Water beaded against the skycar's windows as it rose higher and higher into the clouds above New Corbus City. A crimson wash of colours exploded around the vehicle as it pierced through the last of the cloud layer.
The woman piloting, eyes ever focused on the instruments, flipped a switch that turned the quiet thrum of the anti-grav into a barely audible hiss before bleeding into nothing. And with that the skycar hurtled forwards.
The skycar cut through the purple-tinted sky and a blanket of clouds stretched out below as far as the eye could see. At times the clouds shimmered, shifted, floated as if something spurred them onwards, at times they seemed to rest, to sleep, to soften the cold of the air and hang trapped in place. Lexa felt like she could have reached out, could have carded her fingers through the clouds as the skycar cut through the air. But she knew it far too cold to linger outside, she knew the clouds so far below, so huge that their size was unimaginable, incomprehensible to her.
On the horizon she could see the rising of a distant sun, its light slowly turning the clouds crimson, its heat slowly chasing back shadows that stretched out like the darkened tendrils of an unseen beast.
Every now and then she could see another skycar cut through the air, slice through the blanket of clouds, as they punched down into the planet's atmosphere, or splice through the air as they rose higher and higher and higher into the sky.
It was undeniable now that Lexa found herself in the company of the rich, the wealthy, those with more power than any on the lower levels could fathom. A ship, sleek and as black as obsidian, lifted up through the cloud tops in the distance, clouds drifting off it in gentle waves before its engines spooled into action as it prepared to hurtle into the upper atmosphere before plunging into the black of space.
But all those marvellous things passed Lexa by. She had spent lifetimes gazing upon scenes just like that, she had spent years remembering, reliving, and regretting things she couldn't change. Years had gone by where she had lived in the shadows, where she had hunted down lead after lead, until she had found herself drawn to New Corbus. She should have expected to find herself drawn back the the planet, to the city she had once called home. She wondered what it would be like now.
Lexa's gaze turned from the clouds the skycar skimmed across and to the woman who sat in the driver's seat. The white of her shirt, its crisp lines and the elegance of the cut were familiar. She wasn't surprised by the clothes the woman wore. Even the black of her pants, and how they swallowed any light that touched it was familiar, was to be expected, and was the sign of someone who had every need and want catered to without much thought.
But Lexa pulled her gaze from the woman's clothes and to her hair. Fierce braids were woven through the deep brown. Her hair was pulled back from her eyes and the intricacies of the patterns were enough for Lexa to know this woman had her own servants, whether human or synth, to serve her. But the thing that drew Lexa's attention was the simple fact that her hair fell down well below her shoulders, it hid the back of her neck and she knew what it meant without really needing to be told.
"How old are you?" Lexa asked as she reclined further into her seat, legs stretched out in front of her as she looked at the side of the woman's face.
"Twenty-Eight," it was a simple reply, one that Lexa knew to be truthful.
But not the whole truth.
"Last time I was on New Corbus was almost two hundred years ago," Lexa said as she looked back out the window. A long cloud drifted above the blanket of its brethren, the shadow it cast long, gentle and kind in the dazzling light of the rising sun.
"I know," the woman answered, and Lexa looked back to find that the woman looked at her through the reflection in the view screen.
Lexa smiled, if only because she liked the devilish smirk that snaked its way upon the woman's lips ever so subtly.
"What's your name?" Lexa asked.
She found she liked these games they played, the face they spoke to unknown, the memories shared lifetimes ago.
"Ontari," the woman replied with a subtle tilting of her head before she turned back to face forward as she began guiding the skycar higher yet into the sky.
"Who were you before?" but as Lexa continued to look, as she continued to think, she found herself beginning to recognise the mischievous glint in Ontari's eyes she had once seen in another.
"You died in my arms," Ontari said quietly as the skycar banked right, the clouds Lexa could once see slowly replaced by the deep purple of space high above where stars could still be seen. "Almost two hundred years ago."
There was a certain unspoken rule amongst nightbloods. One that most adhered to. It wasn't so concrete as to be unbreakable, but it had been put in place to keep the peace, to ensure old grudges were never allowed to bleed into the lives of others. But perhaps Lexa would acknowledge what had been revealed. If only because she had never been given a chance to repay the debt she had always felt she owed.
"Thank you," and Lexa meant it. More than she could imagine.
"You're welcome," Ontari answered with just as much sincerity.
But a gentle sadness crept over Lexa. If only because she had never been given a chance to say goodbye. If only because she had always wanted to know more than she had known.
"How long?" Lexa asked and she fought to keep her emotions in check. "How long ago was it?"
Ontari remained quiet for a moment as she eased the skycar into a steady incline. Once she seemed satisfied she could take her hands off the controls she turned in her seat to face her.
"He lived a full life," Ontari said with a sad smile. "I was given his memories almost twenty years ago."
"Was he happy?" Lexa asked.
"Yes," and Ontari turned back forwards. "He was," there was a moment's pause as Ontari seemed to remember, ponder and recall something not thought of in years. "He would be happy to know you are well, Lexa," with those words the remnants of whatever icy-standoffishness melted away.
Lexa let the silence take hold of the skycar as she looked back out the window. She knew if she said anymore her voice would crack, just as she knew her memories would return with just as much pain and hurt, loss and sadness.
It would be strange to look at Ontari knowing who she had once been, it always was when faced with an old friend and a new face. But she was happy one of her mentor's memories would be passed down to another. They deserved that much.
The remainder of the journey went by in relative silence. Only the hum of the skycar's engines broke the calm. Lexa didn't mind though. It gave her the opportunity to organise her thoughts and to try to figure out how she was going to get what she came here for.
Every now and then she found herself glancing at Ontari, perhaps in an attempt to reconcile Ontari's face with that of her former mentor. She couldn't deny the woman was very much different to who she had once known, mostly in part due to the fact that Ontari was in fact a woman and not the guiding presence of a man whose memories she now shared. But there were subtle similarities in the way Ontari held herself. That wasn't a surprise though. Every successive host seemed to pick up a habit or two from those of past lives.
But before too long Lexa's attention was pulled to the structure that appeared over the horizon rising up through the clouds.
A large almost circular, rounded tower of shimmering chrome rose up high into the sky, its base somewhere buried far below hidden by the clouds. There were no seams, no metal joints, no glass panels or any other form of blemish visible upon the tower's surface. It didn't surprise Lexa at just how ostentatious the structure was. Most who lived this high above New Corbus lived just that way. It gave them privacy from the masses despite the grandeur of their palatial home amongst the clouds. Perhaps those who lived in such structures need not worry about what the lowly peons so far below thought of them.
"It hasn't changed," Lexa said quietly as Ontari levelled the skycar and began directing it forward as it slowed.
"No," Ontari said quietly, and Lexa could tell she focused just a little more as she began guiding the skycar to its final destination.
The closer they got to the tower the larger it grew until it took up almost all of Lexa's vision with its shimmering, glinting chrome wash of colour. The skycar continued forward ever so slowly then, the gleaming tower blocked out the sun and it cast the skycar's cabin in a dark shadow that silenced the warmth of the waking morning.
As they neared the tower an opening appeared, elliptical in shape as it slowly increased in size. Lexa watched as Ontari began slowing the skycar down, its speed something unknown, any frame of reference she had once had from the clouds now all consumed by the dark shadow of the opening and the enormity of the gleaming tower.
They continued forward for a second, perhaps five, perhaps ten, and then they crossed the threshold of the opening in the side of the tower as darkness consumed the skycar whole. That darkness only lasted a second before a ring of lights appeared along the edge of a circular platform, size large enough to fit the skycar comfortably in its centre.
And then Ontari set it down with barely a gentle thud.
Lexa took a moment to look back behind her to find the entrance to the tower slowly closing as silently and as gracefully as it had opened. But as the last light of the outside world was cut off, the black of the space around her seemed to come alive without light source, without shadow and without intensity. It existed somewhere between the visible and the unseen and it was something that Lexa had once found disconcerting centuries ago.
Lexa waited as Ontari flipped a switch before the skycar's doors began to open with a gentle thrumming hiss. She waited until they finished opening before she stepped out of the skycar, bag cinched tight to her body as she smoothed over her coat.
"This way," Ontari gestured as she came around to the same side of the skycar.
It had been too long since Lexa had visited, too long since she had felt the cool chill of the familiarity. She had almost forgotten, almost let the memories fade into the background. But as she fell into step behind Ontari, as she followed a woman who had once been an old friend and a cherished mentor, she found herself embracing whatever memories began to resurface.
They continued walking towards the edge of the platform and deeper into the cavernous black of the tower. Their footsteps echoed out around them and Lexa could see no features in the dark, she could see no doorways in the distance. All frame of reference for how large the space was didn't exist. But as they approached the platforms edge more lights seemingly appeared in the nothingness before her to reveal a walkway large enough for perhaps five people to walk across side by side.
"Does anyone ever fall over the edge?" Lexa asked quietly, yet her voice decided to carry in the silence, it decided to echo out into the cold of the unknown around them.
"No," Ontari said with a gentle laugh.
Lexa had once contemplated jumping, had once morbidly been curious to see just how far down the depths went. But part of her thought it all a trick, part of her thought that perhaps the lights were a deception and that she could simply walk past their shielding presence and continue on until she hit the very walls of the tower. But she wouldn't test that theory. Not until she had finished what she had stared centuries ago.
They walked for minutes in silence along the impossible path before them. Each step they took gentle and too loud, quiet and too sudden to be natural. Lexa wouldn't be surprised if there were pressure sensors imbedded in the flooring that amplified any footsteps it detected.
Before too long a sliver of light appeared in the distance. It grew in size and reached upwards as if giant doors were slowly being slid open before them. A lone figure stood in the new light's centre, their silhouette darkened by the intensity of cool light that didn't seem to cast its presence any further than a breath.
They came to a stop before the newcomer, a woman whose face was sharp, her stature just a little taller than both and her expression somewhere between curiosity and indifference.
"Echo," Ontari said in greeting.
"Ontari," Echo answered, and Lexa found herself thinking Echo a nightblood too, if only because her hair was braided in similar ways, and that it fell well past her shoulders, enough to hide the scar that would beckon question and reveal secret. "She's waiting."
Lexa began to step forward but Echo stepped into her path, one hand held up to stop her from proceeding.
"Weapons," Echo said, her tone simple, her eyes hardening.
Lexa reached into her coat's pocket and drew out her pistol slowly before handing it over.
"And your bag," Echo insisted
But at that Lexa would draw a line. She'd part with her pistol. That was replaceable. But the other belongings she wouldn't let out of her sight easily.
"Not going to happen," Lexa said, and she lifted her chin ever so slightly. Enough that she knew Echo would see the challenge, enough that Echo would see no threat, no attempt to mask hidden truths.
"It's ok," Ontari said after a slight pause. "She can keep the bag."
Echo was silent for a moment as she eyed Lexa, and through it all Lexa found herself trying to figure out if Echo had been someone she had met in a previous life, if she had known her, crossed paths, perhaps even been close with. But eventually Echo nodded and stepped aside, and with that Lexa pushed away her questioning thoughts.
"Echo takes her job seriously," Ontari said as they continued through the new threshold of unblinding light.
"I can see."
The space beyond the threshold was different. There was a subtle light that permeated the space in comparison to the cold emptiness of the first. Though still black, Lexa looked down at the floor and saw a perfect reflection of herself, yet the image was dimmed, it seemed shadowed, hidden by some unseen film that covered the entirety of the floor she stood upon.
But as she looked back forwards she found a vast window to the outside that spanned seemingly as far as she could see. Perhaps a window, perhaps some other abstract technology that kept the elements at bay. Whatever it was allowed Lexa to see the clouds that blanketed the atmosphere far below where she stood. She could see the sun's light that danced its purple and red, yellow and orange light across every little undulation and she could even spy the occasional vessel that broke through the cloud cover as it raced back and forth, to and fro.
A long wooden table sat in the distance, and it was rich in colour, a deep brown tinged with red. Upon it were plates of food, glasses of drink and a single large candle that danced its flame light across the black emptiness that surrounded her.
A woman sat at the head of the table, her hair a subtle blonde, greyed at the edges and her eyes a piercing blue. It was a face Lexa had seen long ago, one she had grown used to, been familiar with but had long since left behind.
And yet as she continued to walk forward, as she continued to approach, she found herself fighting back the ever threatening smile that seemed to want to break free.
And so, eventually, after an eternity, after echoed step and perfectly dimmed reflection beneath her, Lexa came to the table, a chair and a plate of food already awaiting her.
"Lexa," the woman said, her voice oddly cold, her expression just as curious as it was cold, calculating, unkind and gentle.
"Nia," Lexa said and she took a moment to look out around herself, to Ontari who had come to stand aside, to the empty black of the room where walls were not visible, were the source of light that gave vision to her eyes was unseen, and where the vastness of the window before her stretched out so far she was sure it wrapped around the tower. She looked up, she looked as high as she could and yet she could not see an end to the height of the window just as she could not see sign of a roof or any kind of structure above.
And it made her feel small, it made her feel infinitesimally unimportant.
And it was all by design.
"Sit, Lexa," Nia said as she gestured for the chair. "I've been expecting you."
Lexa smiled as she shrugged off her bag and sat in the chair, her eyes never leaving Nia's who continued to follow each movement she made with a predatory intensity.
Eventually Lexa settled herself as comfortably as she could given who she sat in front of. Even the seemingly absent window that expanded in every direction behind Nia, that showed the clouds, the rising sun and the brave few stars that still shone their light, made her feel just a little nauseous at the height she knew them to be.
"How are you, my dear?" Nia asked as she reached for the cutlery set on the table top, the knife gleaming, sparkling in the flickering of the candle light, the fork elegant in form and in motion as Nia held it aloft.
"Good," Lexa answered as she reached for her own cutlery.
"It has been too long," Nia said, the cutlery in her grasp never moving as she stared intently at Lexa. "How long has it been, my dear, since you graced us with your presence?"
"Almost two hundred years," Lexa said.
"One hundred and ninety seven-years," Nia said softly. "Three months. Eleven days—" she looked away, and Lexa knew she accessed her ocular implants. "Four hours. Two minutes and—" a moment's pause, "twenty-three seconds since I last saw you," and Nia's gaze snapped back to her. "And you haven't aged a day, my dear."
Clarke knew Costia was talking to her. That much was obvious. She knew words were being said, questions probably being asked. But she couldn't focus as she continued reading the tablet in her hands.
"—and then he said—"
There was a pause, long enough that Clarke knew Costia would be looking at her.
"Sorry," Clarke put the tablet down and looked up to find Costia with narrowed eyes as she stared at her. "What were you saying?"
Costia sighed, she leant back in her chair and took a bite of the food in front of her before answering.
"It's nothing," Costia said simply.
"It's not nothing," and Clarke felt a flush of guilt.
"It's nothing important enough that I can be bothered saying again," Costia said.
"Sorry," Clarke winced just a little as Costia looked away and out the window they sat next to.
"What are you reading?" Costia asked. "More reports?"
"The news," and Clarke flipped the tablet around so Costia could see the article heading she had been reading.
Orion's Belt: Populist Government Refuses Extension of Quantum Jump Point
"I see," Costia said with a rolling of her eyes, it wasn't uncommon for the people of Orion's Belt to cause issues for their neighbouring systems. "So," she began after a pause. "What do you think?"
Clarke looked out the window too, she found herself gazing upon New Corbus and she followed a cargo ship that began its descent to the planet's many floating cities far below.
"I think we're close," Clarke answered.
"You think it's actually one person?" Costia asked quietly as she looked around them. Though they sat in a section of the Nightingale that was strictly for Fleet Intelligence, being careful and discrete came with the job. And so Costia made sure no one would be close enough to hear her before she turned back to face Clarke. "An actual nightblood?" and she gestured out the window and to New Corbus. "You think it's one person doing the killings across the systems?"
Clarke reached out and took hold of her cup, she took a sip and she let herself think and consider everything she had been brief on before they had embarked on what had at times seemed like a wild goose chase.
"Yes," and Clarke nodded to herself. "I think we're on the right track," it was fascinating.
Nightbloods had been all but forgotten to the passage of time, a quiet myth barely even told to unruly children who refused to sleep. But Fleet Intelligence had in someway, in some form, kept a small but well maintained dossier on the mysterious people of the past, the first pioneers of interplanetary exploration. If only because there were certain things that happened, certain events that seemed so very bizarre, that could only be explained by the existence of a secret sect of humans that lived hundreds of years, that had garnered so much wealth and power throughout their lives that they could influence worlds and destabilise systems if given enough incentive.
The irony wasn't lost on Clarke either. She knew how ironic it would be for anyone on the outside to learn that fleet intelligence, a secret organisation most knew nothing about was in part formed to keep tabs on another secret society most knew nothing about. The only difference being one was sanctioned by the powers that be.
But Clarke had a job. And there were rules, laws, ways of doing things properly lest humanity fall prey to its once violent past. And no matter how ironic her situation may or may not be, letting people take matters into their own hands, even killing countless people, despite them being the scum of the galaxy, was in no way something she could stand by and let happen. And so it was simple. Clarke would stop whoever it was she had been sent to track down.