Xeno and Kalypso brought Jibril to the compartment where they would interrogate him. They’d stripped it bare, leaving just a table and chairs to deny him of anything he might use as a weapon. Not that it would do him much good, even if he found one.

“You’re not expecting me to talk, are you?” he sneered as he sat down.

“In fact, I am,” Xeno replied. “How much discomfort you endure until then is up to you.”

Jibril laughed. “You won’t torture me. It isn’t in you.”

“Perhaps that was true once,” Xeno countered, “but that was long, long ago.” He turned to his companion. “Kalypso? If you would be so kind.”

She held up her index finger as it hummed and crackled with power. Jibril watched her, curious, before screaming as the digit disappeared into his arm. Kalypso held her finger in place for several seconds, removing it as Jibril collapsed in pain. He stared in disbelief when she finally removed her finger, leaving the flesh intact.

“The quantum tunneling effect plays merry hell with the nerves, but it’s only an illusion,” she explained. “It’s still painful, however, as you’ve just learned.”

“Screw you,” he swore. “Where did Samara find you, anyway?”

“The Jean Baptiste,” Xeno replied.

“The Island of Misfit Toys?” Jibril stared at them both, then shook his head, chuckling with delight. “She must be desperate.”

“Do you think insulting those holding you captive is wise, Jibril?” Xeno asked, as Kalypso rose and moved behind the prisoner who watched her in sudden apprehension as she positioned herself. “Especially considering we have absolutely nothing to lose.”

He glanced up at Kalypso, and then back at Xeno, before snorting derisively, “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I? Kalypso, if you please,” he told the woman. Jibril tried to flinch away as she came at him once more, but he wasn’t fast enough. This time she poked her finger into his back, shrieking in agony until she finally removed it. He collapsed face-first onto the table, gasping for air as the pair regarded him.

“We can keep this up for as long as it takes,” Xeno said. “The question is, can you?”

Jibril glared at them. “Go to hell,” he spat.

Xeno leaned forward, his bulbous black eyes impossible to ignore. “I’m already there,” he answered, as the Princeps looked away in disgust.

Kalypso grabbed his head and forcibly returned his gaze to her partner. “Take a good look,” she snapped. “This is what you and your alien friends did to us in the name of ‘Progress’.”

He glared at them both. “You knew there were no guarantees when you signed up. Every procedure comes at a risk.”

“And the fact you have a vested interest in downplaying those risks to prospective Clan members never seems to get mentioned, now does it?” Xeno mused. “That is beside the point, however. We are here to learn what you know about the alien connection, especially regarding the Troika. The players involved, where they perform their research, how they’re manipulating our brothers and sisters... all of it.”

“You must be joking,” Jibril answered. “If I tell you that, I’m dead. Forget it, I’m not saying another word.” He folded his arms and glared defiantly at them.

Xeno sighed. “Then I suppose we must dig it out of you.” He nodded to Kalypso.

The woman smiled, and then rammed both hands into the Princeps’ skull.

Jibril screeched in torment, falling out of his chair and onto the floor, writhing in misery as Kalypso kept up the pressure, finally relenting just before he lost consciousness. The Clan leader lay on the deck whimpering, his body convulsing while Kalypso hovered nearby.

“It won’t get any better, I’m afraid,” Xeno explained. “In fact, it’s likely to get much worse. So why not make things easier for yourself and tell us what we want to know?”

“... fuck... you…” he wheezed.

Xeno smiled. “You first.” He nodded to his partner.

Kalypso grinned as she jammed her fingers into his head once more, his screams echoing off the bulkheads.

Samara said nothing as she watched the interrogation from her compartment. Rook, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as reticent.

“Is this absolutely necessary?” he asked with obvious distaste.

“You wanted to hit the Troika,” she said with a shrug. “This is how we find out the best place to do that.”

“We didn’t torture you after your capture,” he reminded her. “I find this both unnecessary and utterly barbaric.”

“You think if we serve him tea and offer a few back rubs, he’s going to talk?” she snorted. “Think again. Besides, him and those he serves have done far worse.”

“And that makes this acceptable?” Rook asked her point-blank.

Samara took a moment to consider her answer. “This universe won’t do you any favors,” she said at last. “It’s cold, and hard, and often brutal. If anyone knows that it’s us Terrans. We’ve lost almost everything... except our pride.” She glanced over at the monitor he was speaking from. “We’ll do what we have to in order to survive, and I refuse to apologize for that. Maybe someday we’ll be called upon to answer for our actions, though I can’t imagine any punishment worse than what’s already been done to us.” Her eyes narrowed as she threw his words back in his face. “But ask yourself just how far you’d go, if our positions were reversed.”

Rook started to answer and then thought better of it. “Will their methods be effective?” he said at last.

“Maybe. Probably,” she amended. “Jibril’s a politician, not a warrior. He’ll crack eventually.”

“And once he tells us everything we wish to know?” Rook asked softly. “Once your friends have tortured every scrap of data from him that he possesses, what then?”

“What do you care?” she snapped.

“Ultimately? I don’t,” he told her. “But I am finding the role I signed on for, versus the job I am actually performing, to be two vastly different things. I do not look forward to the reconciliation.”

“War is Hell,” she agreed. “Pity we’re so good at it.”

“Your history would suggest otherwise,” Rook pointed out.

“And just how would the Kikush have fared against the Yīqún if they’d targeted your worlds,” she snarled. “The Tu’udh’hizh’ak barely blunted their attack, not that they cared what happened afterwards,” she grimaced. “If they’d gone left instead of right, port instead of starboard, maybe you’d be the ones surviving on scraps, not us.”

“Thankfully, we will never know,” Rook replied.

Samara shook her head. “And you wonder why we Terrans have so little love for your kind,” she informed him, before returning her attention to the interrogation.

It was several hours later when Xeno and Kalypso finally made their report.

“We’ve pried some information from him,” Xeno told Samara. “I suspect there’s more, but it will take time to verify it.”

“Time we have, at least for now,” she answered. “What did you find out?”

“It’s like we suspected,” Kalypso confirmed. “The Troika tells Jibril what they’re looking for, and they screen the applicants for those traits. They’re funneled out to a handful of locations for surgery and gene therapy, before being tested to see if they meet the specified criteria. The ones that fail get dumped, like us,” she said with a toss of her head. “The ones that pass start their training and indoctrination.”

“That lines up with what I remember,” Samara agreed. “Do we have a target?”

“One that’s confirmed,” Xeno replied. “Ifig’uq, one of the Eleexx worlds.”

She turned to the monitor. “Rook? You know it?”

“I know of it,” he confirmed. “I’m afraid attacking it won’t be easy. It lies deep within the Suzerainty’s borders and is likely well defended.”

“That’s a problem, all right,” she agreed. “Any thoughts on how to solve it?”

“We could try sneaking in, like you did when you grabbed Jibril,” Kalypso suggested.

“I doubt that will work a second time,” Xeno cautioned. “By now I suspect the Aggaaddub have examined the traffic on and off their world and identified our shuttle. If they see it again, they will simply shoot it out of the sky.”

“Could we buy or steal another ship?” Samara asked.

“Unlikely,” Rook informed her. “Purchasing the shuttle greatly diminished our funds. It would have not been possible at all had we not just cleaned out the marauders of Star’s End. As for piracy, may I remind you this ship is merely a pleasure yacht? It carries no weapons.”

The group spent a few moments digesting that. “Then I’ve got nothing,” Kalypso shrugged. Xeno shook his head, while Rook threw up his virtual hands in surrender. No one seemed to have any ideas on the subject, when a strange look came over Samara’s face, before she squared her shoulders and rose to her feet.

“Where are you going?” Rook queried her.

“Trying a fresh approach,” she told him, heading for the compartment where Jibril was stashed.

The Princeps looked up as she entered the room, though the effort cost him. He looked the worse for wear after his questioning.

“Here to finish the job?” he asked, as she sat down across from him.

“I just want to know one thing,” she told him. “Why?”

“Why what?” he said curiously.

“Why are you helping them?” she clarified. “They’re not human, and Terra knows they’re not looking out for our best interests., So why help them, especially against your own kind?”

Jibril rolled his eyes. “You can’t be that naïve,” he scolded her. “Take two whole seconds to think about it, then try again.”

She waved his objection aside. “Yes, I know; they’re bigger, stronger, and they pay well. That about cover it?”

“More or less,” he said with some amusement.

“Not like it’s a secret or anything,” she agreed. “And we humans have a long, rich tradition of selling out our own for an advantage. Only here’s the thing; you do recall what Azrael was saying before I dragged you away, right?”

He looked away and shrugged. “A simple misunderstanding, nothing more.”

“Misunderstanding? Jibril, they used you as bait; staked you out like a goat just to get their hands on me. While I’m flattered that they care so much about little old me, you, on the other hand, were being cast aside. Do you really think for one second that if they had captured me, you’d be back in your personal quarters running things again?”

Jibril began to respond, then thought better of it and said nothing. Samara nodded in understanding. “You see where I’m going with this,” she continued. “You’re already yesterday’s news. I’ll bet they’ve already got your successor picked out and primed, just waiting for confirmation that you’re safely eliminated.”

“Azrael would never…” he said hotly.

“Who said anything about Azrael?” she countered. “I’d be incredibly surprised if they picked him for the job, he’s too valuable where he is. And unlike you, he’s not motivated by titles or greed.”

“Oh?” he scoffed. “Then what is he motivated by?”

Samara clucked her tongue. “I’m surprised you don’t know the answer to that,” she chided him, “especially since the two of you have been in such close proximity these last few weeks. But I’ll tell you, just to save time. Azrael is a troubleshooter for a reason, just as I was. He’s a problem-solver by nature and working out the angles to come up with a solution gets his creative juices flowing. Putting a bullet in said problems is merely a perk,” she smiled.

“And you?” he scoffed. “What gets your... juices flowing?” he demanded, deliberately baiting her.

Faint amusement touched her eyes. “You said it yourself. I’m an adrenaline junkie. I live for the action, putting it all on the line and seeing just how far I can push the envelope. Azrael used to say that I killed like I fucked; risking everything and holding nothing back.” She licked her lips as Jibril suddenly looked interested. “Forget it, you’re too easy. Bedding you would be no challenge at all. And dull. Excruciatingly dull,” she snarked. “But if that’s what it takes to seal the deal…” she chuckled as she tugged at her shirt.

Jibril sighed and waved her off. “Forget it. I’m not interested in charity.” he said with more than a trace of reluctance. “Besides, I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Then let’s change that. Come over to our side,” she appealed to him. “There must be some part of you intrigued by playing the scrappy underdog.”

“Not even a little,” he disagreed. “I didn’t get to where I am by ignoring the odds, nor did I set on this path because I’m secretly an ascetic. I enjoy my position, and the privileges it provides.”

“Neither of which you’ll have for much longer,” she reminded him. “They’re already showing you the door, and you and I both know the ‘Early Retirement Plan’ they have in mind is a casket and an unmarked grave. Minus the casket.”

He grimaced, not disputing her description. “Honestly, the only choices I see are you joining us willingly or being forced to by circumstance. Either way, the sweet life is over for you.”

“Or I could choose what’s behind door number three,” he said. “Disappear. Go somewhere with what I’ve saved and start again.”

“You could... assuming you’d be allowed that choice,” Samara told him. “Unfortunately, you’re suffering from a fatal disease.”

“Disease? What disease?” he demanded.

Her smile was bone-dry. “You know too much, Jibril,” she hissed.