The shuttle was a dog.

Just as Rook promised they’d found a shipyard filled with assorted spacecraft, though most were higher end models well out of their price range. After transmitting their requirements to the proprietor, he quickly handed them off to a very junior associate, who in turn directed them to what Xeno referred to as the “Bargain Basement”. The battered and refurbished vessels he showed them were on a par for Humanity, meaning they had engines and would hold oxygen, but that was all they promised.

As for her own disguise, that was somewhat easier. She could morph into any kind of living tissue, and while changing into another human was the easiest choice, it was also the most obvious. They had to assume Jibril and Azrael were on guard against other humans, but perhaps an alien could get close. After reviewing her options, she chose the Usuu, a barely humanoid race found throughout the sector. Looking like an alien presented no more physical challenge than as a human, assuming they were roughly the same size, but there was one thing that would quickly shatter the illusion.

Language.

While she had many talents, Samara could only get by in humanity’s default tongue, English. Usually that wasn’t an issue, as she normally appeared as another human, but when that wasn’t an option it forced her to get creative. Voders were easy enough to come by, but an alert guard would soon realize she wasn’t speaking an alien lingua franca prior to the translation. Details like that made all the difference between mission success and mission failure.

Luckily an Usuu’s vocal range topped out at over 200kHz, well above the detection threshold for most intelligent species without specialized equipment. A disguised throat mic would allow her to subvocalize her speech and transmit it to the voder, sidestepping the problem altogether. With a little luck, she could sneak into the kinds of places where showing up as herself would get her arrested...or worse.

They parked Rächerin in the outskirts of the Qiqougii system, just as they’d planned. If she needed a quick rescue, things could get dicey; even at top speed it would take the better part of an hour to warm up the ship and fly her in, not that the Aggaaddub would allow that to happen. They maintained a strong military presence within the planetary belt and could take out a civilian yacht without working up a sweat.

Not that the alien lizards sweat, of course.

Entering Qiqougii’s orbit, a dozen different ships and platforms immediately scanned her shuttle. It seemed the Aggaaddub weren’t taking any chances with security, though whether this was normal for them or indicated a heightened alert Samara had no idea. The Hegemony had always been the most militaristic of the Troika races...the attack on Freya being proof of that...which meant infiltrating the system and locating Jibril wouldn’t be a simple task even under the best of circumstances.

And somewhere out there, Azrael was waiting for her.

One step at a time, she thought to herself. Getting through customs and starting her search had to be her focus for now. Luckily among his many other talents Rook was also a skilled forger, and the documents she carried identified her as Iulirae Aqanni, an Usuun merchant operating the trade shuttle Ghu’ach. Rook had promised her credentials would pass muster, so she focused her attention instead on maintaining her appearance. Since her recent surgery, her shape-shifting abilities had been compromised, the illusion often falling apart at the worst possible moment. If that happened here she was a dead woman, so it couldn’t be allowed to happen, period.

With meditation, focus, and sheer will, hopefully it would be enough.

She’d also loaded the shuttle with some of the salvage they’d taken from Star’s End to complete the disguise; a merchant with nothing to sell would be a huge red flag. She had picked out the least likely items to sell, given the state of the shuttle she couldn’t appear too successful, though on her second pass she reconsidered. Appearing too poverty-stricken could be dangerous as well, so on a whim she grabbed the odd alien box she’d snagged from the marauder’s vault. She’d tarnished it up a bit, otherwise it stuck out like a sore thumb next to the other junk she was hauling.

Who knows? For the right price she might even consider parting with it if it helped preserve her cover.

Getting clearance to land was no mean feat, despite the shuttle’s lack of weapons she was immediately painted by tracking radar all the way to the surface. Judging by how backed up the traffic control system appeared to be, the Aggaaddub must have been on high alert, though what had triggered that response she couldn’t say.

Unless it was in response to a certain incident involving all three races of the Troika not so long ago, precipitated by the return of Gyrfalcon from Earth. If that was the case she felt a certain pride in jamming up their gears, though she hoped the repercussions from that little stunt wouldn’t end up biting her in the ass.

Once on the ground she was met by a pair of hulking and well-armed customs agents who insisted on searching her shuttle from bow to stern for contraband and “Security concerns''. Samara had known they would thoroughly search the ship so she’d made certain nothing dangerous was on board, but given the Aggaaddub’s heightened mood there was a real possibility of being arrested on some trumped-up charge anyway. There were a few tense moments as they pawed through the cargo hold, but finally they signed off on her trade goods, processed her commercial visa, and issued her a temporary ID before allowing her entrance to Qiqougii proper.

Hailing a taxicab from the spaceport checked into a low-end nearby hotel. Once she was secured in her room and had the privacy mode engaged, she rippled back into her human form, breathing a deep sigh of relief. It was much harder to pass as an alien, and the Usuu form was tricky even in the best of times. Viewing the universe with six eyes instead of two was disorienting as hell and, given their lack of most facial features, felt claustrophobic. Given her recent problems maintaining a disguise, she needed the alone time, not only to recharge but also to place an important call back to Rächerin.

Xeno was waiting for her message. “I assume you landed safely,” he answered, “though we were beginning to worry.”

“I’m down and secure,” Samara confirmed. “Customs were more stringent than usual, that’s all. Something’s got the Aggaaddub riled up.”

“Interesting,” he mused. “I’ve heard similar reports regarding the other Troika members. It seems as if they are suddenly more distrusting than usual. I wonder why?” he said with a knowing chuckle.

“Why, indeed?” Samara laughed. “I have no idea how long it will last, but any grit we can muck up the gears with is a step in the right direction.” The pair enjoyed the moment before she forged ahead. “Any news where they’ve stashed Jibril?”

“All my data shows he is in the Hegemon’s Territorial Guest House, in the capital city,” Xeno replied. “It is routinely used to house visiting dignitaries, or those requiring heightened security.”

“Since when are humans considered to be dignitaries?” she sneered. “Any idea if he’s there as a guest or a prisoner?”

“I would assume the latter, though with lighter chains than might appear at first blush,” he explained. “The Aggaaddub are protecting him, and to do so they have no plans of allowing him out of their sight. Though since I’ve found no mention of charges, pending or otherwise, perhaps ‘Protective Custody’ might be more accurate.”

“Still, not an easy nut to crack,” she mused. “How do I get in there?”

“I doubt sneaking in is an option, unless you can mimic and replace an employee,” Xeno pointed out.

“I don’t speak the language, or have the proper credentials,” she told him. “Granted, I could ‘acquire’ the ID easy enough, though it could get a little messy, but the first guard who challenged me would bring it all to a crashing halt.” She tapped her chin as she considered the problem. “I don’t suppose you’ve located the building’s schematics?”

“They are a tightly held state secret, I’m afraid,” he sighed, “though I will keep trying.”

“Of course they are,” she said unhappily, “though crawling through the sewers really isn’t my style. No,” she grimaced, shaking her head, ‘’I need another angle, one where they invite me in.”

“Considering there is likely a bulletin at every security checkpoint with your name on it, I find the possibility of an invitation unlikely,” Xeno said acerbically.

“Well, not as myself,” she shot back. “Ideally I’d pose as another human...other than Jibril, obviously...who has access to the Guest House. Someone who can move around without raising suspicion. Someone like…”

Her voice trailed off as a wicked smile graced her lips.

The Guest House, like most Aggaaddub government buildings, was constructed with native basalt blocks, giving it an almost gothic appearance. They had posted guards on either side of each entrance, not counting those monitoring the banks of hidden cameras and other security features. It was intentionally imposing, for the Hegemony wanted the other races to know their power, and over the millennia their architecture had thoroughly embraced that precept.

Yet Azrael blithely ignored all of it as he made his way up the steps, stopping before a pair of guards blocking one of the side entrances. “Let me pass,” he demanded.

The guards were unimpressed. “Identification, Terran,” they said in mocking tones.

Azrael cocked his head at them. “Do we really need to have this discussion again?” he asked, irritated at the interruption. “I am here at your government’s request to provide specialized security, given my intimate knowledge of the situation. Now, if your leaders have decided my services are no longer required, I will gladly remove myself from your presence. But until that time,” he hissed, stepping in close, “some random lackey guarding a door will not bully or cow me.” His ice-blue eyes carefully dissected each of them while promising so much more. “Step aside. I won’t ask again.”

Security officers standing watch at side entrances in the early morning hours were rarely frontline personnel. The pair exchanged a nervous glance, recognizing the warning in his voice before they resumed their post, bracing themselves against the dark rock wall. Azrael gave them a cut nod as he breezed past, entering the building and following the illuminated hallway deeper inside the structure.

It was a short time later when he entered the Princeps suite. Jibril himself was already awake and dressed, the remains of his morning meal littering a plate beside him as he stared at the computer monitor, his lithe fingers absently twirling a pen. He glanced up as Azrael crossed over to join him.

“Any news?” he asked.

“None, I’m afraid,” Azrael answered.

“Damn it,’ Jibril growled, his own cat-like eyes dark and brooding. “How long do they expect me to just sit here?”

“At least a little while longer,” Azrael shrugged. “The Troika has always moved at its own pace.”

“I am sick to death of this farce,” he snapped, rising to his feet as he paced. “This should have been over and done with weeks ago.”

“It appears we weren’t the only ones who misread the situation,” the Security officer pointed out.

“That twice-damned mission,” Jibril hissed. “All they had to do was go to Earth, retrieve the device, and come back. The Troika would take it from there.” He came to a halt and spun on his heel, glaring at the other man. “Only now all three races are at each other’s throats, just waiting for someone to pull the trigger. Gyrfalcon and the team have scattered to the winds...and then there’s Samara.” He shook his head in disbelief. “She was utterly loyal, never failed to complete a mission, so what makes someone like her go rogue and start a damn war against her own Clan?”

“Until we secure her for interrogation, I doubt we will learn the answers to those questions,” Azrael pointed out. “Our last two meetings, she was less than forthcoming.”

“So why isn’t she dead, Azrael?” Jibril snarled. “You’re supposed to be the best of the best, and twice now she’s slithered out of your grasp. What the hell are you doing about it?”

“I should remind you who trained Samara,” he said affably. “She was the finest student I ever taught, so you shouldn’t be surprised she’s as skilled as she ever was. But rest assured, the next time we meet will be our last.” A wintry smile appeared on the killer’s face as he savored the image.

“It had better,” the Princeps informed him, “otherwise I may be forced to do a little pruning of my own.” He stepped in close, jabbing his finger against his chest. “Get. It. Done. No more excuses.”

“Consider her liquidated,” Azrael assured him. “In fact…”

The sound of a slow, deliberate clap interrupted his reply. Both men turned to face the sound, Jibril’s eyes widening as he stared at the interloper.

Azrael continued to clap as he entered the room. “Bravo, Samara,” he said to his doppelganger, “You have outdone yourself this time.”

The first man eyed the intruder coldly. “Nice try, Samara,” he fired back, “but I doubt such a simple disguise will fool the Princeps.”

For his own part, Jibril was busy retreating, his head snapping back and forth at the two men while struggling to decide who was who.

The second Azrael merely sighed. “How droll,” he said, eyeing his counterpart like a failed experiment. “I do, however, find myself in agreement with one point you raised.”

“Oh?” The other Azrael cocked his head. “And what point was that?”

The second man smiled as he raised a weapon. “This will be the last time we meet.”