The first thing that came to mind as she regained consciousness was, Damn it, not again.

The second was, What the hell did I do wrong?

Prying open her eyes and sitting up, Samara took in her surroundings. Bare metal walls, floor, and ceiling, coupled with a lack of any kind of furniture, told a grim tale. They had confined her to a cell. She could just barely discern a seam on the far wall, presumably the door, but other than that she was inside a featureless cube. Lighting appeared to emanate from recessed sections she couldn’t quite make out.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone there?”

There was a pause, and then, “...You are awake,” an electronic-sounding voice replied.

Samara rolled her eyes. It wasn’t as if she could dig herself in much deeper at this point. “Well obviously,” she smirked. “Am I under arrest?”

“That is yet to be determined,” the voice replied. “The disposition of your case depends largely on your answers to our questions.”

“I see,” she answered, taking a moment to consider that response. Assuming she was still on Hishah, and she couldn’t see herself being transported elsewhere just yet, that she had any options at all was encouraging, even if they turned out to be merely a choice between bad and terrible. “In that case, ask away,” she said.

“Why did you come here?” the voice asked.

A straightforward question, meaning the answer was anything but. There was the simple response, but Samara hesitated as she considered what was going on here. Her last conscious memory was a stun grenade going off, which meant they had her dead to rights on Attempted Grand Theft, or whatever they called it here. Most likely they also had corroborating video from the spaceport and the Ghidhi Ji itself. So why ask her anything? Would her confession streamline the legal process somehow? If so, the smart play was to say nothing at all.

Only she didn’t think that was what was happening. The other races had never bothered with legal niceties when it came to humanity, not when there was damn all they could do about it. If they wanted to imprison her for the crime, they’d simply haul her before a magistrate and convict her on the spot. It was easier that way. No...something else was at play, something much bigger than mere thievery.

“I needed a ship,” she told her captors, “and this seemed like a good place to acquire one.” She wasn’t sure why, but she felt certain that this was one of the rare occasions where telling the truth was actually the way to go...placing it in rare company.

“For what purpose?” they pressed her.

Careful now, she thought to herself. She held no animosity towards the Kikush; to the best of her knowledge they hadn’t involved themselves in any of the many ways alien species fucked over mankind, or if they had they were being more circumspect about it than usual. There’d been some trade between their two peoples, but that was all she really knew. They weren’t raving psychotics like the To’ukk; she knew that much, and she was fairly certain they’d steered clear of the gene trade. How they felt about the other races, she had no idea. If she knew what they wanted from her she stood a much better chance, but how to discover that?

“Why does it matter?” she asked the voice. “You believe I’m guilty of a crime, so why are my intentions suddenly so important?” She was angling for information, but whether it would pay off…

“Answer the question,” they replied, ignoring her query. So much for her fishing expedition, she sighed.

All right then, what did she know? Not a whole hell of a lot, but the Kafkaesque ambiance suggested something other than merely prosecuting a petty criminal. If it wasn’t the crime itself they were interested in, then what?

Me, she realized, they’re interested in me. So how much did they really know about her? And of that, how much was fact, and how much mere rumor? During her time with Wetworks, the shadowy organization hidden deep within the Protean charter, her assignments had never crossed paths with the avian Kikush, or their allies...so what did that leave?

When you put it that way, the answer became obvious. The mission. The mission to Earth, to find the Precursor world that now had the entire galaxy at sword’s points. Were they hoping to steal a march on the other races and claim it for themselves? If so, they were in for a major disappointment. What little she knew on the subject wouldn’t be of much use to them. So again, after weighing her options, the truth won out once more.

“I have some unfinished business I need to address,” she said somewhat cryptically. Despite all her guesswork, she was on dangerously thin ice, and the cracks were starting to show.

“What kind of business, and with whom?” they pressed her.

Maybe you should just stop talking, Samara, she cautioned herself. Somehow she was certain that “I’m looking for my Clan leader, so I can stick a gun in his face and get some answers before I blow his brains out” wasn’t likely to win her any friends. Granted, the other races had never shown much interest in what one human did to another, so it might be a safe enough explanation, but she was certain there was still more going on here than met the eye.

“There are humans who have wronged me and those I care about,” she said at last, “and I wish to see justice done.” There. Hopefully that would be enough...after all, who cared what squabbles Homo Sapiens had amongst themselves?

“And will your search for Justice be satisfied once you locate these humans? Or are there others you seek as well?”

“And if there are?” she said in disgust. “Will you sentence me to Life without Parole? Or worse? What’s the incentive in answering your questions?” She was growing tired of playing this game. “If you’re going to condemn me, I wish you’d just get on with it.” Samara drew up her legs and cradled her head on top of her knees, as she sat waiting for the end.

“The Troika searches for you, Samara of Earth,” the voice revealed, her head snapping back up at the news. “They offer a great deal if we hand you over to their custody.”

That the big three wanted her wasn’t a surprise, though that they were posting the galactic equivalent of “Wanted: Dead or Alive” posters everywhere was. Though that wasn’t actually true...dead, she was of no use to them. No, they wanted her very much alive, and wasn’t that just a cheery thought? Between them they were more than capable of sucking her brains dry, and when they finished, there’d be nothing left.

Yet if the Kikush were planning on collecting her bounty, why have this conversation? Amusement? Perhaps pick up a secret or two? Possible, but something told her there was still more at stake here.

Maybe it was time to turn this chat between jailer and prisoner on its head.

Samara rose to her feet, smoothing her clothing with her hands. “You have no intention of turning me over,” she accused them. “No, you want something from me...a service, perhaps?” she speculated, a thin smile appearing on her face.

“You are clever, Samara of Earth...for a Terran.” She raised a disapproving eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Other than maybe the Oivu, every alien race she’d met seemed to be populated solely by arrogant pricks. “Like yourselves, we too have little love for the Troika. They are presumptuous and cavalier.”

Unlike you, she thought to herself. Smug bastards.

“It occurs to us,” the voice continued, “that perhaps we are in a position, Samara of Earth, to help one another.”

Her eyes flashed with wicked glee. Time to talk some business. “And just what did you have in mind?”

“You seek redress for what they did, is this not so?” the voice asked. “We have some knowledge of the procedures done to you...and we know how the Eleexx ensured your loyalty.”

Even now, the mere mention of the leash they’d implanted in her brain made her growl. “The Troika seeks to control all that surrounds them,” they carried on, ignoring the noises she made, “allowing no one to advance, save themselves.”

A light began to dawn above her head. “And you’d like to see them taken down a notch,” she drawled, “so you can have a bigger slice of the pie for yourself.”

“Your words, not ours,” the voice replied, “yet if the Troika were to suffer a mischief, this would not displease us.”

“I’ll bet,” she chuckled. So the Troika was no more loved by the other races than they were by humanity. Somehow that didn’t surprise her. “That’s all well and good,” she continued, “but there’s not much I can do about it if I’m locked up here.” There. She’d planted the seed, time to see what kind of fruit it would bear.

“Were we to release you, you would simply vanish,” the voice pointed out. Well, they weren’t stupid, unfortunately. “If you desire your freedom, it comes with certain...conditions.”

Her hands clenched into tight fists as the implications of that statement rang in her ears. “So you can implant another leash in my brain?” she snapped. “Well, you can forget it! I’d rather rot in prison than play guinea pig ever again!”

“Incarcerating you serves no purpose,” the voice reminded her. “Refuse us, and we will give you over to the Troika, thereby earning from them some small measure of gratitude. Not the optimal choice, but an acceptable one in our eyes should you prove uncooperative.”

That brought her up short. Why bother housing and feeding her in some far off gulag, when the Troika would eagerly take her off their hands? There was probably some sort of reward in it for them as well...not much, she imagined, but something was always better than nothing.

My life is nothing but an endless Faustian bargain, Samara thought bitterly. This wasn’t the first such offer she’d heard, and somehow she doubted it would be the last. Everybody wanted her skills, but no one trusted her enough to take her at her word. No, there had to be some control over her, to ensure she did as she was told. Or else.

And maybe they had excellent reason not to trust her, she admitted, but that was beside the point. She was tired of being used, tired of being pushed around, tired of being somebody’s pet monster...she was just tired, period. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the one holding the cards.

“...what kind of conditions?” she said quietly, bowing her head. One day at a time. That’s how you survived.

One day at a time.

“We merely wish to ensure you stay focused on your task,” the voice said affably. “To that end, we have arranged for an associate to accompany you, thereby securing your continued obedience.”

“No way...no way!” she shouted. “You want to go after the Troika? Fine...so do I. But I won’t get in anywhere if I have a giant bird following me around!” Which was accurate enough, though her histrionics were more for show than anything else. The last thing she needed or wanted was a Kikush parole officer watching her every move...for a variety of reasons.

“We anticipated your reaction, and have devised a solution,” the voice replied. “Observe.”

A section of the wall facing her flickered and came to life, revealing a giant monitor. A Kikush stared back at her; the black, blue and gray plumage offsetting its red-orange beak and yellow eyes.

“So?” Samara snorted. “I fail to see how this helps.”

“That is because you are operating under a false assumption, Samara of Earth,” the Kikush informed her.

“Oh? And what assumption might that be?” she retorted.

“That what you observe is in fact my actual form,” the bird replied, the image shimmering before dissolving into a random pattern of light and dark...and then reforming once more, taking the image of a dark-haired human male.

Samara blinked. “You’re an Avatar,” she said in surprise.

“As you understand the term, yes,” the former bird-now human agreed. “My electronic format will grant me access to places even you would find difficult to penetrate.”

The Protean spent several minutes regrouping while she considered this new situation. She still didn’t want him around, but it was obvious the Kikush weren’t about to budge on that point. Not that she blamed them, considering stabbing them in the back the first chance she got and making her escape was her number one priority. The birds weren’t dummies.

She’d never seen an alien Avatar before, though she’d known of their existence, considering it was how humanity had learned that trick. And while an actual Kikush guard keeping her under constant surveillance would cause all sorts of problems...not to mention driving her stark raving bonkers...having an Avatar partner might just prove useful. His...its...claim of getting into spots she couldn’t was no idle boast, assuming it was anything like human versions she knew.

All things being equal, her situation could be worse, but there was still one last question she needed resolved.

“Just how long is this ‘partnership’ supposed to last?” she asked the Avatar.

“Until we’re satisfied with the outcome,” it replied.

“That could be never,” she sneered. “I need something a little more reassuring than that.”

The birdman shook his head. “Samara of Earth...look around you.” She did as it asked, glancing briefly at the bare metal walls and ceiling. “What makes you believe you are able to demand anything?”

Scowling, she looked away. It was right, as much as it pained her to admit it. As long as she was at their mercy, she had no other choice than to play their game.

But if the Kikush thought that just because they held the cards now they’d be holding them forever, then they didn’t know her at all.

“So what do I call you?” she asked, before shaking her head. “Never mind, I probably couldn’t pronounce it anyway. How about I just call you Rook?”

The Avatar barely reacted. “If you wish,” he answered, giving her an almost human-like shrug of indifference.

“Fine,” she nodded. “So tell me Rook, we will need a ship. Any ideas on how to get one?”

For a moment, the Kikush Avatar almost seemed to smile. “Do not concern yourself...we have already expected your needs.”

I have a bad feeling about this, Samara sighed.