Eugene the Terran ambled down the darkened hallways of CenCom. He was a hefty man, with a shuffling gait. He smiled dimly as he rounded a corner, wending his way further into the facility.

  He approached a steel door at the end of the hallway. A look of disappointment flashed across his face as he saw the guard standing there. He shrugged and approached the guard.

  "Hey, let me in," he said.

  The guard stood up straight.

  "Who are you?"

  "Eugene. You know me," he said. "I just need to finish up some work."

  "I don't recognize you. I'm going to need to call this in."

  "Oh, maybe this will help. I have some paperwork for you."

  Eugene held out a folded sheaf of money. The guard slowly took them and flipped through the bills. He looked up at Eugene with a thoughtful look on his face.

  "I apologize, sir," he said finally. "Your paperwork does appear to be in order." He pocketed the credits and pulled out his keycard. He turned to the door to swipe the lock.

  A crashing blow smashed him into the door. He dropped the money and his keycard. Reeling, he backed away from the door, looking back at Eugene.

  He shook his head. The heavy man was at least twenty feet away. The guard's head swam, trying to clear it as he struggled to understand what had happened.

  "You're a disgrace," Eugene said. The guard reached for his blaster. Eugene reached for him. His arm lengthened, stretched, spanned the intervening space between them. The guard swung the weapon up only to have it engulfed by the man's hand.

  "You don't belong in the Navy," Eugene said.

  The guard stared in horror at the distorted hand that was growing, flowing, creeping up his arm, locking his hand around his weapon. He opened his mouth to scream, but the distorted hand split in two branches, one part leaping forward, splashing against his face. Warm, heavy fluid crept across his mouth and nose, sealing them off.

  The guard began thrashing, pulling at the arm that held him, fruitlessly trying to squeeze the trigger. The arm bent and stretched as he yanked on it. The hand enclosing his hand melted, flowed in between his own hand and the blaster, prying his fingers away from the weapon.

  Eugene walked closer as the guard, in a full panic, flailed, trying to escape, trying to breathe. The distorted arm continued to creep over the guard's face, covering his head, creeping down the back of his neck and surrounding his body.

  "Crazy thing," Eugene said, "you guys are just addicted to air. You need it all the time. I take it away for just a little bit, and all the fight goes out of you."

  The guard's struggles began to weaken. Eugene drew the guard toward his body. The distorted arm lifted the guard's limp form and began drawing him into Eugene's body, enveloping the hapless man in his own flesh.

  After a few minutes of work, Eugene stood alone in the hallway, now considerably fatter.

  He leaned against the wall, resting for a moment. He'd spent so long being Dass that he was out of practice being Eugene. Sloppy.

  He couldn't afford to be sloppy. Not when he was trying to break into CenCom.

  He reached down, picked up the keycard, and swiped it. The door beeped, and a palm scanner unfolded from the console in the door.

  "Ah, right," he said. He held out his hand, and his flesh drew back, exposing the guard's hand. He pressed it against the scanner.

  It beeped and turned green. The door opened.

  Eugene stepped through. He double-checked the air holes in the back of his neck to make sure the guard was breathing regularly now.

  He walked further in, carrying the guard within himself, like a thinsuit taking control of its owner.

  He passed several more checkpoints, using the guard's palmprint and card, and in one instance an ocular scanner, exposing the guard's eye to the machine.

  Dass-- now in his Eugene form-- looked around carefully. He'd been trying to figure out how to infiltrate CenCom for a few weeks now. This was the furthest he'd gotten, but now he had a guard who'd seen him.

  SOP on a mission was to dispose of witnesses, but the man was Navy, not an enemy. Though in Eugene's opinion, anybody that would take a bribe was as close to being an enemy as to make almost no difference.

  At best he belonged in a court-martial hearing. Eugene didn't feel at all bad about handling him roughly. It made the mission extremely messy, though.

  He sighed. He'd assured Kinnit that he could sneak into Commander Ordren's office to scan for bugs, but the closer he got to the bureaucrats, the tighter the security got.

  Eugene pulled back with a hiss. Two guards patrolled the crossing hallway. He could handle them, but the whole point was to infiltrate without raising any suspicions. Disappearing two more guards would create entirely too many questions.

  Eugene frowned. This was as far as he'd be able to go tonight.

  He withdrew from the building. A cool evening breeze blew across him as he flagged down a taxi.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The taxi carried him across down and dropped him off at a seedy bar. He walking in and ordered a beer. Carrying the mug, he made his way into the bathroom and locked himself in a stall.

  His brow furrowed in concentration. His mouth opened, wide, wider, impossibly wide, and the guard began sliding out. With halting progress, the guard's unconscious body squeezed out of Eugene.

  With an unwholesome splat, he landed on the floor of the stall at Eugene's feet, nearly wrapped around the toilet. Eugene poured the beer over him.

  There. Let this bribe-taker explain how he ended up miles away from his post, reeking of beer in a bar bathroom, without his keycard, when he was supposed to be on duty.

  The discipline he'd get was not nearly what he deserved, but it would have to do.

  Eugene walked out of the bar, thinner now, and flagged down another cab. He frowned in deep thought on the ride home.

  The bureaucrats kept themselves too well-protected. He and Kinnit would have to figure out some kind of distraction if they wanted to get into Commander Ordren's office.

  He hoped Kinnit was having more luck than he was.

  Tazrika stood straight and proud in the moonlight in front of Warehouse 17.

  "...and then wham, she elbows him right in the throat!" Krassik crowed. He punched a Tunnorlisk in the arm. "Boom, he's down on the ground in one shot!" He nodded at Tazrika with a proud smile. "Then she's all ready to tear 'em up with her claws, but they backed down. I kinda wished they'd've try to tie on. I wanna see her in a real scrap." He cackled. "She's a bundle of trouble, that one."

  "Uh-huh," the Tunnorlisk said.

  Krassik was practically bouncing on his toes. The Collective were gathered outside in the cool moonlight waiting for the boss.

  A sleek black car pulled up. Rhydak stepped out. His good eye locked on Tazrika and he strode up to her. Krassik rushed to the boss and fairly danced by his side as the wolfish Skorvan advanced.

  "She's ready, boss! She's ready!"

  "Quiet, Krassik." He stopped before her, slightly too close for comfort. He towered over her and stared a hole in her.

  Tazrika stood firm, staring back at him. When she'd seen him before, from a distance, his facial scars has looked awful. Up close, they looked positively horrific.

  She could fully believe that he'd been shot in the face. Maybe more than once.

  Rhydak sniffed her, long and noisily. Tazrika stood firm, not flinching.

  She caught a whiff from him, an odor that took her back to her youth on Takkar: that cold blood-and-fear smell of a predator.

  A long, unkind smile split his twisted muzzle.

  "So you're the new recruit," he said finally.

  "That's what they tell me."

  "I hear good things about you."

  She raised an eyebrow.

  "Then that means your tattletales are telling the truth."

  Rhydak barked a mirthless laugh.

  "As bold as I've heard. Why do you want to join the EVC?"

  She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

  "Why does anybody do anything?" She fixed the Skorvan with her gaze. "Money. You guys have it. I want some."

  "Oh? What of our ideals?"

  "'Death to citizens?' Yeah, that's cool, I guess."

  "Mmm. So our mission doesn't interest you?"

  "What mission? All I see is grift and partying. That's fine, as far as it goes." Her tail swished as she looked away, feigning boredom.

  Rhydak looked a little disappointed. He raised an eyebrow at Krassik.

  "Hey, hey," Krassik said, cutting in. "Tell him how you throat-punched that big Terran the other day!" He turned back to Rhydak. "See, there was this big dude, he just--"

  "He doesn't want to hear about that," Tazrika said, staring levelly at Rhydak's good eye. "The SS thing is just an excuse, isn't it? It's all just small-scale vice. There's no plan to really strike at the Imperium."

  Rhydak's face took on an ugly cast, his eye fixed on her. A low, rumbling growl started in his throat.

  "Oh, hey, no, we've done tons of stuff!" Krassik said. "Just a few weeks ago we blew up--"

  "Quiet, Krassik," Rhydak said shortly.

  Rhydak stared at Tazrika for a long minute.

  "What if you were wrong?" he asked finally. "What if we were to strike at the Imperium?"

  "If I was wrong, then I would be interested," she said, holding his gaze. "If I thought you guys would actually fight for SSes, I would claw my way to the top of this circus. I would show you all what it really means to fight Terrans."

  Rhydak slowly smiled again.

  "Well. You do have some backbone." He leaned forward, towering over her again. "And if I gave you your opportunity to take on the Imperium? A chance to land a blow at them here in the heart of Techterra?"

  Tazrika scoffed.

  "The only real Navy target out here is CenCom." Her eyes widened. "You're planning on hitting CenCom?"

  Rhydak only smiled. Tazrika's eyes lit up.

  "You're gonna hit 'em there? You guys are nuts! That would get some attention!" She gave him a feral grin. "I'm in. Whatever the plan is, I'm in."

  Rhydak turned and walked back to his car.

  "Initiate her," he called over his shoulder to Krassik.

  Then he got in his car and drove away.

  Kinnit slammed the door behind her as she entered the safehouse. Dass looked up at the intrusion. She tore the cloak off and threw it on the floor.

  "Hey," Dass said. "How'd it go?" His brow furrowed. "You okay?"

  She tore her new armband off and threw it on the table. The bright-yellow and black design glared up at them

  "I'm in," she said, her voice wavering on the edge of control. "They're going to attack CenCom next week."

  Dass bolted to his feet.

  "This is great!" he crowed. "This is perfect!"

  "I'm glad you think so," Kinnit said. Without another word, she turned to walk back to her bedroom.

  "Wait, this is good timing! I tried to infiltrate again, but there are too many guards. We could use this as a distraction!" He followed her. "We can nab the leaders of the EVC and infiltrate Ordren's office at the same time! We can--"

  She slammed the door in his face.

  She climbed into her bed and pulled the covers over her head. She curled into a little ball as her head whirled.

  The EVC was depending on her to help make the attack on CenCom a success. And part of her-- too large a part-- wanted it to work. She firmly told herself it was just because she wanted to do her best at whatever she set her hand to. It had nothing to do with her frustrations and her treatment as an SS.

  Dass, and by extension the Navy, were depending on her to lead the EVC into a trap. Which she wanted to do. The Collective were violent, dangerous, wrongheaded. But Krassik was so excited about her admission into the organization. It felt like cutting a friend's throat.

  The Imperium was depending on her to find and stop this conspiracy.

  Above all, she was depending on herself to find evidence proving her innocence in the Oryndrax mess. That goal seemed so dim and distant. Yet it was the only thing that could possibly bring her back to Grimthorn.

  Tears spilled freely as she thought of him. She couldn't even send him a message; her scanner had been destroyed, and in such deep cover, it was far too dangerous for her to be contacting a high-ranking Navy officer.

  Sobs wracked her body. She desperately wanted Grimthorn right now: his strength, his warmth, his silent dependability. She wanted his arms around her, protecting her from the universe and all its problems and inhabitants.

  She wanted him to tell her it would all be okay. That everything would work out.

  She wanted to not be the only one everyone was depending on.

  "It's not fair," she sobbed into the blanket. "I'm just a little Kobold."

  She shuddered under the thin blanket, even though the night was not that cold.

  "I'm just a little Kobold."