Treyjon: Star Guardians, Book 2 Page 11

  Treyjon shifted his own grip and dug his toes in so he could free a hand in time. He placed it behind her back and pushed her into the crate until they reached the top of the ramp.

  From there, the forklift headed across the platform and to the freighter’s cargo ramp. The time to talk was over. Treyjon hoped the spy and his cohorts would be standing inside, speaking to each other loudly enough that he could hear their plans. He also hoped the crate would be placed in such a way that he and Angela weren’t revealed to anyone inside.

  He glanced back toward the docks. The drone had disappeared. Off to continue its circuit through the base? Or off to its headquarters with fresh footage?

  It occurred to Treyjon that he should call Security preemptively and explain himself. Or attempt to do so. Currently, the men who’d followed Sagitta hadn’t done anything except follow him. Treyjon, on the other hand, had been involved in killing one of them, an honorably discharged veteran. He worried that he was on a wild herathling chase, one that might blow up in his face. What if these people were just being snoops but didn’t plan anything sketchy? Then he and Angela would be the ones who’d overreacted. Being a Star Guardian didn’t grant him immunity from the law.

  The forklift turned, and he tensed, pressing his stomach to the crate as more of the cargo hold came into view. But he didn’t see anyone as the vehicle headed toward the hull of the hold where dozens of crates already sat. It found an empty slot and pushed them toward it. As it approached the hull, Treyjon pressed his chest against the crate for another reason—he envisioned being squashed against it. Angela peered over her shoulder, apparently sharing the same concern, because she looked from side to side. Seeking a way to jump off? Crates hemmed them in from either side.

  Treyjon caught her eye and jerked his chin upward. If they had to, they could scramble atop the crate. The ceiling was a good fifteen feet higher than the top of it.

  He shifted his weight, preparing to climb up—he wanted time to help Angela if necessary. But the forklift stopped before it reached the hull, leaving a gap of a foot and a half. It was tight, but they had room to stand.

  The crate lowered to the deck. A hiss-thunk sounded as something magnetic in the bottom of it engaged with the metal deck to ensure the cargo wouldn’t slide around in transport.

  A soft scrape sounded, and the forklift pulled away. Treyjon eased to the side, to where a gap of about four inches stood between their crate and the next one. It gave him a narrow view of the cargo hold. Once again, he didn’t see anyone. He didn’t hear anything, either, except the hum of the forklift heading toward the ramp.

  He had a feeling that whatever meeting the spy was having with the rest of the crew wasn’t going on in the hold. It was also possible the spy had headed back through the base and hadn’t even come aboard the ship. Still, if Treyjon could slip out, he could search the ship and do some spying of his own. Once midnight came and went, the crew might all settle into their bunks, making it easy to sneak around. If he could find the captain’s cabin, maybe he could slip in and inject the interrogation drug. Then he could acquire the information he needed and get out before the drugs wore off. Of course, it would be even better if he could get in and out without anyone knowing he’d been here, but the days of captains having physical orders lying on their desks for spies to peruse were long gone. Treyjon didn’t have any delusions of hacking his way into a secure computer.

  The forklift trundled in with another crate. It was placed directly in front of Treyjon’s peep hole and shoved back.

  “Rude,” he muttered and shifted to the other side of the narrow cubby, where Angela was peeping out.

  He rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned into her so he could peer over her head. The view remained open here, almost a six-inch gap. There was still nothing to see, except the back of the forklift as it, after delivering the crate, headed out again.

  “What’s the plan?” Angela whispered.

  “Wait a couple of hours, until all the cargo is loaded and everyone is asleep, and then go snooping.” He started to say that she could stay here, but the lights dimmed, and a thunk sounded. A few clinks followed and then a thud. “That could be problematic.”

  “What?”

  “The hatch shut. We’re locked in.”

  “Can we… unlock it?”

  “Maybe, but—” Treyjon stopped mid-sentence as a faint scent reached his nostrils, one he hadn’t smelled for some time, but one he knew intimately well. Wet fur and fermented araykai. The only vegetable the Zi’i ate in their diet of meat.

  His heart pounded against his rib cage, as he realized they were in greater danger than he’d anticipated. He pressed a finger to Angela’s lips. The Zi’i were known to have excellent hearing.

  Noises came from the direction of the cargo hatch, something between a bark, a growl, and a howl. Treyjon’s translation chip sometimes had trouble with the Zi’i language, but the words were short and simple, and he understood them.

  “I am here. Where is the captain?”

  Angela shifted, looking into his eyes. Since she also had a chip in her ear canal, she should have understood that too. He pressed slightly harder against her lips to emphasize how important it was for them to stay quiet. And still. And hope the Zi’i—gods, he hoped it was only one—didn’t think anything of their scents, here on a ship full of other humans. In addition to having good ears, the Zi’i had excellent noses. Treyjon, with his perfectly normal nose, could smell a floral scent coming from Angela’s skin. Normally, he would find it exotic and appealing, but now, he worried it would be a clue to the Zi’i that spies were back here.

  Angela nodded once and didn’t otherwise move.

  Boots rang out on the metal deck, coming from the interior of the ship.

  “I’m First Mate Torax,” a man said. “Please come with me, Ambassador. The captain is waiting for you in the mess hall. He’s had a meal prepared that should appeal to your appetites.”

  Ambassador?

  Treyjon supposed it made sense that random Zi’i wouldn’t be wandering around the space base in the heart of human civilization, but he couldn’t imagine what these supplement sellers could be doing that would interest an alien in coming out here, much less such a high-ranking one.

  Growls came from the hatch, along with the clacking of nails on the deck. “A meal that was not hunted and killed by one’s own paw is a poor meal.”

  “Perhaps, but we have something extremely fresh, killed within the hour.”

  “A human?”

  Treyjon shuddered at the hopeful tone in the alien’s voice. Angela’s eyes grew round, though he wasn’t sure if that was because of the words or because the Zi’i was walking past their peep hole.

  It strode on four legs, its powerful musculature visible through its short, black fur. As usual, it wore nothing akin to clothing or shoes, leaving the feet at the ends of its legs—or should those be considered hands?—visible. With three clawed fingers and opposable thumbs, they could grab things and manipulate tools with all four of them. The alien’s heavily muscled back was level with Treyjon’s eyes, its thick corded neck and large head, a head with a brain equal in size to any human’s, rising up to make it a little taller than he. The Zi’i could also rear up on two legs to tower over a man.

  “A human,” the first mate agreed, and Treyjon nearly fell over. “We found a spy poking his nose into our business, and he would have had to be eliminated in any event.”

  “It would have been preferable to kill it myself, but I will dine on your meal. I do enjoy the taste of your people, and it’s so difficult to find humans to eat here. The government watches our embassy like distrustful hawks.”

  “Imagine that,” the first mate murmured.

  A spy? Treyjon swallowed, his mind whirring as the nail clacks and footsteps faded, the first mate and the alien heading deeper into the ship.

  It couldn’t be someone else from his ship, could it? He couldn’t imagine that they would have captured Captai
n Sagitta, nor would anyone label him as some simple spy. If the captain of this ship were handing Sagitta over to the Zi’i, something huge would be made of the event. After all the Zi’i ships that Sagitta had destroyed during the war, the aliens loathed him.

  Angela gripped Treyjon’s forearm, looking into his eyes. She seemed to be asking for an explanation. As if he had one.

  This had just escalated from a smoldering campfire that might slip free of its confines to a roaring inferno raging through the forest.

  “I don’t know,” he murmured, his ears telling him that they were alone in the hold now, “but more than the sale of supplements is going on.”

  The deck shivered, and a rumble started up from deep within the ship.

  “What?” Treyjon blurted.

  He stepped away from Angela, gripping the hull behind them.

  “What now?” Angela whispered.

  “The ship is powering up.”

  “Now? Why?”

  The deck tilted slightly as the nose of the freighter lifted into the air. A couple of thumps reverberated through the hull, followed by the sound of thrusters firing.

  “We’re taking off,” Treyjon said grimly.

  10

  “I thought the ship wasn’t leaving until morning,” Angela whispered, her back pressed against the cool hull of the ship and her side pressed against Treyjon as he peered past her and into the cargo hold. Soft thrums reverberated through the deck under her sandals.

  “That’s what Hierax told me.”

  Treyjon lifted his logostec to his mouth, but the screen came on, seemingly before he gave a command.

  “Is that him now?” Angela asked.

  She felt so in the dark here. She’d planned to stay outside and wait for Treyjon, but seeing that floating drone had spurred her into jumping onto the crate and sticking with him. She hadn’t wanted to be out there alone if it shot at her or security showed up.

  “Actually, that’s the captain finally comming me back.” Treyjon held up a finger and answered.

  “Have you gotten to the bottom of those people shadowing me?” she heard Sagitta ask without preamble, as if he’d known all about the spies and Treyjon’s pursuit of them. Maybe he had been aware of it. Or maybe Treyjon had left messages to update him on everything when he’d been separated from Angela.

  “Not exactly, sir.” Treyjon pushed his tangled locks of hair back from his face. “We’re—I’m—in a freighter owned by the company that seems to have been employing those spies. Nebula Won. The freighter just took off from Platform 83.”

  Angela noticed that correction. He must not want the captain to know that she was along. She couldn’t blame him. She shouldn’t be along. What did she know about spying or aliens?

  “Took off where?”

  “I don’t know yet, but judging by the tilt, we’re heading straight up and out of orbit.”

  “Treyjon.” Sagitta’s tone turned extremely dry. “I haven’t approved any shore leave for you. You’re going to have to convince that ship to turn around and bring you back.”

  “Yes, sir. I was thinking along those lines myself.” Treyjon looked at Angela. “Did you have any luck convincing the archons that the women should be allowed to go home, sir?”

  Sagitta’s voice turned from dry to irritated. “It’s proving difficult at the moment. Everything is in flux here because of the discovery of Gaia. The archons aren’t willing to call a public Assembly and take a vote, because they believe there’s a need for secrecy. I’ll hold a briefing in the morning and update the senior staff.” The dryness returned when he added, “I expect my tracker to be there.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll work on it.”

  “Sagitta, out.”

  Treyjon lowered his wrist, but the screen lit up again before it dropped all the way.

  “Sure, now everyone comms me back,” he grumbled, raising the logostec again. “Treyjon, here.”

  “Are you at the wine cellar picking out my selection?”

  “Not exactly, Hierax. Do you have any more information for me? Such as what this corporation is doing chatting up the Zi’i ambassador?” Belatedly, Treyjon realized he should have mentioned that interesting tidbit to Sagitta.

  “Chatting him up?”

  Angela didn’t know Hierax at all, but she was fairly certain that was his stunned voice.

  “He was invited to dinner,” Treyjon said, his mouth twisting in distaste.

  Angela shuddered at the memory of that dinner being discussed. A human being served up for that huge animal-like alien. How could people betray their own kind like that?

  “Well,” Hierax said, “what I learned is that Nebula Won no longer has their headquarters and the manufacturing base for their biggest and most popular supplement on VR-6, that moon I mentioned. VR-6 had a human-compatible atmosphere, and the key ingredient for that supplement grew there. Apparently, it grew there far better than anywhere else in the system—Nebula Won knows because they had been trying out different locations for decades with little success.”

  “You said had. What happened to the moon?”

  “The war ended, and when the treaty was drawn up, VR-6 ended up being in Zi’i territory. Our government told Nebula Won that it had to move. The CEO, as well as the people living and working there, objected. Instead of making plans to leave when they were told, the workers stayed and continued to harvest the plant and produce the supplements. Meanwhile, one of the corporation’s board members tried to negotiate with the Zi’i. He offered to pay a percentage of all sales to the aliens if they were allowed to stay on the moon.”

  “Let me guess. That didn’t work out.”

  “They ate him.”

  Treyjon didn’t look surprised. Angela could only listen in horror to this conversation and the others she’d heard this night. It was hard to wrap her mind around the idea of some other intelligent species wanting to eat human beings. Animals didn’t know better, but intelligent beings should recognize similar traits in others and not treat them as prey.

  “The Zi’i proceeded to take several warships to the moon and hunt down, kill, and eat everyone still there.”

  Treyjon shook his head. “So why is Nebula Won trying to make a deal with the Zi’i now? Why would they want anything to do with them?”

  “I don’t know, but that popular supplement they were making has been out of stock for five years, and people are paying insane amounts for old unopened packages of it, even though they’re expired.”

  “What does the Hades-cursed thing do?”

  “Increases longevity. According to the product description, it—” Hierax’s voice changed, as if he were reading something aloud, “—keeps telomeres from shortening, significantly reducing the age-related breakdown of our cells. Regular supplementation can add more than twenty years to the average person’s life.” His voice changed back to normal. “There are claims that it cures a lot of diseases too. Surprisingly, the reviews seem to back up all the claims.”

  “Would you rather I bring some of it back instead of wine? I seem to be trapped on the corporation’s ship. If anyone has stockpiles left, it would be them.”

  “Trapped on the ship? Treyjon, I told you to spy on it, not climb inside it.”

  “I must have misunderstood your suggestion.”

  “Well, get yourself untrapped, and don’t forget my wine.”

  “Tyrant.”

  Treyjon closed the comm. “Have you noticed that none of my people are offering to rescue me, Angela?”

  “Do you want them to?”

  “I don’t particularly want the Falcon 8 to have to fly up, attack this ship, and send a boarding party to extricate us, no, but it would have been nice if someone had offered.”

  “It sounds like they think you’re competent enough to rescue yourself.”

  “It’s a burden being me.” Treyjon murmured an order into his logostec, and a large screen projected out of the small one, displaying specs for a spaceship.

  The one th
ey were on?

  “All right. The captain’s cabin should be here.” Treyjon tapped the air, his finger causing the image to ripple slightly. “Guest cabin there. We’ll avoid that. Bridge. Engineering. We’re here. Crew complement of twenty. That’s more than I expected, but if we wait until most people are asleep—let’s hope they’re synced with local time, and it’s night on board—I should be able to get to the captain’s cabin and do some coercion. If there aren’t security measures. I wonder where they’re going, anyway. With the Zi’i ambassador on board. This is crazy. Aren’t ambassadors supposed to stay in their embassies?”

  “That seems like a reasonable expectation.” Angela wished she could say something more useful. She also felt guilty because she was starting to wish she’d stayed back on the Star Guardian ship. She didn’t want Treyjon to be stuck here alone, but she missed the familiarity and relative safety of the rec room. Also, who would feed the svenkars if both she and Treyjon were gone on an extended trip? The captain didn’t even sound like he was back on the ship yet.

  She leaned her head against Treyjon’s shoulder. He turned off his logostec and lowered his arm.

  “So we wait until you can sneak out and do… things?” she asked.

  “That’s the plan. I’m sorry I don’t have a better one.” He tapped the stunner on his belt. “I could try to enact it now, before we get out of orbit, but I think it’ll be better if the crew has had time to settle into the journey and isn’t expecting any trouble from within.”

  “I agree.”

  Angela leaned more of her body against Treyjon, hoping he didn’t mind. She liked having him there and was relieved she wasn’t in this situation by herself. But it occurred to her that he might be hurt—or killed—when he tried to reach the captain and force the man to change course and reveal his secrets. And then what? She would be alone. Until hunger drove her out of hiding. Or until that alien found her. And hunted her down and ate her.

  Treyjon shifted to wrap an arm around her back. That was nice. It made it easier to lean against him. Their tight spot between the crate and the hull didn’t leave a lot of wiggle room, and they couldn’t have faced each other, even if they had wanted to. She supposed that meant make-out sessions were out.