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.

“I think that’s being taken care of,” Treyjon said.

“Oh, how’d she get out of the cargo hold? I’d better convince her to join the other one in that room.” Angela walked out, approaching the creature fearlessly.

The svenkar jerked her head toward Angela and snarled.

“This way, girl,” Angela said, rattling the can.

She shot some of the meat into the animal’s mouth, and the svenkar promptly quieted, aside from the sound of a long tongue licking long fangs.

Treyjon wondered if Angela had any idea that svenkars were not usually so easily placated. But she had that I’m-in-charge body language, and it worked for her.

He briefly entertained himself with the idea of Angela striding up to the captain with a frozen steak in hand and commanding him to sit for his dinner.

His logostec dinged.

“This will go easier for the boarding team if you unlock the airlock hatch,” Sagitta spoke dryly over it.

“On it, sir.”

“I see the problem,” Sagitta said, removing his helmet.

Treyjon stood in the mess hall with the captain, Sub-Lieutenant Renshu, and Ensign Bystrom as they all looked down at the dead ambassador. The rest of the boarding team was dragging the freighter crew back to the Falcon 8. A Star Guardian helmsman would fly this ship back to Dethocoles, where the planetary law would no doubt be brought in to sort everything out.

“What’s the problem?” Renshu asked. “A svenkar snapped his neck in half. Nobody here can be blamed for that, right?”

Treyjon appreciated the effort to interpret the scene favorably, but the very fact that Renshu, who probably knew nothing about the situation, had felt it needed a favorable interpretation said much.

“His neck was broken by a svenkar, yes,” Sagitta said, “but he was also stabbed repeatedly in the chest by a knife.”

“Could have done it to himself,” Renshu said. “Might have fallen on his own blade.”

Sagitta arched his eyebrows. “Repeatedly?”

“A suicide attempt. Zi’i are warriors, sir. They don’t go for pills or injections.”

Sagitta sighed at him.

“I’m responsible, Captain,” Treyjon said. As much as he appreciated his colleague’s attempt to defend him, if there was to be trouble over this, he had to do the honorable thing and accept the blame. “He attacked me first, but I did sneak aboard this ship. Albeit, only because I figured Nebula Won was up to something shifty. And it was.”

“I’m more responsible,” Angela said quietly from the doorway.

She’d been instructed to return through the airlock to the Falcon 8. Treyjon smiled at her, not surprised she hadn’t gone. She came in and stood beside him.

“I let the svenkar out,” she added.

“And convinced it to come attack the person attacking Treyjon?” Sagitta asked dubiously.

“Yes.”

Sagitta’s brow wrinkled as he stared at her. All this was almost worth it to see a puzzled expression on the unflappable captain’s face.

“I believe an autopsy will reveal Treat-Tak matted in the ambassador’s fur,” Treyjon said.

“Treat-what?” Sagitta asked.

Angela held up the can.

Sagitta squinted at it, at her, and then at the ambassador. Treyjon had no idea what he was thinking.

“Everyone to the airlock,” Sagitta said. “We’ll fly the ships back and report to the authorities. No, to the archons, I suppose. Having the ambassador involved escalates all this. I’ll have to report something to Star Guardian Headquarters, too, even though this wasn’t a sanctioned mission. Especially because this wasn’t a sanctioned mission.” Sagitta sighed.

Treyjon didn’t have as much trouble interpreting that expression. He had to be tired of dealing with the archons and standing in long meetings by now.

Sagitta headed for the corridor, waving for everyone to follow him out.

“You better head straight to sickbay, Lieutenant,” he said over his shoulder. “You also look like something a svenkar chewed on.”

“Because I’m injured or just in general, sir?”

Sagitta shot him an unamused look before turning into the main corridor. Bystrom and Renshu followed him obediently.

Treyjon didn’t know if he and Angela would be permitted any private moments once they returned to the ship, so he took this opportunity to wrap his uninjured arm around her shoulder.

“I didn’t have time to mention it earlier, but I appreciated your help. A lot.”

She rested a hand lightly on his stomach, probably worried about touching an injured spot, and smiled. Her smile had a worried tint to it.

“I’m glad I was able to help, but I wish… I wish the svenkar had just incapacitated him, not killed him. You should be a hero for all you did today. But it sounds like you need to be worried. And I guess I need to be worried too.”

“No. I’ll make sure none of the blame falls on you. You’re not a professional svenkar trainer. Nobody will think that you did this.”

“I’m not comfortable having you take the blame when this was my decision. Also, I’d still worry. For you if not for myself.”

“Oh? I wouldn’t want you to worry, but it’s nice having someone care.”

She rose onto her tiptoes to kiss him, and for a moment, he completely forgot about his injuries.

“Lieutenant Treyjon,” came a call from around the corner.

Reluctantly, he broke the kiss. “Coming, sir!”

As they headed for the hatchway, arms around each other’s waists, Angela said, “I’d like to visit you when we get back.”

“After I’m released from sickbay and before I’m incarcerated in the brig?” He smiled to let her know he was joking. The captain wouldn’t put him in the brig, so he was probably safe until they landed on Dethocoles again. Granted, that wouldn’t be that long a time, but he would enjoy his freedom while he had it.

“Yes, will there be a window of opportunity in there?”

“I certainly hope so.”

The captain was waiting by the airlock when they approached, so Treyjon reluctantly lowered his arm. Given Sagitta’s indifference toward romance, he would probably find hand-holding in an enemy spaceship inappropriate. He probably found hand-holding anywhere inappropriate.

“It smells in here,” a man in a uniform instead of combat armor announced, ambling out of the airlock and onto the freighter. Lieutenant Zakota. “I knew I should have had Lieutenant Asan fly this bucket back.” He seemed to notice Sagitta standing by the wall, and Treyjon expected his demeanor to grow quieter and more respectful.

But Zakota only grinned at the captain and pulled out something oblong and wrapped in hide out of his pocket. He unfurled it to display his wood carving tools and a piece in the middle of being worked on.

“Making this one for you, Captain. The gods spoke to me and informed me you were going to need a lot of luck this month.”

Treyjon expected Sagitta to snort and wave Zakota toward the bridge, but his expression grew rueful instead.

“How much will it cost me?”

“I could never charge my captain for a luck talisman, no matter how much effort I put into carving it and how much of my vast shamanic power I poured into it. But I’d take some fortified wine. Or a couple extra days of leave. Or maybe a good word on my report. I’m hoping for a promotion, you know. Lieutenant Commander Zakota. Doesn’t that sound fine?”

“Can I just pay you?” Sagitta asked.

“I’ll send you an invoice once it’s done, sir.” Zakota saluted him, then ambled toward Treyjon and Angela. “What happened to you, Lieutenant? It looks like one of your svenkars got loose and chewed you up.”

“Because I’m injured or just in general?” he asked, wondering just how bad he looked if everyone was saying that. Maybe it was a wonder that Angela had kissed him.

“I’m not sure. It might help if you combed that… that.” Zakota waved toward Treyjon’s hair before heading up the corridor. “A serious stench,” he announced to nobody in particular as he disappeared around the corner. “I’m going to have to work extra hard to infuse this totem with my shamanic powers when the entire ship smells like a svenkar den. Aluluei’s balls, is that a Zi’i body? Extra hard, I say.”

“I’m sure my invoice will reflect that,” Sagitta murmured and headed into the airlock.

“Sir?” Treyjon asked, stopping him. He glanced at Angela. “Did your meeting with the archons finish in a satisfactory manner?”

“Satisfactory? No.” Sagitta also looked at Angela, his expression grim, then kept walking into his ship.

“Does that mean we’re not going to be allowed to go home?” Angela asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Treyjon said. “I hope not. I mean, I’d like you to stay and become a trainer and work with me, but you should be able to go home and visit your family whenever you want.”

She swallowed and whispered a raspy, “Yeah.”

All night, she’d been strong, not worrying about all the trouble they’d gotten into—and made for others. But for the first time, moisture gathered in her eyes.

Treyjon put his arm around her and guided her onto the Star Guardian ship. He didn’t know what else to do.