Treyjon: Star Guardians, Book 2

by Ruby Lionsdrake

  A surge of delight rushed through him at the realization that she was contemplating having sex with him. Not that it should have come as a surprise after she’d so intimately handled him, but it pleased him, nonetheless.

  “Quite simply, really,” he said. “At least if you’re with a fleet soldier or a Star Guardian.”

  “Oh? Do they keep condoms on your ships?”

  He chuckled softly. “Yes, actually, if you’re going somewhere dubious and want to protect yourself from disease, you can grab some from sickbay. But for the unmarried men, we get a couple of shots a year that temporarily make our sperm infertile. The government got tired of dealing with paternity lawsuits from planets all over the Confederation. As you might imagine, men on shore leave like to, hm, explore their options.”

  “Is that what you were doing under my dress? Exploring options?”

  He kissed her temple. “Absolutely. Like I said, it’s all temporary, and if you get married and want to have children, you just stop getting the shots. It’s cut down a lot on unexpected and unwanted pregnancies with people you barely know.”

  “That’s good to know because I didn’t bring anything. This being a rather unexpected trip.”

  “I can imagine,” he murmured, and squeezed her close.

  After a time of pleasant hugging and the occasional kiss, he reluctantly refastened his trousers. He needed to think about heading out to explore the ship.

  He’d no sooner had the thought than a low snarl reached his ears.

  Treyjon jerked his head up. He recognized that type of snarl. It came from a svenkar.

  He pressed a finger to Angela’s lips again, though she had probably heard it, too, and would know better than to start clapping and shouting. Not that women usually did that after working him over. He didn’t imagine it was that exciting.

  “In here?” a man asked.

  “Seems the most likely spot.”

  Another snarl came from the same direction as the voices. Dread settled into the pit of Treyjon’s stomach. Not only had that snarl come from a svenkar, but it was the sound one made when on the trail of something.

  “It would be nice if the internal sensors were a little more precise.”

  “Just keep an eye out.”

  Treyjon groaned inwardly. He should have known that he and Angela wouldn’t be able to stay here until the time to reveal themselves was convenient.

  The sounds of snuffles and snarls came closer. The svenkar would know right where they were, and it would lead the men to their spot.

  Treyjon lowered his finger from Angela’s lips and leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Stay here.”

  She nodded once.

  The svenkar growled. Had it heard the whisper? Probably.

  The lighting increased. Treyjon grimaced. He would have preferred deep, dark shadows.

  He pulled his stunner off his belt. The men had stopped talking, but he could hear their soft steps now, as well as the rustle of clothing.

  He set the stunner on the top of the crate, then gripped the lip and pulled himself up slowly, trying not to make a sound. Once there, he stayed in a crouch so low that his butt scraped the wood. The crate was wide and tall, but if the men were farther away than he thought, they would see him.

  The snuffling sounds came right toward him. Treyjon couldn’t see the svenkar or the men from his position, but his ears told him when the beast stuck its snout into the gap he and Angela had used to peek through. The svenkar exploded in a frenzy of growls and snarls, claws scraping at the plastic crates. No, tearing at them. The faux wood boards cracked against the deck as they were ripped away.

  “Stop that thing,” one man growled from a few feet behind the svenkar.

  Treyjon could just see the top of his head, and he sank even lower in his crouch. The men would be looking at this particular crate, so he scooted to the next one and then the next one. He hoped the svenkar wouldn’t hear him and point a snout in his direction.

  A pained yelp came. A shock collar being used.

  Knowing the animal would be distracted, Treyjon hopped across several more crates. He reached the end of the row and the corner of the cargo hold. There was about a foot gap. He sucked in everything and slid to the deck.

  “We know you’re back there,” the other man said, still at the crate Treyjon had left. “Come out or get eaten.”

  His buddy snorted. “Or come out and get eaten.”

  “By the svenkar or the Zi’i ambassador?” the other asked.

  “Maybe they can share the table.”

  Treyjon peeked around the corner of his crate. Both men were looking into the gap, toward where Angela hid. The svenkar, a big female that had to weigh more than four hundred pounds, lay on its back, its belly in the air. One paw swatted uselessly at the collar around its neck.

  Treyjon frowned. The shocks were still going off. Did the handler know that? Was he inept or intentionally cruel?

  Treyjon fired the stunner, half wishing he had a bolt bow or other more deadly weapon.

  The men whirled toward him at the soft whine of the weapon, but they were too late to do anything. A blue nimbus filled the air around them as the energy unfurled. They stumbled, then fell.

  The svenkar jumped to its feet in an instant. Treyjon hesitated, wondering if there was any way he could convince it to obey him instead of its handlers, but that would take a great deal of time. For now, he was an intruder in its eyes. Indeed, the female charged across the deck and sprang.

  He fired the stunner, hitting it square in the face. He also threw himself to the side, doing a somersault across the deck to avoid being struck. The svenkar’s momentum took it into the hull where it smashed with a clang.

  “Will she be all right?” came a worried question. Angela. Her head stuck out of the gap between the two crates.

  “They’ve got tough heads, so yes. But I’m not sure what to do with her. Or them. The stun will wear off in about twenty minutes. Probably less for the svenkar.”

  After checking around the cargo hold and making sure nobody else was in there with them or coming down the corridor, Treyjon jogged to the men. He yanked off their logostecs so they couldn’t easily comm the rest of the crew, then pulled off their belts so he could tie their hands behind their backs. Maybe if he did that and stuffed them behind the crate where he and Angela had been hiding, it would be a struggle for them to get free.

  Angela eased out, looking toward the svenkar and then toward the corridor.

  Treyjon hefted the men up one at a time, grunting as he hoisted them above his head and onto the top of the crate. He followed them up and rolled them over the far side and down into the tight space. They clunked hard as they landed, but didn’t stir. Maybe they would be knocked unconscious and stay out for an hour.

  He dropped down beside Angela again. “I’m not sure what to do about the svenkar. I can’t tie her up or heft her over my head.”

  Being stuck behind a crate probably wouldn’t slow down the strong, agile beast for long, either.

  “Let her wake up. Maybe she’ll run out and turn on the crew. What were they doing to her? Was that from the shock collar?”

  Treyjon smiled at her indignation, feeling the same way. Some people favored harsh training methods with svenkars, claiming it was the only way to get through those thick skulls, but he’d found that the lightest of taps from the collars would redirect their energies. And as Angela had found with her stuffed gordoza leaves, there was nothing wrong with a food reward here and there.

  “We could leave her free,” he said, “but it’s more likely that she’ll find us and attack us at an inopportune moment.”

  Angela shrugged. “We can be on the alert for it.”

  She lifted the stunner he’d given her before they left the ship. He’d forgotten about it, but from the way she gripped it firmly, she had been ready to use it on those men.

  “Agreed. We better hurry, though.” Treyjon headed for the corridor. “Best not to test our l
uck.”

  “Captain’s cabin?”

  “Yes.”

  12

  Angela gripped her stunner so tightly that she could see the whites of her knuckles. She willed herself to relax her hand—the damn thing might accidentally go off with the way she held it now—and she focused on not making any noise as she followed Treyjon through the main corridor of the ship.

  It wound in a circle, with heavy metal hatches lining it on both sides. Here and there, stubs of corridors opened to their right, toward the interior of the ship. From the map Treyjon had pulled up earlier, she knew the ship was shaped like the number eight, with the bottom part representing the big cargo hold and the top half everything else.

  A hatch opened to Angela’s left, and she stumbled back as a man came into view. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

  Treyjon had already passed the spot, but he whirled back. He jerked his stunner up to fire, but he seemed to think he might catch Angela with the nimbus if he did so. She hesitated to fire for the same reason. The man jumped out, lunging for Treyjon.

  He dodged a punch and grappled with the crewman. Angela scooted back farther so she would be out of Treyjon’s way if he wanted to fire.

  Someone grabbed her shoulder. “Who are you?”

  “Housekeeping,” she blurted.

  Angela tried to whirl toward the person, but a hand went around her throat and squeezed.

  She twisted her arm and fired under her armpit, having no idea if she would be affected as well. Blue energy flashed around her, and the nerves in her back sizzled as if she’d been struck by lightning.

  The hand fell away from her neck, but she stumbled, her legs wobbly. She caught herself on the wall and used it to push herself around. The man who’d grabbed her, a hulking guy with a huge belly and flapping jowls, was also stumbling. She fired again.

  He fell backward, hit the deck, and didn’t move.

  Angela turned, ready to help Treyjon if he needed it.

  He’d already knocked out his foe and was dragging the man into the cabin he’d unexpectedly emerged from. She was surprised he hadn’t waited on that to first make sure she didn’t need help.

  He must have guessed at her thoughts when he looked toward her. “I knew you could rescue yourself.” He winked.

  “I guess it’s a burden being me too.”

  He grinned as he belted the man’s wrists behind his back. He passed her and dragged the big one toward the same cabin, the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulging as he did so.

  “Remind me to get turned on by that later,” Angela said.

  “Large enemies that jiggle as they’re dragged across the deck?”

  “You and your pretty arms.”

  “Ah.”

  The big man was in something akin to pajamas and didn’t have a belt on. Treyjon sighed and simply stuffed him into the room with the other man.

  “They’re going to start waking up soon, and we’ll have problems,” he said, pulling the hatch shut.

  “We better find the captain quickly.”

  “Yes. This way.”

  Treyjon jogged as he headed up the corridor again. He glanced back at her as she followed on his heels.

  “Pretty?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “My arms. I was hoping they would be considered manly. Maybe handsome. I’m not sure about pretty. That’s for girls, isn’t it?”

  “Do you really want to discuss that now?”

  “I’d hate to die, thinking I was pretty instead of manly.”

  “How about pretty manly?”

  “I guess that’ll have to do.”

  Treyjon stopped at the third to the last hatch in the corridor. Up ahead, their passage ended by opening into a larger space, and Angela glimpsed glowing indicators on control panels and also a window, or maybe a view screen, that showed a black starry sky. Had they already left the planet and entered space? How would they get back?

  Treyjon shoved open the hatch to their side and jumped into a cabin, his stunner pointing all around. But he soon lowered it.

  “He’s not here,” he whispered, stepping out. “No secret orders written on parchment lying on his desk, either.”

  “Were you expecting that?”

  “Just lamenting that it isn’t done that way anymore.”

  He also glanced toward the opening at the end of the corridor. The bridge? Someone up there spoke, and someone else answered, but Angela couldn’t hear the words. She also couldn’t tell how many people were in there.

  “If we shoot the pilot,” she whispered, “does the ship crash?”

  “Probably not immediately—nothing to crash into out here. But I can’t pilot it back, if that’s what you’re wondering. That’s beyond my training level.” He grimaced, looking a little disappointed to have to admit that to her.

  As if she’d expected him to be able to fly.

  “It’s a good thing you’re pretty manly,” she whispered.

  He smiled, held a finger to his lips, and trotted up there, his boots not making a sound as he moved.

  Angela trailed after him, but paused when a stench assaulted her nose. Treyjon ran past an open hatch door, frowning as he glanced in, but continued on to the bridge. She peered through the hatchway and found the source of the stench.

  A svenkar chained against the back wall of a cabin snarled at her. The cabin was free of furniture, carpeting, and the dog-bed equivalents the svenkars on Treyjon’s ship had. Feces and puddles of urine stained the deck in one corner. The bare walls held what looked like cattle prods that could deliver an electrical charge. The svenkar itself was a big male with sores and lacerations marring its leathery skin. That skin lacked the healthy sheen of the ones in Treyjon’s care. The svenkar snapped at the air. It didn’t look happy with her or its condition.

  “I wish I could free you to eat your keepers,” Angela whispered.

  She eyed the thick metal ring fastening the svenkar’s chain to the wall. She could have reached in to unhook the animal, but not without getting close enough for it to bite her. Though she liked to think she had a knack with animals, she didn’t have any delusions about a strange predator believing she was a friend.

  She did spot a cabinet to the right of the door with a jar that looked like dehydrated liver treats for dogs sitting on the top. There was also something in a can that reminded Angela of spray cheese. She had no idea what the label said, but there was a picture of a steak on the front.

  Though she doubted she should waste time, she stepped inside and opened the jar. Maybe if she tossed the creature a few treats now, it wouldn’t snap at her if they met up later. And maybe if she had some treats in her pocket, she could use them on the svenkar in the cargo hold. She assumed she and Treyjon would have to leave through the cargo hold once they figured out how to make the ship land. They would have to deal with that female eventually.

  The slavering, snapping svenkar ceased its aggressive posturing as soon as she picked up the jar of treats.

  “Some things are universal,” Angela murmured, unscrewing the lid.

  She tossed three treats to the svenkar, doubting she had time to do any actual training or to establish a rapport. It snapped its mouth so fast that it plucked all three out of the air before they hit the deck.

  “Favorites, huh?” she whispered, stuffing a number of them into the pocket in her dress. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much of a pocket, and the treats would fly out if she had to run.

  She grabbed the spray can, figuring it would be easy to hold in her hand. To test it, she raised it and pointed it toward the svenkar. The male sat on his haunches and tilted his head attentively. She pulled the trigger, afraid whatever it was would dribble out and plop on the deck in front of her. But whoever had designed it might have anticipated shooting it across a room into a svenkar mouth. A string of brownish red goop arched across the cabin with impressive velocity.

  “Okay, more like Silly String than spray cheese,” Angela sa
id as the svenkar snapped at the strings of goop.

  Some of them got past even the lightning fast snout and splattered onto the deck as well as its hide. It promptly licked up both spots. At least it would have something to do instead of drawing attention to her and Treyjon sneaking around in the corridor. And more importantly, if she sprayed it at the loose svenkar in the cargo hold, the female might go for the treat instead of her and Treyjon.

  A shout came from the bridge, followed by a thump.

  Angela rushed back into the corridor, the spray can in one hand and the stunner in the other. She thought Treyjon might need help, but he was already walking out of the room. Two men and a woman lay unconscious, either crumpled in their seats or down on the deck.

  He looked down at the treat can. “I’ve never had my backup charge into a room, carrying a can of Treat-Tak.”

  “I’m unique backup.”

  He smiled. “Yes, you are.”

  The smile dropped as he glanced at his logostec. “If we don’t find the captain in about five minutes, we’re going to have to go back to the cargo hold and start finding a more permanent way to take care of the people we’ve knocked out. I doubt a freighter has a brig, but that would be convenient.”

  Angela was surprised he said we would have to do these things. So far, she hadn’t done much to help him. She wished she could do more.

  “Can we put them in a cabin and lock the door?” she suggested.

  “The locks are electronic. They’ll respond to the crew instead of me.” As they left the bridge, Treyjon looked into the cabin where the svenkar was still licking the deck. “The captain was going to meet the ambassador in the mess hall, wasn’t he?”

  “I think so.”

  “This way.” He tilted his head, then returned to one of the short stubs that they’d passed.

  The hatch at the end stood open. Angela didn’t think it had been that way before.

  Treyjon went first, his stunner ready.

  Voices floated out of the room—the mess hall?—and he paused a few feet from the open hatch.