“…as long as you’re willing to talk to your people, that’s all I ask,” a man said. He sounded like he was close to the hatch. The captain on his way out after the meeting?
Treyjon flattened his back to the bulkhead and waved for Angela to do the same.
“Of course. I am intrigued by your offer.” That was the Zi’i, the words sounding as snarls and growls before Angela’s chip translated them in her ear. “I believe they will be intrigued too. But my chiefs will also point out that you are nobody of import in your world and you don’t have the right to offer such a prize.”
“I’m not offering the planet, just the location of it. It’s not covered by the treaty, so if you want to swoop in and claim it—or harvest hordes of the billions of humans that live there—while the government is dithering around here, then nobody can object. If they do, they won’t have legal legs to stand on.”
Angela felt her mouth drop open. Billions of humans. Were they talking about Earth? And harvesting humans? Her family? Her friends?
Treyjon looked toward her, his face grim.
“It could start another war,” the ambassador said.
“Maybe, but you could get in and out quickly if you wanted, and my government might never find out. My resources tell me that they’re voting not to have anything to do with the planet, so they won’t be in communication with the leaders there. The people will be on their own, and from the intelligence we’ve gathered, it doesn’t sound like the planet has the means to fight off a space attack. The handful of tiny ships they have don’t leave the orbit of their own planet.”
They were talking about Earth.
“They wouldn’t be able to fight back or escape,” the man continued. “You could take your young warriors down to the surface for the greatest hunt they’ve ever known.”
The Zi’i made a rasping noise that raised the hairs on Angela’s neck. The chip translated it as laughter.
“You are enticing me, human, but it’s my government you must sway, not me.”
“But you think they’ll agree? What we ask is so small. Your people aren’t even using that moon. I’ll give them the coordinates to Gaia, and they sign a treaty with me, promising that our company can harvest plants and manufacture—”
Noisy sniffing interrupted the man.
Treyjon lifted his stunner again.
“What is it?” the man asked.
“Humans are listening to us. Have you no privacy from your crew?”
Treyjon leaped into action before the captain could peer out at them. He sprang through the open door and fired the stunner.
A thump sounded—the captain hitting the ground?
Treyjon whirled toward a second target, firing again. But he either missed or the stun technology didn’t work on Zi’i. The massive alien slammed into him, hurling him ten feet into a wall. Treyjon cried out, and Angela heard something that sounded like bone crunching.
“Shit,” she whispered, rushing to the hatchway.
Treyjon roared and fought back, but the alien had to weigh as much as a svenkar, and seemed just as muscular and powerful. It smothered him against the wall.
Angela fired the stunner, her only thought that it was better to knock out both of them than neither.
But the blue nimbus of energy hit the Zi’i and did nothing.
Fortunately, none of it seemed to get through to Treyjon, and he continued to fight. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to matter. The alien had caught him by surprise, and he was in a helpless position.
The Zi’i threw back its head in what looked like a roar of pain. Treyjon also roared. It sounded like a battle roar. Good.
The alien reared back on two legs like a bear, almost cracking its big head on the ceiling, and Angela glimpsed Treyjon. His face was bloody and contorted with pain, but he gripped a dagger in one hand.
He lunged in, slashing at the alien’s exposed stomach. But the Zi’i dropped down to protect itself and also to ready another attack. Its haunches bunched, and it sprang.
Treyjon dove to the side, rolled, and came up with his back against the wall near the door. He glanced at Angela as the Zi’i spun toward him.
“Get out of here,” he barked. “Get on the comm. Call the capt—”
The alien sprang again, and he didn’t get to finish. This time, instead of dodging, he rushed in, leading with the dagger. The blade moved so quickly it blurred, and it sank into fur and flesh. But the Zi’i pushed into him even as it cried out in pain. Its huge arms gripped Treyjon, and claws tore into his vest—and his flesh.
Feeling utterly helpless, Angela lifted the stunner in her hand. But there was no point in firing again. She looked at the treat can and laughed without humor. That wouldn’t do any good, either. Not unless she could use it to convince the svenkar to attack the Zi’i. That might even the odds.
And with that thought, inspiration came.
The Zi’i had its back to her now. Treyjon must have stabbed it more times, enough to make it loosen its grip, because he was free, ducking and dodging as it swiped at him with deadly claws.
Angela aimed carefully and sprayed the steak-flavored stuff all over the alien’s back. She expected the ambassador to whirl and lunge at her, but it either didn’t feel it or it judged Treyjon the bigger threat and didn’t look at her.
“Your mistake,” she whispered, then raced down the corridor to the svenkar’s cabin.
The beast started to snarl when she ran in, but must have seen the can, or maybe it remembered its earlier treats. She tossed a few more to it just to remind it that it liked her. Then she grabbed the clip attaching its chain to the hook on the wall and unfastened it.
She dropped it and called, “This way,” waving the can as she backed out of the cabin.
The svenkar followed so quickly, those saliva-dripping fangs closing on her, that her heart jumped into her throat. But the creature didn’t attack. It looked at the can.
Not wanting it to decide to take it by force, Angela turned and ran toward the mess hall. Treats flew out of her flimsy dress pocket. That wasn’t a bad thing, since the svenkar paused to lick them up instead of bowling her over to get at the can.
When she ran into the mess hall, the fight was still raging. Treyjon flew through the air, landing on a table and bouncing off. Somehow, he twisted to come down on his feet. He yanked a throwing knife out of a leg sheath and flung it across the table. It sank into the alien’s eye, and it froze, roaring in pain.
The svenkar rushed past Angela, knocking her to the side in its eagerness to get into the room. Treyjon looked at her, and his hand twitched, as if he could help her from way over there.
She found her balance and started to say she was fine, but the alien’s roar drowned out everything. It was looking at the svenkar flying through the air at it. The Zi’i bled from a dozen wounds, and the hilt of the throwing knife stuck out of its eye, but it lunged at the svenkar, meeting it before it landed. The alien rammed a fist into the svenkar’s chest. The animal flew backward, despite its mass.
It landed on its feet. Instead of jumping again, it ran straight in, snapping at the alien’s leg. The Zi’i tried to back up, but the svenkar was too fast. Its sturdy jaws locked around the alien’s leg, and bone crunched audibly.
Treyjon ran to Angela’s side as alien and svenkar battled like pit bulls in some illegal street fight.
“I told you to get out of here,” Treyjon blurted, grabbing his side. He wasn’t bleeding from as many places as the alien, but his face twisted with pain.
“We’re on a spaceship flying out of orbit. Where would I go?”
His face froze somewhere between startlement and laughter. Just as the latter started to win out, an ominous snap echoed through the room.
Angela turned, afraid the svenkar had been killed. It had just wanted treats, and she’d tricked it into this battle. If it died…
But it was the Zi’i ambassador that lay dead on the deck, its neck broken. In a parody of sanity, the svenkar stood mee
kly beside the alien, licking the sprayed gunk off its fur.
Treyjon, jaw dangling open, looked from the svenkar to the can clenched in Angela’s hand.
“I guess I shouldn’t have joked about backup charging in with Treat-Tak,” he said, recovering from some of his shock to smile at her.
She might have smiled back, but the ramifications of her actions were sinking in. For the second time, a svenkar under her control, however mildly, had killed someone in front of her eyes. True, the four-legged, furry Zi’i ambassador didn’t seem quite the same as a human being, but he’d spoken and clearly been intelligent. Was it truly any different from killing a human? And for that matter, could she even consider the Zi’i ambassador a bad guy?
He’d seemed willing to go along with what the captain had proposed, the captain who was only unconscious, despite apparently being a mastermind in a plot that could have ended up with Earth being overrun by carnivorous aliens that feasted on humans.
“He’s the one who should be dead,” she whispered, glowering at the man.
“Nah.” Though he was clearly injured, Treyjon reached down and hoisted up the unconscious man. “He’s going to have a lot to answer for under truth drugs. And we want that, otherwise we have to explain how we came to kill a planetary ambassador.” He grimaced deeply. “As much as I think your move was brilliant, and I appreciate you coming to help me, that’s—the political ramifications, not just for me but for humanity as a whole… We could be in fucking big trouble for this.”
“You and me, or all of mankind?”
He shook his head grimly. “Yes.”
13
Treyjon had tied up the Nebula Won captain and half the crew, re-stunning others if they woke up too soon, and was in the process of dealing with the rest when the freighter lurched so hard that it threw him to the deck. His injured ribs exploded in pain as he hit, and he couldn’t keep from cursing vehemently.
Angela ran out of the kennel room—she’d been using the spray treats to lure the svenkar back inside—and to his side.
Embarrassed by his outburst, Treyjon did his best to smooth the pain from his features. Zi’i weren’t pushovers under any circumstances, and the ambassador had broken several of his ribs and dislocated his shoulder when they’d been battling. He’d had to jam himself against a bulkhead to push the shoulder back into the socket. Now, he was doing his best to manage the pain and get the crew secured before he collapsed, but he desperately wanted some painkillers. Or maybe just to have Angela turn the stunner on him and knock him out.
“Are you all right?” she asked, touching him lightly.
Even though he hadn’t described his injuries, she was observant, and she was careful not to touch his ribs, his shoulder, or any of the bloody gashes on his face or abdomen. Zi’i claws didn’t feel any better cutting through flesh than svenkar ones did.
“Yes, I was just caught by surprise.” Treyjon smiled through his pain, certain that men were supposed to be tough, fearless, and brave in front of women. Especially one who had so little experience with spaceships and interstellar flight. Or in this case, intra-system flight. Fortunately, the Nebula Won ship hadn’t had time to make it to the wormhole gate.
“Me too. What was that? You said there was nothing to crash into out here.”
“I’m rarely but occasionally wrong.” Treyjon pushed himself to his feet. “But I think that was a gripper beam. Another ship extending a forcefield around us to keep us from moving.”
“An alien ship?” Angela glanced toward the mess hall.
The captain had been one of the first people Treyjon tied up, but the dead Zi’i ambassador still lay on the deck.
“Probably not here in the heart of Confederation territory. But it could be planetary security.” Treyjon grimaced, thinking of the drone on the docks. Now he wished he’d commed Security and tried to explain himself. The trouble was, he’d been operating in sketchy territory ever since the first man had been killed. He hadn’t known if he could explain himself. “Let’s go see.”
He led the way to the bridge where the helmsmen he’d stunned earlier were now tied to the bases of their seats. One groaned and glared balefully at him.
The view screen, which showed the route ahead, held only stars and part of Selene Moon, but he was sure a hulking ship of some kind or another had come up from behind them when nobody had been up here paying attention.
“Where are the sensor controls?” Treyjon asked, looking around.
Other than that quick perusal of the map of the interior that he’d dug up earlier, he had no familiarity with this model of freighter.
“Fuck you,” one of the semi-conscious helmsmen growled.
Treyjon ignored him, but Angela wordlessly bent down next to the man and sprayed a wad of Treat-Tak on the back of his hand. Since the helmsman had no context, he clearly found it more puzzling than ominous, but Treyjon grinned, happy to explain.
“That’s how the svenkar came to kill the Zi’i ambassador,” he said.
The man’s eyes widened, and he thrashed around, trying to wipe the stuff off the back of his hand. With his wrists bound to each other and the base of the seat, he found it difficult.
“There are the sensors,” Treyjon said to himself. And yes, they confirmed that the freighter was being held in a gripper beam. The other ship looked to be a…
He laughed.
“What?” Angela asked.
Treyjon shook his head. He spotted the camera controls and hit a button to cycle through the exterior cameras and display them on the view screen.
A few seconds before the view of the ship displayed, a comm panel light popped on, and a familiar voice spoke over the bridge’s speakers.
“Nebula Won freighter, this is the Star Guardian ship, the Falcon 8. You are suspected of illicit activity, and you will lower your shields and submit to being boarded. If we received this report in error, you will be allowed to go on your way after a search.”
The welcome image of the winged Falcon 8 appeared on the view screen, courtesy of a rear camera.
Treyjon hit the reply button on the comm panel. “You’re about twenty minutes late, Captain.”
“Oh?” came Sagitta’s prompt reply.
“I’d guess that you were held up by a hot date, but your brother assures me that you don’t date.”
“Captains don’t have time for dating. What happened over there, Lieutenant?”
Treyjon sighed. “Something that may get me into trouble bigger than a black hole.”
Angela shifted uneasily. He would have to talk to her and make sure she didn’t believe that she was the reason for the trouble. The Zi’i ambassador had attacked him, after all. She’d only been helping him defend himself.
Treyjon hoped that when the freighter captain was questioned, the government would be in an outrage over what the corporation had planned to do, and the ambassador’s death would be… if not overlooked, then at least minimized. And pushed to the side until Treyjon, Sagitta, and the Falcon 8 were on the far side of the system, hopefully doing something brave and noble that would make the government forget that a Star Guardian had been responsible for the ambassador’s death. He also hoped his name never made it back to the Zi’i government. They were a vengeful people with long memories, and they weren’t above sending assassins into Confederation Territory.
“Care to explain?” Sagitta asked when Treyjon didn’t elucidate.
“I think you should bring a boarding party over and see for yourself, sir. Also, bring some stunners and restraints. Most of the crew is unconscious right now, and they’re not going to be happy when they wake up.”
“I see. And will we want to take them to our brig?”
That was the captain’s subtle way of asking if Treyjon had screwed up and knocked out innocent people or if everyone here was involved in something illegal. And Treyjon had no idea. What the captain and Nebula Won had been trying to do was heinous, but he wasn’t even sure if it would be considered illegal,
since the Gaians weren’t a part of the Confederation. Nobody here had known they existed a month ago.
“You’ll definitely want to question the captain,” Treyjon said.
“Very well. Is Miss Angela with you?”
Er.
The captain’s tone wasn’t exactly frosty, but it had grown very hard to read with that question.
“Yes, sir.” Treyjon groped for something to say that would excuse the fact that he had willingly taken her into a dangerous situation, but he couldn’t think of anything.
“Well, that’s one question answered.”
Treyjon winced. The captain sounded disappointed in him, if not disgusted.
“I’m still looking for donuts, Captain,” Angela said, leaning toward the comm panel. “I regret to report that they aren’t on this ship.”
Sagitta didn’t answer right away, and Treyjon dropped his face into his hand. He appreciated Angela trying to make light of the situation and essentially letting Sagitta know she was all right, but he couldn’t imagine the stolid captain caring about desserts.
“You should have had Lieutenant Treyjon take you to the Aztakia Quarter,” Sagitta said. “Those people are known for making candies and cookies.”
Treyjon lowered his hand, surprised the captain had responded to such a frivolous comment.
“He didn’t mention the place or make the offer, Captain,” Angela said. “It’s obvious his priorities are misaligned.”
“Indeed,” Sagitta murmured. “A boarding party will be there in five minutes. Lieutenant, do your best to clean up whatever messes you’ve made before it arrives. They’ll be wearing their armor.”
Meaning they would have helmets on and be recording their findings.
“Understood, sir,” Treyjon said, though there was, unfortunately, no way to clean up the Zi’i ambassador.
The comm light winked out.
“Does that mean we have to get the meat spray off the walls?” Angela looked at the can in her hand.
Snorts and snuffles came from the corridor behind them.
Treyjon leaned around the corner of the hatchway to check on them. The female svenkar from the cargo hold was licking smudges of Treat-Tak off the deck.
Treyjon: Star Guardians, Book 2 Page 14
