So, this was what it was like to be the krog hunkering in a snare meant to lure a jayctor close enough for a hunter to slay. Did the krog ever win in those situations? Or did it get eaten while the hunter sprang his trap? Maybe Sage would ask Treyjon if there was time.

For now, Treyjon, Ku, Mikolos, and several more of his best snipers and fighters hid in the cargo hold, behind the various parts and supply crates locked to the deck. They each had their camo fields activated, so, with luck, they wouldn’t be noticed by the Zi’i warriors’ scans.

Sage stood out in the open, facing the airlock hatch, his helmet tucked under his arm. He’d considered donning it, but he wanted the Zi’i who entered to recognize him and see that he appeared willing to give himself up in order to save his ship.

“You sure you don’t want any grenades, sir?” Hierax asked, patting the satchel slung over his armored shoulder as he checked gauges on a communications jamming device in his hand. Even though his usual utility belt wasn’t visible, the armor had numerous hooks and magnets built in, and a number of his contraptions dangled from them.

“What I want and what makes sense aren’t the same thing.” Sage would have loved to lead the way into the airlock tube, firing his bolt bow and hurling explosives ahead of his men, but the Zi’i would be suspicious as it was. His reputation preceded him, and the admiral had made it clear they expected trickery from him. If he was visibly armed when they walked in, they might open fire right away. As it was, he took a chance in wearing his combat armor. It did not send the message of helpless prisoner.

“Not even a couple to hide inside your armor?” Hierax asked. “I know there’s barely space in your helmet for your big head, but maybe you could suck in your gut to make room down there.”

“I don’t have a gut, and you know it. Also, you’re very cocky for someone who, his record proclaims, used to get shoved into spacesuit lockers by his peers.”

“They were my co-workers, not my peers.” Hierax lifted his chin. “I have no peers.”

A clank came from the direction of the airlock, and Sage’s response died on his tongue. So far, things were going to plan, so he should be pleased, but since the plan was borderline ludicrous, feelings of pleasure were scant.

But it was too late to change his mind now. Under his direction, the Falcon 8 had sailed straight for Admiral Grsh’s ship, leaving its shields down. The Zi’i warship had promptly locked a tow beam around it, denying escape, and drawn it in close enough to clamp onto. They were now sending over a boarding party to collect Sage.

Sage patted Hierax’s shoulder. “Join the others, and be ready to board their ship.”

“No matter how many come in? That’s still the plan? What if there are too many for Varro, Renshu, Hilde, and the others outside of sickbay to fight off? You’re taking the best men with you.”

Sage was tempted to say that Renshu and a few of the others were good fighters—none of the men, or women, on this ship were pushovers—but Hierax was right. He’d picked the very best to storm the Zi’i warship with him. It was their only chance. There would be over a hundred Zi’i warriors on that vessel. And they would be ready for subterfuge.

“We’ll be quick and efficient,” Sage said. “There’s no reason the Zi’i should make straight for sickbay. They’ll head to the bridge or engineering first.” Where the crew members would be in danger, but at least with the Star Guardians, Sage knew they’d signed on for this and known the risks when they agreed to the job. The women from Gaia were the ones he worried about. Tala. She hadn’t signed on for this. None of them had.

“Be ready with the jammer,” Sage added, nodding to Hierax’s device. “If they’re able to communicate with the other ships, this plan will end before it even begins.”

“Always ready, Captain.”

Another clank came from the airlock, and Sage envisioned the Zi’i extending their tube to fasten to the side of his ship, so their boarding party could enter.

Hierax started to walk away but paused, turning back. “Are we all right, Captain? After, uhm—the nebula?”

“I don’t know,” Sage said as an alert flashed on the airlock control panel, informing him that a tube had been secured. “Have you forgiven me for shooting your gadget?”

“Yes. Have you forgiven me for my gadget shooting at you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Hierax gave a surprisingly sincere salute, then trotted to join the other men behind the crates as he donned his helmet. Only he and Lieutenant Asan, the Falcon 8’s other helmsman, weren’t combat specialists, but like all Star Guardians, they could hold their own in battle.

Sage took a deep breath and faced the airlock hatch.

“I assume you want me to unlock that for them, Captain,” Eridanus spoke over the speakers.

“Yes, otherwise they’ll force it open and damage it.”

“That would be rude.”

“That describes the Zi’i.”

“Indeed.”

Silence fell in the cargo hold as the Zi’i gathered in the airlock outside the hatch. Sage’s thoughts drifted to Tala, and he wished he’d said something more meaningful in parting. If this didn’t work, he could be killed. If not by a Zi’i hand, then by his own. He knew too many deeply classified secrets to allow himself to be captured, too much that could be used against his own people, especially if the Zi’i were planning to start a new war, as this armada implied. He couldn’t allow himself to be questioned, and if that meant death… he’d been prepared to die for a long time.

But for a long time, there hadn’t been anyone to live for. No family, except for his mother and father and aunts and brothers. No wife. No children. He’d thought that was all right, that, instead of finding love and having children of his own, he would leave a legacy through his work, by helping his people remain free. And he’d found that fulfilling for many years, even though, in the quiet moments alone in his cabin or the ready room on the bridge, he sometimes admitted to himself that he was lonely. Odd, that. That a person could be surrounded by a ship full of colleagues and still feel lonely. And empty.

But they were his subordinates, not his peers. Not his friends. He could trade jokes with a few of the old hands who’d served him since the fire falcon’s commission, but he always felt he had to keep something of a professional distance, that he had to be the captain, someone to be obeyed instantly and not questioned. Friends, one questioned. Superior officers, one did not. And so the relationships had to be.

Lonely. Until Tala had come aboard his ship. Someone who, as strange as it seemed, given their different backgrounds, was not that different from him. Except that she was a lot prettier than he was.

A scrape on the hatch drew him back to the present, and he lifted his chin as it swung open.

A large gray Zi’i stood in the entryway, one paw-hand gripping the latch, while the other three supported him on the deck, his broad powerful chest, his svenkar-like body, and his head with a snout full of fangs. The yellow eyes were unlike a svenkar’s eyes, though. They were sharp with cunning and as much intelligence as a human had.

Other Zi’i crowded the airlock tube behind the lead one. The admiral was not among them. That was neither surprising nor unsurprising. Often, the Zi’i commanders led by example, with their highest-ranking warriors at the front of boarding parties, but the admiral could have considered this a simple task and delegated it to one of his officers. After all, his warship held the Falcon 8 fast. They had greater numbers and greater firepower, and with a simple comm call, could bring other Zi’i warships in for backup.

The gray stalked in, the fur on his back bristling, a sign that he was ready to fight.

The Zi’i had spacesuits for exterior repairs if need be, but they did not have anything like human combat armor. They thought it cowardly to hide behind protection, and most often, they used only their claws and fangs for weapons, though they did have some shields and projectile weapons. Sage spotted a few of the death launchers on the backs of the Zi’i in the tube. He had used that lack of combat armor—and the self-sustaining environmental system that came with it—to his advantage before. Perhaps he would get an opportunity to do so today.

The gray paused a couple of steps into the cargo hold and peered around, his snout up as he sniffed the air.

“There are a lot of you here just to collect me,” Sage said, hoping to divert the leader from his investigation.

Since his men wore combat armor, their scents would be somewhat diminished, and everyone had walked through the sterilization shower before coming down here, but Zi’i had very good noses. It was possible they would be able to detect the hiding troops, even though the hold must smell of the food stuffs held here and all the men who’d passed through in previous days.

“You are Captain Sagitta,” the gray said, striding toward him. As if those words explained everything.

A dozen more Zi’i followed him out of the airlock with even more stepping into the tube behind them. Sage had hoped that more than the two or three necessary to collect him would come on board—his plan would be much easier to enact with the Zi’i forces split—but he worried anew for the women and his crew.

“I’ve agreed to come with you peaceably so that my ship and my people may go free.” Sage spread his arms, his helmet in one hand, showing his head to be vulnerable.

“Yes. Gyr and Zrgg will take you to see our admiral.”

The gray shifted to walk past him, toward the corridor leading into the ship. Others moved to follow while only two diverted toward Sage.

“You are not invited onto my ship,” Sage said, raising his voice and pinning the gray with his gaze. Though this was what he’d planned for, he had better not let them think it.

“We do not need your invitation, human.”

“My ship is to be let go.” Sage tensed as the two Zi’i the leader had singled out came forward to stand to either side of him. Though they stood on four legs, their heads were level with his.

“And so it shall be,” the gray said from the cargo hold exit. “After we have searched your databases and questioned all your people.”

“You will harm no one,” Sage roared.

“Your ship will be permitted to go. Harm was not discussed.” The gray looked back, displaying his racks of fangs in a mockery of a grin, then strolled into the corridor.

Sage dropped his helmet and jumped back as the two Zi’i reached for him. He threw a punch at one, surprising him and slipping past his defenses. Even though his combat armor gave him extra strength, and he landed a solid blow, the Zi’i didn’t go flying back as a human might have. With four hundred pounds of bone and muscle, the alien accepted the blow without so much as a stumble. A roar was the only indication that it had disturbed him at all.

The second Zi’i lunged at Sage from behind.

Anticipating the attack, Sage flung himself in a backward roll and jumped to his feet, coming up so he faced both enemies. They sprang at him as one. He darted to the side, avoiding one altogether and throwing up his arm to deflect the snapping jaws of the second. Had his arm been bare, those fangs would have gouged holes in his flesh, but they only scraped the hard alloy of his armor.

Sage jumped in close to his attacker, throwing another punch. It landed with a satisfying thud, but only elicited another roar.

One of the alien’s legs came up, the paw-hand rolling into something akin to a fist. It launched at Sage, and he jumped to the side, but not quickly enough. It struck him hard enough to send him spinning. He almost hit the deck, but recovered his balance in time to keep his feet.

“Halt, Captain,” a Zi’i spoke from the side. One from the queue of aliens that had been following the gray into the ship. He sat on his haunches and held a death launcher with his two forward paw-hands, the electricity crackling around the tip of the spear loaded in it.

Sage pretended to consider whether to obey. He hadn’t truly expected to hurt the Zi’i much in the fight, nor to gain the advantage, but he’d figured they would be suspicious if he stood meekly as threats were made to his crew.

He was glad his men had guessed what he was up to and hadn’t come out from behind the crates to help. Their time would come soon, but not yet.

“Take him to the admiral,” the armed Zi’i said to the others.

“Yes, Squad Leader.”

Scowling deeply, Sage plucked his helmet from the deck, then allowed the two Zi’i to flank him and grip his arms. The joints of his armor creaked under the power of those grips, and they forced him toward the airlock.

Sage, who had been keeping track of the invaders even as he fought, counted twenty-six Zi’i disappearing into his ship. Two more took up guard positions near the airlock hatch. Sage’s people would have to deal with those two in such a way that they didn’t have time to report to their superiors, but he trusted they could do so.

As they walked through the tube, he and his two Zi’i escorts followed by the one with the projectile weapon, Sage surreptitiously thumbed a button inside his helmet and angled it under his arm so the visor pointed forward. It started recording, sending the feed directly to Hierax.

His people had the schematics of Zi’i warships, but these were new models and might have changed slightly. If there were any surprises waiting inside, Sage wanted to make sure his men were aware of it before they tried to board.

Tried? No, they had to board.

Otherwise, Sage would never be able to escape, never walk off that ship ever again.