The capital of New Corbus was unimaginatively called New Corbus City. Some thought it lazy but to Lexa she thought it nothing but helpful. After all her lives, and after all the planets and places she had visited, needing to remember names had become something of a chore. So she was thankful that the man who had named the city had been feeling particularly unimaginative that day.
New Corbus sat as the capital planet of one of the last hub systems before the outer worlds and that fact seemed to legitimise it for all the wrong reasons. Despite the carefully constructed shine of a capital planet it had developed a reputation for an underworld that at times was charming and at others rather violent — whichever side of the planet one could expect to find tied directly to the company one was prone to keep.
Lexa continued walking down one of countless floating city boulevards as the pattering rain and the nighttime echoes of solar trance music filtered in from a club somewhere buried below. Neon-holos flashed images as she walked by of scantily clad men, only to shift to scantily clad women at her refusal to acknowledge the gyrating images that engulfed her. Anything to catch her attention. People walked past, too, some with heads tucked into their large coat collars turned up against the rain, others in boisterous conversation with partner and friend. Even skycars whizzed by overhead, the hum of their anti-grav engines barely making a dent in the cacophony of sound that was the city boulevard.
Lexa hadn't been on New Corbus in almost two hundred years. Part of her had expected things to look different, part of her had expected things to look exactly the same. So it was strange that she felt it to be both. Despite the differences, things still felt just as they did centuries ago.
The boulevard Lexa walked upon floated high above the planet's surface of gleaming metal, that during the day glowed an ethereal silver but at night swallowed light and spit it out into a frenzied neon craze that bounced off surface after surface.
structure built up on top of structure rose up either side of the floating boulevard, their base tethered to the planet's surface far below, their tops somewhere so far above that even the neon holograms that flashed across every building surface disappeared from view.
A particularly rough gust of wind seemed to spit the rain into her face and Lexa grimaced past the discomfort as she tucked her chin deeper into the upturned collar of her coat, her hands stuffed deep into her pockets. Subconsciously she found herself thumbing the safety of the pistol she kept tucked against her hip. Years ago she had cut a hole in the pocket of her coat designed to allow her to draw her pistol at any moment's notice. She normally didn't feel the need to be armed, not in the core worlds, but she wouldn't take the risk on New Corbus.
The gentle buzz on her wrist alerted her to an incoming message and Lexa blinked twice in quick succession to pull up the information on her ocular implants.
The message was simple.
All it gave her was an address, no other details. She didn't expect much more and she didn't even really need the address. She remembered from the last time she had been on New Corbus, and she didn't think she'd ever forget.
Lexa blinked away the message as she cinched her bag a little closer to her body under her coat. She had time to kill, or she didn't care about leaving her friend waiting. Whatever the reason, she didn't care enough to figure it out herself.
The area Lexa found herself in was distinctly somewhere between the upmarket and the rebellious youth. The people that walked by wore clothes that to even the untrained eye would seem expensive and luxurious. For the men, their clothes far too restricting in movement, and for the women far too revealing to be comfortable. There was even a subtle sleaze that permeated the air, that made Lexa's taste buds sour at the thought of what happened behind closed doors and darkened alleyways. Perhaps it was the night lights, the holos that flashed their subliminal messages or even the wandering hands she could see on every corner that gave her that impression.
But Lexa paused mid step, she ignored the man who cursed her out as he side stepped her only to step into a puddle. Lexa took three steps back as she came to a store front, its window flashing the news of the previous day, the signage quickly adjusting to her eye level as she peered inside.
Lexa looked into a bar that was practically empty, the few who remained nursed drinks close to the chest and a lone couple could be seen in the far corner, hands clearly up to no good in the shadows. Lexa took note of the time before stepping through the doors that opened for her and she was greeted by the gentle lull of music she hadn't heard before.
The bartender, a snaggletoothed man, looked up and smiled with a friendly wave. It was a simple bar, a quiet bar, surprisingly empty despite its location on the boulevard. But for some reason Lexa thought it purposeful.
As she found a spot at the bar, the sticky surface not unfamiliar to her, she found herself appreciating the quiet if only because it could give her time to think, to consider, to try to organise her thoughts and to temper her anticipation.
"What're you having, sweetheart?" the bartender said as he slid a coaster her way.
Lexa looked up at him and decided for whatever reason to let the name slide as he eyed her up and down.
"Tungsten shot," she said to raised eyebrows. "With ice."
"One tungsten shot with ice coming right up," it was rather cliched, the exchange, but Lexa found all bartenders seemed to follow the same script. Perhaps something about the occupation, she supposed.
Wouldn't she play the part if she were a bartender? Wouldn't that be what people came to a bar for? It certainly was when she had been a far younger woman.
It didn't take long for the glass of steaming drink to be set down on the coaster in front of her and she could feel the bartender's gaze on her as she reached forward. She didn't know when she picked up the taste for tungsten shots. It had been so long ago that the memories took far too long to settle for her patience. It was a curse though, whoever had been partial to them had set every single one of their following bodies on a spiralling path of too strong a hangover in search of their first taste of the bitter drink, each body not quite having the same tolerance of the previous upon their ascension.
Lexa brought the drink to her mouth, let the bitter heat burn against her upper lip and she inhaled deeply. She loved it. It was simple. It was easy to understand. Bitterness came only to be followed by a lightheaded appreciation for the foils of man. Or, in her case at least, woman.
"What brings a lady like you to New Corbus City?"
She looked up to find the bartender wiping down the bench in front of her, eyes full of innocent curiosity.
"What makes you think I don't live here?" she challenged lightly as she let the rising steam waft against her face.
He scoffed, jerked his head to the couple in the far corner.
"You ain't dressed like locals," he said, and Lexa glanced over her shoulder and tried not to look too long at the skirt the woman wore, whose intricate patterns displayed windows of amber flesh for all to see.
"Maybe I come from the upper levels," and Lexa let one of her eyebrows raise, the glint in the bartender's eyes charming.
"Maybe," he said, and he reached out and placed a glass of his own in front of him. "But you don't."
"I don't?" and Lexa let her voice take on an incredulous tone. "Why?"
"Just a feeling. That's all," he said as he downed the amber drink he poured himself before filling his glass.
"It's the hair, isn't it," Lexa said lightly as she flicked her hair aside, the brown waves happy to be let free from the confines of her coat's collar.
"Maybe," the bartender said with a laugh. "So," and he took the time to savour the next sip he took. "You here for business, Miss? Or pleasure?"
There was a cheekiness to his voice and his question that made Lexa's lips twitch up at the corners as old memories began to take hold.
"Maybe a little of column A, a little of column B," she said, and she didn't quite mean for it to sound just as wishful as it did.
"I see," and it surprised her when he reached down behind the bar and pulled up a bottle of the very same liquid that filled her glass and refilled it. "On the house," he said. "You seem like you need it."
"Thank you," Lexa said as she closed her fingers around the glass and let the heat of the fresh drink seep into her tired bones. "What's your name?"
He smiled before shrugging devilishly, "whatever you want it to be, Miss."
"Does that really work?" Lexa said as she brought the glass to her lips.
"I dunno," and he laughed quietly. "Does it?"
Lexa smiled as she shook her head before taking another sip, the taste enough to chase away the cold that seemed to have seeped into her body without her really noticing.
"So, what is it?" Lexa asked over the rim of her glass. "Or are you going to make a lady beg?"
The bartender sighed, the sound just a little exaggerated.
"If you insist on pulling my arm," and he held it out for her.
Lexa obliged, she reached out and pulled just a little, the motion oddly familiar to her after all these years.
"Bob," he said with a sly grin.
"Nice to meet you, Bob," Lexa said. "I'm Jane."
"You ain't lying to me now, are you, Jane?"
"Are you lying to me, Bob?"
"Nope."
"Then I'm not, either," and Lexa liked the memories that now began to come back with a little more intensity with each passing moment.
Lexa paused as she leant back in the chair she sat in, she tried to stifle a yawn only to fail as she took in a tired breath.
"It normally this quiet, Bob?" she asked eventually.
"Sometimes it is, sometimes it's busier," 'Bob' said. "I don't mind."
"You don't mind?" Lexa asked.
"Not at all," and she knew he was telling the truth from the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Me ma bought this place years ago, when she was young. Worked her butt off, made it something big."
Lexa smiled as a face seemed to solidify in her mind.
But Bob continued, "then I came along, and ma still worked the bar, never one to complain. I had my own life, never thought of running a bar," Bob said. "Ma worked here til the day she died, bless her soul," Bob paused then, perhaps to remember the good times, perhaps to miss the memories. "The bar did well enough under ma to give me a good start on life. So when she passed I thought of closing shop, you know?" Bob paused in thought. "I had my own career and all that stuff."
"But you keep it open for her?" Lexa asked.
"That's right," he said with a shrug and a smile. "It ain't no sweat off my back, but I like to think it keeps me and ma close."
Lexa smiled as she took another sip of her drink, and she found herself remembering a song that played so many years ago. She remembered the laughter, the wandering hands, the sloppy kisses. She even remembered not remembering, too.
"I think she'd be proud of you, Bob," Lexa said as she looked him in the eyes.
"You think?" he said, and behind the mischievous glint in his gaze Lexa could see a sadness for a relationship long missed.
"I know," and Lexa took one long sip of her drink.
"Yeah," Bob said with a smile. "I guess so," he said and he raised his glass in toast. "To good times, Jane," he said. "Past and future."
Lexa smiled as she lifted her glass to her lips once more as she took a sip. And it was bitter, at first, it hit her tongue with a cruel bite but the taste sweetened, it soothed the bite and it eased her mind and it brought a smile to her lips. Lexa remembered the bartender she had met almost two centuries ago, who had seemed to laugh with so much weightlessness that it had let her forget for just a little while.
"Yeah," Lexa said with a sad smile. "To good times."
Lexa let herself lose track of time as she sat at the bar. People came and went, some stayed for hours, some for only a drink or two. Lexa didn't know exactly why she hid away amongst old memories. But she did. She lied to herself in some sad attempt to understand, to make sense of the things she felt and the things she needed to do. Bob filled her glass when asked, cut her off for an hour or two when he thought she drank too much and he filled the time with cheerful conversation that always seemed to bring a smile to her lips.
But the sun beginning to rise and the buzzing on her wrist finally broke her from whatever revelry she had found herself in.
"Somewhere to be?" Bob asked as he glanced at the flashing light on her wrist.
"Probably," and Lexa winced as she realised the earliness of the hour.
She stood, tried to fight back the groan at the cramp in her calf and she swiped her wrist against the sensor in the table and blinked an acknowledgement at the notification that flashed before her eyes.
"Thanks for the chat, Bob," Lexa said with a smile as she waved over her shoulder mid stride for the door. "For the conversation," she said in answer to his raised eyebrows as he read the tip that must have been flashing across his own eyes.
"You take care, Jane," he called after her with a kind smile.
Lexa returned his smile as she came to the door. But as it slid open she found herself pausing, one half of her engulfed by the cold of the new morning air, one half still hugged by the warmth of a bar she might visit in another hundred years or two.
"Hey, Bob," she said as she turned to look the man in the eyes.
"Yeah?" he said.
"My name's Lexa," and she found herself liking the way his cheeks dimpled ever so slightly.
"Frankie," he said with an understanding nod.
Stepping into the cold of the new morning felt like stepping into a new state of mind. Though Lexa's mind was tired the chill seemed to wake her fully and chase away whatever wistful memories had dominated the night before. The buzzing on her wrist and the message that flashed across her eyes made her sigh though. She should have expected it, should have anticipated what was to come.
A shadow fell across her face and as Lexa looked up into the early morning sky she found an elegant form slowly descending from above. Even the few that walked by in the morning chill noticed, some took just enough of a look to register the skycar that approached before tuning it out, others seemed to watch simply for they had nothing better to do and others still ignored it entirely.
Once the skycar settled in front of her on the boulevard passersby hardly made note of the intrusion in their path, the appearance of a skycar clearly not uncommon for those walking by. But a suspicion began to fill Lexa's mind as she stepped back, chin tilted up ever so slightly in defiance at whoever had been sent to find her.
The skycar that landed in front of her was quite obviously expensive. The sleek chrome plated lines of the vehicle conjured images of aquatic beasts, serpentine and elegant as they cut through the water. But its design was ostentatious and — dare she admit — an effective way at convincing the far too wealthy that this make and model in particular was the one to buy. Skycars need not be aerodynamic, sleek and poised, if only because they were, well, anti-grav. They had no need to be aerodynamic at all really.
But perhaps its shape, its aquatic lines and chrome plated body worked on her. If only because she thought it was deserving of admiration and a second-over.
Lexa came face to face with her own reflection in the blacked out windows. She'd laugh at any other time at just how ostentatious this whole thing was, but it didn't surprise her, it never did. All nightbloods had accumulated an excess of wealth over their lives. Some liked to lay low, not attract attention, whilst some liked to flaunt it, to live a life of luxury and splendour. And currently, Lexa understood just which category her old friend fell into.
The hiss of the door opening was barely heard over the hum of people moving by and the distant music of below-surface-meets that had barely lessened with the morning sun. The door slid open fully and Lexa was greeted by the soft leathers and antique wood laden interior of a skycar most would never be able to afford. Sparkling chrome metal glittered in the grey tinged light. Wood as rich and as deep in colour as any ocean moon was interwoven with displays and technologies and fabrics that she knew came from the furthest of systems. All of it played together, danced and spun their way into something that was quite clearly worth more than most well-off people's yearly salaries.
A woman, dressed in a neatly pressed white shirt and slim black pants that screamed equal parts elegance and fierceness, sat in the driver's seat. She had pale skin and long dark brown hair that was pulled back and braided intricately and though her face was sharp, her cheeks clung to a youth that didn't quite seem to match the hardness in her gaze.
"Is this for me?" Lexa asked as she waved her hand over the skycar though she already knew the answer.
"Yes," the woman said, "We've been waiting for you."
"I know," and Lexa held up her wrist to show the holographic notification still flashing.
"Get in," the woman said as she jerked her chin for Lexa to enter.
Lexa sighed, took one last look around herself to find a few passers-by taking an interest in the conversation before them, and some clearly more intrigued by the skycar than either woman.
And with that Lexa ducked into the skycar and sat in one of the almost comically large seats that seemed to engulf her.
"Harness, please," the woman said as the door began to hiss closed behind her automatically.
"On it," Lexa said as she reached out, and as she snared the harness she found that even that was so very over the top, from the gleaming metal buckle to the leather strap and stitching. "When did you know I arrived?"
"As soon as you entered orbit," the woman said.
"I had the address," Lexa said. "You didn't need to pick me up."
"You were taking your time."
"I was busy."
The woman looked over her shoulder and at the bar Lexa had stepped out of and the look of distain was hardly missed upon her face before she turned back forward. A shallow silence settled between them and Lexa wondered if she had met this woman before, if she was known to her, or if this woman was only a well compensated employee who didn't ask too many questions.
But the engines spooled back into that subtle buzzing hum and Lexa watched the nameless woman guide the skycar up from the boulevard and into the sky. After clearing whatever height regulation were set in place the woman flipped a switch and the skycar hurtled forward. Enormous floating boulevard after boulevard flashed by below, buildings that stretched up into the sky turned into blurred colours of silver and magnificent shimmering light and Lexa found herself looking out the window and at the other skycars that they joined as they flew through the air.
Silence lingered in the skycar for an uncomfortable amount of time, and as Lexa looked down at the city that flashed by below she wondered whether the silence was purposeful, whether the woman had been instructed to make her uncomfortable on the journey or if she was just simply like that herself, or if she was seeing how long it took for Lexa to recognise her in some way.
It didn't surprise Lexa when the skycar lurched once and then began to rise higher and higher into the upper atmosphere, the upper most reaches of the sprawling city of floating boulevards and walkways home to the decidedly more wealthy.
It would be a long flight, Lexa assumed, and so she didn't mind that she helped herself to getting comfortable and that she tried to find even just a moment of probably well needed sleep. What more was she going to do? Try to make conversation with ice queen in the driver's seat?
Enormous and shaped like a dagger of liquid metal the Nightingale was a Monarch-class cruiser normally based in the Tavonal system in the twelfth district of the galactic core. Though it called the Tavonal system home, it wasn't uncommon for any starships of the United Human Republic to make the journey to systems far and wide.
But this journey in particular was different. Onboard the Nightingale served almost 10,000 servicemen and women, engineers, scientist and doctors. Even civilians and their families lived aboard. But of those 10,000 there was a small detachment of irregulars that went by unnoticed by most.
Clarke stood by the floor to ceiling viewport of the observation deck, the clear aluminium window almost undetectable to her eyes as she stared down at New Corbus as it rotated by slowly below. Fleet Intelligence had ownership of a small section of the Nightingale and though its facilities barely made a blip on the ships internal maps, they held perhaps the most well equiped and advanced scanning and communications equipment available to the entire ship.
Clarke couldn't help but to find her view interrupted by the hints of her reflection that stared back at her. The woman who looked back at her didn't quite match the mental image she had of herself. Physically, it did, from the blonde hair that was pulled back in a tight bun, from the blue of her eyes and even the slight hint of a beauty spot above her lip and the cleft chin that she had been teased about as a youth. But what surprised her was the hardness in her eyes, in the way she held herself. She knew it not purposeful, not even conscious. But she had gone this long without giving herself hope that holding herself any other way seemed so very foreign.
But the hiss of the observation deck's doors pulled her attention from her reflection and from the view down below and Clarke turned to find Costia walking her way, tablet in one hand and a bag slung over a shoulder.
Costia was a slender woman of nodescript height, easily dismissed for being too short, easily tall enough to surprise most when needed. The dark curls of her hair were pulled back in a messy bun that contrasted so very deeply with just how well pressed the black uniform she wore was and her complexion was both tanned enough that she could pass as coming from any of the harsh outer words, and light enough that she could mingle with the prejudiced socialites of the galactic core.
"Have you packed?" Costia asked, her voice light and tinged with the hints of fatigue.
"Yes," Clarke answered as she turned back to look at New Corbus through the grand viewport that stretched out before her.
"We're to change out of our uniforms before leaving," Costia continued, and Clarke shifted her gaze to Costia's reflection to find hazel eyes smiling at her with an eagerness and anticipation she found infectious.
"I'm not surprised," Clarke answered with a half smile, the last time they had gone on a mission together pulling memories a little too care free into her mind.
Costia came to stand closer beside her then, one of the woman's hands coming up to press against the cold of the viewport as she leant forward and seemingly stretched out into the nothingness of space in front of them.
"Ever been to New Corbus?" Costia asked.
"Nope," it didn't surprise Clarke that she had never been, that Fleet Intelligence had never seen fit to even station people here permanently. There had always been bigger fish to fry. Until now.
"Same," Costia said.
"It's the perfect hiding spot," Clarke said. "Too far away from the galactic core to draw too much suspicion but close enough to influence. And close enough to the outer worlds," she needn't elaborate, anyone in Fleet Intelligence would understand the benefits such a busy hub world would have for those running less than legal operations out of the outer worlds.
"Yep," Costia nodded. "Come on," she said as she reached up and slapped Clarke's shoulder lightly. "I want a bite to eat and maybe a hit of something strong before we head down."