Sable's Experiences

[Toaster]

November 21, 827 A.S.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," Sharpe called out as he approached the booth Olivia had claimed for herself. "The higher-ups wanted a full debriefing on the battle." Signalling for a waiter, he sat down on the bench across from the mercenary. Smiling warmly, the former Bretonian commander eyed her up and down, not too greedily to seem inappropriate, but lingering on her long enough to come across as a slight flirt. "I see you're still taking good care of yourself."

Olivia cocked her head, smirking at Sharpe.

"Better than of my ship, it seems," she replied, playfully deflecting the compliment.

A young waiter strode up to the two of them, notepad and pen in hand.

"What can I getcha?" He asked in the strange accent common to parts of the Taus. Olivia glanced at Sharpe, raising her eyebrows inquisitively. The ex-soldier rapped his fingers on the tabletop, thinking for a moment.

"I'll... have a whiskey on the rocks," he finally answered. Then he looked back at the mercenary across from him and continued, "And she'll have... scotch and soda?" He raised his eyebrows in turn, checking whether he had guessed the order correctly. Olivia nodded with a chuckle. The waiter scribbled the two drinks onto his pad, gave the slightest bow, and returned to the bar.

"You remembered," Olivia remarked. Sharpe gave a short laugh and leaned back on his bench.

"Hard to forget a drink you'd order after every sortie."

The mercenary let herself relax and leaned back as well. She was too tired to keep up her usual caution and, with Sharpe around, she doubted she'd need to be worried about running into any trouble, even in a place like Holman. For a few seconds, she studied the man's flightsuit; the faux fur collar, the beige outer layers, the fake leather straps crisscrossing its body. It was far removed from the dignified, red-white-and-black uniform she was used to seeing Sharpe in.

"So, Sharpe. How did you end up with the miners?" Olivia asked, it being the obvious question on her mind.

The man raised one hand and swept away the formality of her address.

"Please, I'm not your C.O. anymore. It's just Benjamin now." Lowering his hand again, he sighed and remained in thought for a minute, his eyes gazing right past her as memories seemed to course through his head. Taking a breath, Benjamin finally replied.

"I stayed in command of the Two-Twenty-Seventh for most of the remainder of the war. Saw plenty of action in Leeds and then New London after you left. Eventually, we were so short on manpower that the squadron was dissolved and its pilots merged with other units. I got assigned to New London's Forty-Second but...," he hesitated and closed his eyes, clearly trying to unsee the images the memories were triggering. Olivia kept her eyes on him, patiently waiting for him to continue. "We were deployed in the battle for the planet. It was a mess and most of the Forty-Second got shot down. If I recall correctly, of twenty deployed ships, only four survived, me included. Then I spent the last few weeks being bounced from unit to unit as high command tried to regain some semblance of structure. Then the war finally ended and I didn't really recognize home anymore. Leeds was gone, New London was practically wrecked. Most of my colleagues and wingmen were either dead or missing in action."

Benjamin paused again. His eyes focused back on Olivia and he gave her a weak, apologetic smile.

"Sorry, didn't mean to dump this on you. Anyway, when it was all over, I resigned from the armed forces. Spent a few weeks helping out down on New London's surface, clearing debris, aiding the displaced. But I'd had enough of it all, to be honest. So I came out here to the Taus - despite all the stories you told me about them, I know - and hired up with the Guild. I wanted to do something peaceful, like fly freighters and transports, but here I am - leading a fighter wing to combat the Outcasts."

The laughter that followed dripped with irony.

"I guess I just can't escape war," he finished.

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Olivia Sable