to take their order. "What'll it be?" He asked his companion on the back of the bike, encouraging her to order first.
Fiorella was silent for a moment after his comment about the working prisoners, as if thinking about it for a moment and then she giggled genuinely.
"But slavery is evil, immoral and illegal - or so our government says. There are hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of them angry and frustrated! What are they going to do when these people have had enough and rebel - bomb their own industrial centers, massacre their working force, plunge our nation into a deep recession?"
Her amused tone and expression remained for several long minutes as they turned at the intersection toward the fast food branch.
She glanced briefly at the food and drink menu, artfully hiding the mild disgust on her face. After a brief hesitation, however, she pointed to a fried and breaded cheese slice in a semi-sweet bun.
"I am not in the mood for meat today and I do not have much courage for their salads after I have witnessed local working conditions. This, on the other hand, looks like an interesting, safe compromise and it looks sufficiently Libertonian at the same time. As for drinks, I would like to have a cup of iced mineral water with some fruit juice."
She reached into the pocket of her leather jacket, pulled out a credit chip with ten thousand credits and handed it to her companion.
Her treatise on the evils of slavery according to Liberty's own public policy made him smirk momentarily, feeling there was only one way to respond to that. "Yeah, well tell that to the President." It came with a half chuckle, since he could only imagine how a conversation between the vacationing Outcast and the President of this decrepit House would go. Once she'd told him what she wanted and even went so far as to hand him the money, he did his best to translate her fairly high handed "dialect" of sorts to the service staff waiting at the window just next to them.
"Give me one of your sweet grilled cheese buns, and.. what's the closest thing you have to juice?" There was an awkward pause as his query was considered, some hidden amusement as well since this really wasn't the place to be serving fresh juice of any kind. "Well, we've got some orange juice that's usually reserved for the breakfast menu." It was a hesitantly delivered answer because the orange juice was essentially just a synthetic blend pretending to be the real thing, but it was for all intents and purposes close enough. "Yeah, that's fine. One of your binge sandwiches too, a can of deep blue and a bottle of water. That'll be it." With their order conveyed, all they needed to do once the payment was provided would be to wait, which didn't prove all that long.
Once he'd been handed the food and sorted out a generous tip, Damien handed the bag with their order neatly packed within it to his companion. "Put this in that track strapped down on the back. We'll go eat somewhere nice." It was unclear what he meant by that, or if that was even possible on a planet like this, but there was a slim chance he could use his skills at improvisation to work something out. Once they'd gotten underway again, he felt the need to explain something. "You know I'm taking you to all these places deliberately, right?" He was now just curious to see if she understood his rationale.
She listened quietly to the conversation between her companion and the fast food attendant. Her face was still mostly hidden behind her large round mirror shades so her expression was largely unreadable. With a slight nod, she accepted the packages of food and drink she had purchased and attached them to the rack of their hoverbike.
"A somewhere nice? I have a feeling that the nicest place on this planet will be a disingenuous sham that will attempt to cover up the general waste and misery."
She wrapped her left hand around her companion again as their machine started moving again. She paused for a long moment as if she was thinking about his words. It was not until the third turn that she spoke again.
"Do these places and locations have any symbolic meaning for you, Mister Doe? I am fully aware that you are not from Houston, but how often do you visit a world like this one?"
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