Traveling to Ifig’uq wasn’t easy. The Troika had increased patrols throughout the sector, forcing Rächerin to take a more circumspect route. Even infiltrating the system was going to be a problem, and they didn’t dare use the shuttle again to land on the planet’s surface.

So how were they going to pull this off?

“We can get you in,” Rook said carefully. “Mind you, it wouldn’t be easy. The only thing that comes to mind is capturing a small asteroid, hollowing it out, and using that for a descent vehicle, though I must warn you the ride down would be rough.”

“I’m assuming you have a plan that lets me avoid making an enormous impact crater when I touch down?” Samara asked sarcastically.

“Of course,” Xeno agreed. “A frangible shell and hardsuit, coupled with a guided parafoil wing,” he explained. “Once you’re deep enough in the atmosphere, the protective shell would shatter, and you would fly down manually, like a bird.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, a dubious look on her face. “You realize I’ve done nothing remotely like that before, right?”

“We would have to test it, and run a few simulations,” Rook admitted. “And even if it worked perfectly, there’s still the minor problem of retrieving you once you complete the mission.”

“And we have the necessary materials on board?” she demanded. “Not to mention a well-stocked machine shop to put it all together?”

“Well…”

“That’s what I thought. One-way trips and suicide missions aren’t exactly what I was hoping for, even if we had the proper equipment,” she told them. “What else have you got?”

“You could steal a spacecraft,” Kalypso suggested. “Just grab something and boost for orbit, and we would pick you up.”

Samara rolled her eyes. “Rook, explain to them what happened the last time I tried to steal a ship.”

The Avatar shrugged. “It did not go well,” he reported. Samara snorted at the understatement.

“What if we took a ship in transit?” Xeno mused.

“What are we, Corsairs?” Samara fired back. “Besides, this ship doesn’t sport any weaponry, and I can’t imagine a competent captain falling for a bluff.” She shook her head. “No, we need a plan that plays to our strengths.”

“Samara, this is an Eleexx planet we’re talking about,” Xeno reminded her. “If you had some romantic idea of blitzing through like you did last time, think again. The Troika is on high alert, and there is no way you will be able to sneak in.”

She leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “What if there was?” she mused.

“What are you thinking, Samara?” Kalypso asked.

“You’re right, sneaking in like a thief won’t work,” she agreed, “but what if we went the other way?”

“Other way?” Rook queried.

A broad grin came across her face. “Ever hear of the ‘Purloined Letter’ gambit?”

“You’re insane.”

Jibril shook his head, flabbergasted at her suggestion. “That has to be the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard, Samara. You think you can just waltz in through the front door, and no one is going to stop you?”

“Of course they’re going to stop me,” she explained, “that’s the whole point.”

“Then you must think the Eleexx are terminally stupid,” he snapped. “They’ll see through this little scheme of yours in a heartbeat.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, “but you have to admit, it’s a novel approach.”

“If no one has tried a particular tactic, there’s usually a good reason for it,” he countered. “Like the fact that it’s insane,” he repeated.

“Fine then,” she sniffed. “Do you see any other options?”

“Oh no,” he fired back, wagging his finger at her, “don’t drag me into this mess of yours. You want to get yourself killed, you can do it without my help.”

Samara rolled her eyes. “You still think you can somehow get back into their good graces?” she asked. “Well, you can forget it. You’re burned, Jibril, I would think that much would be obvious to even you. Azrael flat out told you that you were nothing but bait, and yet you still act as if you’re on some sort of extended sabbatical. The Troika no longer has any use for your services.” She shrugged, folding her arms. “But I do.”

“And you think that is supposed to bring me some measure of comfort?” he sneered. “As long as we’re putting all our cards on the table, what incentive is there to join your cause? Because there’s no longevity in playing galactic terrorist, Samara. In fact, I’m amazed you’re still alive. And yet you expect me to join your suicidal death cult? Unlike you, I want to live.”

“So do I,” she fired back, “but what you’re talking about isn’t living, it’s existing. Going from one day to the next on the sufferance of others, never knowing when the axe is going to fall. I want more than that; not just for me, but for all of us. Haven’t we earned the right to stand on our own two feet? To make our own destiny?”

“Just what is it you hope to accomplish?” he said in exasperation. “Blow up a few buildings? Knock off some government bigwigs? Samara, the Suzerainty is huge. Assuming for a moment you pull this off, so what? To them it’ll be a flea bite. They’ll barely notice your efforts, so what’s the damn point?”

“The point?” she snapped. “That we Terrans are finished being pushed around. That if they come after us, they’d best be prepared to go all the way. I want to hurt them, Jibril, to make them pay for everything they’ve done to us.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You, of all people, aren’t you sick and tired of doing their bidding, begging for scraps at your master’s table?”

Something shifted in his expression as he looked away. “Of course I am,” he answered, “but the universe hasn’t suddenly changed just because you found yourself a cause. Terrans are still an unwanted minority, and we’re still hanging on by our fingernails. If we all join you on the warpath, all we’re doing is painting a target on our backs and giving them reason to exterminate us.” He shook his head, backing away. “So no, I won’t help you. I won’t be a party to this.”

Samara spent a few moments regarding him, considering his words. “What if I offered you an incentive?” she said at last.

“I doubt you have anything enticing enough to convince me,” he told her. “But by all means, let’s hear it. What bauble are you offering?” He leaned against the bulkhead, an amused expression on his face.

“Your freedom,” she said softly.

He blinked in surprise. “No way, I’m not buying it. There’s no way you’d just let me go. I’m too valuable to you as a hostage.”

“As a hostage? That only works if someone wants you back badly enough to pay,” she pointed out, “which doesn’t describe your situation at all. I’ll admit you have value as an intelligence asset, but I’m willing to forgo that if you sign on. You do this one mission for me, and I’ll let you go.”

“And why should I believe you?” he demanded. “What’s stopping you from reneging on the deal?”

“Just my word,” she replied. “I’m guilty of many crimes, but I’ve always been straight with you.”

Despite his wariness, Jibril cocked his head as he considered her offer. “I’d need some kind of assurance,” he said at last, “some way to protect myself from you double-crossing me.”

“I think we can manage that,” Samara smiled.

In the end it forced them to split up yet again, with Samara and Jibril in the shuttle and everyone else aboard the Rächerin. They sent the ship ahead, landing on Ifig’uq with the pretext of taking on fuel and supplies. They’d altered its energy signature and profile at Star’s End, though they were still taking a gigantic risk. Once they were confirmed down and safe, they sent a message to the shuttle, giving them the go-ahead.

Samara and Jibril took a fresh approach; instead of trying to sneak into the system, they broadcasted their intentions directly to the Suzerainty itself. They wanted to be noticed, and as they landed (far away from Rächerin’s position, thankfully) security quickly surrounded the ship. The insectoid Eleexx waited, weapons drawn, as the main hatch opened, the ramp dropping down to the tarmac.

Jibril and Samara stepped out with her in front, her wrists shackled, while Jibril followed behind with a weapon jammed into the small of her back. He prodded her down the ramp as the senior officer on the scene approached them, his chitinous exoskeleton polished and gleaming, flanked by a pair of deputies.

“This is the terrorist, Samara?” the leader asked, his mandibles flashing as the voder around his neck translated the hissing alien speech into English.

“That’s right,” he agreed.

“We understand she is a shapeshifter,” the security officer replied. “How can we be certain of her identity?”

“Check her DNA,” Jibril suggested. “She can alter her appearance, but she can’t change that.”

He considered that for a moment, and then nodded, motioning to one of his assistants. The aide stepped forward, removing a standard kit from its belt and pressing it against her arm. It took a cell sample as Samara tried to flinch away and started processing as they waited. The better part of a minute later they all heard a soft beep, as it displayed the results.

The head security officer read the results from the screen. “The DNA confirms her identity,” he said in surprise. “The reports we received from Qiqougii stated she had taken you prisoner. How was it that you captured her?”

Samara turned to watch him as he answered. “She got careless,” he told them, “and left me unwatched during a brief window of opportunity. I secured a weapon and took her prisoner.” He nodded down at the sidearm he had pressed against her back.

The Eleexx looked at one another. “You will both come with us,” the leader said, “until we can verify your story. You will surrender your weapon and…”

The rest of his words died in his thorax as a massive explosion ripped open the sky, turning night into day. Instinctively they turned away from the blast, the shockwave slamming into them just a few seconds later. The wind slamming into them was hot and angry, and while the others were preoccupied by this sudden turn of events Samara made her move. The shackles on her wrists fell away with a tug as she bolted for the shuttle, determined to put as much distance between her and the Eleexx as she could. The aliens were sluggish, disoriented by the blast, and as she reached the hatch a desperate hope filled her that she truly was going to pull this off.

Unfortunately, she had forgotten about Jibril.

He lacked her shape-shifting abilities, but his hand-eye coordination was second to none and he was holding a loaded weapon. That had been part of the deal she’d made with him, a necessary risk so he would go along with her scheme. The former Clan leader was fast and deadly accurate.

Twin hammer blows of searing agony slammed into her, sending her stumbling as she slapped the controls and shut the hatch, before collapsing to the deck. Her hand went to her abdomen and came back bloody, staring at the evidence in grim realization.

... I’m shot.

Only she had no time to deal with that now. Staggering back to her feet, she lurched down the corridor, her hand leaving a red smear across the bulkhead as she used it for support. She had to get to the cockpit and take off, or else her story would end on this alien world. The thought of that ignominy was enough to keep her moving, flailing and lumbering her way to the pilot’s couch as she activated the controls. There had always been the possibility things would go horribly wrong, so she’d programmed an emergency launch sequence. One press of the button and…

The roar of the engines coming to life threw her to the deck, leaving her gasping for air. Samara struggled to pull herself up to the couch, but the spreading pool of blood and her trembling limbs told a bitter tale. Jibril’s shots had been straight and true, and it appeared her tale would end here after all.

Her gaze landed on a strange object, and it took her a moment to recognize what it was. Even though she was fading fast, she realized she was staring at the box recovered from Star’s End. She hadn’t wanted to move it from the shuttle where Rook might discover it but keeping it here during the mission came with its own risks. There was a space under the pilot’s couch just large enough to conceal it from a cursory search, so she’d stashed it there and crossed her fingers.

In retrospect, perhaps she should have concentrated a little more on getting off the planet in one piece.

Samara crawled to the alien object, drawn to it by some strange compulsion she could neither identify nor understand. It called to her, whispering in a curious alien tongue, tickling her brain as she reached out with a red-stained hand, caressing its carved exterior. The burnished metal felt warm to the touch, vibrating at a frequency just below her normal range of detection.

But she could sense it now.

Her eyes widened as the blood was siphoned away from her skin, absorbed by the alien item, when an electric charge began coursing through her veins. Samara screamed as something skittered down her raw nerves, slithering into her brain and making itself right at home.

Contact Established was the last thing she heard, before losing consciousness.