They approached hangar IV as if they had every right to be there. Eris strode with her chin up, shoulders back, her movements stiff and officious.

The guards watched their approach. Eris sent their false paperwork ahead, and the guards checked their tablets.

“An inspection?” the guard on the left asked.

“Yes, to ensure all is in working order for the might of Tholos,” Eris said.

The accent Eris put on was completely different. It was clipped and flat, abrasive.

The guards’ lips thinned. They both wore black jumpsuits similar to Eris’s, but their buttons and threads of blue ranked them as military guards. Their dark hair was cropped close to their heads, their beards short and tidy. Bred for service since before their birth. Loyalty further unshaken by the threads of the Oracle commands woven into their minds. The Oracle tamped down their fear—as well as most other emotions—and made their patriotism unwavering. Guards always gave Clo the creeps.

Eris’s chin stayed raised, her gaze imperious. The guards’ stances didn’t change, and their fingers strayed close to their Mors, their hands steady.

“An inspection for certain ships or the entire hangar, Publican?” one of them asked, his tone respectful.

“Every craft landed in the past three days. It’s just a routine look at the engines and cargo.”

Clo had forgotten just how good Eris was at deception. Her accent, her expression, the way she held herself, all transformed with the role she was playing. Everything about her—from her boots to the top of her head—demanded deference.

The guard glanced back into the hangar. “We’ve got fifteen new craft. Where would you like to start?”

Eris slid her finger down the surface of the tablet to draw up the list. “Zelus just arrived for refueling half an hour ago, no? We’ll start there and work our way through.” She let out a breath that shuddered with exhaustion. “We have to check six hangars before nightfall, then we’re off to three other planets to do the same thing by next week.”

Damn, she was good.

The guards softened, just slightly. They knew grueling schedules, long shifts. “All seems to be in order,” the one on the right said. They moved aside, and the doors embossed with the Tholosian scythes opened for Clo and Eris.

<What was that accent?> Clo asked Eris as they entered the vast, open space of the hangar.

<Tholosian Publicans are trained on the same planet as a lot of military commanders. It’s remote on purpose, so their accents are very distinctive. Not easy to mimic.>