As Treyjon walked down the promenade with Angela at his side, he worried he’d made a mistake in allowing her to come. What would Sagitta say if he was responsible for one of their guests being injured? Or worse?

But she was right in that she didn’t stand out. He couldn’t say the same about himself. Even though he’d changed out of his uniform, and removed his fur sash, tucking his throwing knives into the tops of his boots, he still had a wild look with hair that refused to be tamed. Tidy haircuts were more the norm here on Dethocoles. He’d been told that even when he dressed up, he just looked like a trained animal in a suit. There was too much of the wilds of Osun about him. Fifteen years away from home hadn’t managed to smooth all the rough edges.

Oh, well. At least it was dark now. And there were fewer people as he and Angela moved away from the civilian and military transports and toward an industrial section of the base. The promenade took on a more utilitarian look, and auto cranes and forklifts moved crates and huge shipping containers from stacks on one side to the cargo holds of various freighters on platforms on the other. A long train sat on tracks nearby, its cargo being unloaded by robots. More robots zipped around the area, attending to other tasks. Because machines were handling the cargo, the lighting didn’t need to be bright. Treyjon nodded in appreciation at the deep shadows between stacks of crates.

“How much farther to this ship?” Angela asked.

“It’s on Platform 83.” Treyjon glanced at the map on his logostec. “So not far. A quarter mile or so.”

“Time enough for you to explain what a supplement company has to do with any of this?”

“Given how little I know, probably so.” He smiled and gave her the information that Hierax had given him. He finished with, “All we have are guesses as to what they want right now.”

“Does your captain know yet?”

“It’s possible he’s checked his messages—I’ve left three for him—but he may still be in the middle of that meeting. The archons probably frown at you if you dither around on your logostec while one of them is speaking.”

“I wouldn’t think listening to your message would be considered a dither.”

“Thank you for that, but the archons control a government that spans almost twenty planets, and they deal with several alien cultures, friend and foe. I’m sure my reports are considered low priorities to them. And they’d probably roll their eyes at the antics of some corporation sending spies and trying to profit on a new planet.”

“They sound stuffy.”

“That’s always been my impression of them.” He smiled and put his arm around Angela’s shoulders, glad she’d come along—that she’d wanted to come along—even if he wasn’t sure it was wise.

She returned the smile and leaned closer as they walked, but her smile faltered. “Is this an act?”

“Is what an act?” Treyjon looked ahead to see if someone was coming, someone they should be acting for.

“Your arm. Is it like your kiss? Just something to throw off people if they’re watching us?”

He winced and opened his mouth to say no, but an auto crane moved up ahead, and he glimpsed two people walking along the crate-lined docks from the opposite direction. One of them was the man he’d chased onto that boat.

“This way,” he whispered, taking Angela’s arm. He resolved to give her a firm answer to her question as soon as he had more time to explain.

They stepped behind a shipping container, one mostly in the shadows, and he peered around the corner.

The familiar man stopped at the ramp leading up to a docking platform. An 83 marked a sign that rose high from the base of the ramp. The ship itself, from what Treyjon could see, was a freighter. It didn’t look special in any way. There were three other models that looked just like it also docked on platforms. As the two men stood there, an auto forklift rolled past with crates. It went up the ramp and into the open cargo hold of the freighter.

A new man walked out of the ship and joined them. Treyjon debated on trying to get close enough to hear, walking behind the shipping containers instead of out in the open. If the trio moved inside or left the area, he might miss seeing them.

He only debated that for a moment before tapping Angela on the shoulder, nodding toward the back of the shipping container, and heading that way. If he couldn’t hear what those people were saying, it was pointless to watch them.

“I’m going to get closer to them,” he told Angela. “You can wait here.”

Treyjon had to walk sideways to fit between the back of the shipping container and the edge of the dock, and he had to walk carefully too. There was no railing.

He was almost to the next container when he noticed that Angela wasn’t waiting where he’d indicated. She was moving along the ledge too. He grimaced because it was a twenty-foot drop down to the tracks. But she had smaller feet than he did and didn’t have any trouble. She soon caught up with him and smiled as the wind whipped at her blonde braids.

He liked it when she smiled like that. He would definitely tell her that putting his arm around her hadn’t been an act. And even if the kiss had started that way, it hadn’t ended that way.

They maneuvered behind several more shipping containers and stacks of crates before Treyjon judged that they should be close to the Platform 83 ramp. He slipped into an alley between a container and a stack of crates, choosing it for the deep shadows as much as the location.

But when he reached the corner and peered out, the men were gone. He groaned to himself. Some spy he was. Maybe he should stick to chasing criminals through swamps with his svenkars.

The hatch to the freighter remained open, and the hold inside was half full of crates. Would the ship take off once it had its load? No, Hierax had said it wasn’t scheduled to depart until morning. Maybe there was time to slip in and snoop around. If the men had moved their meeting into the hold, he might yet overhear interesting tidbits.

If he entered the ship, he also had the option of catching one of the crew alone, pulling him aside and drugging him. While he’d been grabbing stunners for Angela and himself, he’d also stopped in sickbay for a couple doses of truth drugs. The problem with that was that if he picked a random crew member, the person might not know anything about the plans of the higher-ups. And once he absconded with someone, the rest of the crew might miss that person and sound an alarm.

A forklift trundled out of the freighter and headed straight for the crates Treyjon and Angela stood next to.

“Maybe we could get a ride inside,” she whispered from beside his shoulder.

She was right behind him, peering curiously toward the ship.

“If we’re caught, they might beat us up and throw us into the sea,” Treyjon said, nodding toward where the ocean lay on the other side of the platforms and the ships. “Or shoot us outright.”

“We should probably not let that happen.” She looked a little daunted as she spoke, but she didn’t rescind her suggestion.

Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned they could die doing this bit of spying. But it was important that she know what she was getting into. He understood her interest in protecting her world, but he once again doubted whether he should have brought her. He was trained to do stuff like this. She was just… determined and beautiful, he decided, looking fondly at her face.

“It’s coming,” she whispered.

The forklift slid its arms under the crate next to them with a scraping of metal against cement. Unlike the nearby shipping containers, the crates were made of a plastic that looked like wood, with a framework of boards screwed together. As the forklift eased its load out and up, Treyjon noticed he could place his feet there and grab the top with his hands and hang on to the side.

Would that work better than simply walking up the ramp behind the forklift? Probably, he decided. Numerous robots worked in the area, including a couple in the cargo hold of the ship. They may or may not sound an alert if they sensed someone unauthorized trying to board the freighter.

“I’ll jump on the next one,” Treyjon said, easing back since the missing crate had stolen some of their cover. “You may want to stay here. I could give you my logostec in case you see me get caught.”

“Or I could keep coming with you. It’s cold out here. I don’t really want to hunker between crates all night.”

“I wasn’t planning to take all night.”

“No? I’d heard you were thorough and had excellent stamina.”

He blinked, the joke taking a couple of seconds to sink in. Then he laughed softly. “Oh? Who told you that?”

“Lulu.”

“That’s surprising. I don’t usually have sexual encounters in their kennel room.”

“You don’t think they would enjoy the show?”

“I’d be a little disturbed if they did. They would probably be bored and go to their beds with a bone. Unless I was having sex with you. Then I think Lulu would have something to say.” The female would probably want to tear him off and rip his throat out. No, he didn’t think he would want to have romantic interludes in the kennel room.

Angela blinked a few times. He wasn’t sure if she was imagining the scenario and finding it odd or finding it odd that he’d considered having sex with her.

When it became apparent she wasn’t going to say anything—or that he’d stunned her speechless—he cleared his throat and said, “The forklift is coming back.”

“Yeah.”

“You should wait here. Seriously. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I… hope this doesn’t make me sound like a weenie, but you’re probably right.”

“A weenie?” He frowned because the translator gave him a word that meant sausage on a stick in his language.

“You know, cowardly.”

“Not at all.” He gripped her shoulder. “I’m trained to be sneaky and get into battles with people. You’re—”

“Not trained to do anything useful.” Her tone was wry, but she sounded sad too.

“You clearly have talent and experience when it comes to handling animals.”

“That’s not a career. As my mom has often told me.”

“It is here.”

Angela smiled slightly, but he couldn’t tell if he’d made her feel better.

The forklift had returned, its metal arms scraping under the crate next to them. Treyjon waited until it had been pulled out a couple of feet, eased into the gap, and found handholds and footholds on the side of it.

Angela squawked in surprise, almost startling him into letting go. She jumped into the gap and grabbed on to the same boards that he gripped.

“What,” he started to ask, but then a gray sphere floated into the spot where she had been. A security drone.

It hovered, a camera lens rotating toward them. The forklift continued its job, lifting the crate into the air. The drone jetted out of view, heading into the aisle.

“It’s just a drone,” he said. “Security for the base.”

“It was looking at me.” Angela grimaced and looked down. Only the toes of her sandals perched on a horizontal board at the base of the crate. Her sleeves slid down to her elbows, revealing her tattoos and lean forearm muscles straining to hold up her weight. “Will it report us?”

“The footage will get flagged as something abnormal, and someone will probably get a ping to look at it. I don’t think any alarms will go off.”

Or so Treyjon hoped. Now, he lamented that he’d changed out of his Star Guardian uniform. If he’d been wearing it when some base security officer looked at the footage, the person would likely have assumed he was on a sanctioned mission and left him alone. Angela’s presence might have made the situation more confusing, but police and security officers rarely questioned Star Guardians. But since he was simply wearing black trousers and a black vest, he might be mistaken for a common thief unless the drone zeroed in on his Star Guardian tattoo.

The forklift backed its way toward the ramp to Platform 83, beeping a warning as it approached. Treyjon worried that it might turn, which would present their side of the crate—and their backs—to the cargo hold and anyone inside. But, as with previous trips, the forklift simply went backward up the ramp. Its computerized driver could go as easily in either direction and had been going back and forth with minimal turns.

Angela twisted her neck, looking toward the drone. It floated under the light from a streetlamp, and Treyjon had no trouble seeing its lens still pointed toward them. He tried to shift his arm to display his tattoo, though that wouldn’t be any kind of guarantee. The tattoo was unofficial, something the Star Guardians all got during their hazing days as new recruits, and there wasn’t any law against other people getting them.

“Security’s going to come, isn’t it?” Angela asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Is it possible that security coming would be a good thing? That these people doing their illegal whatever will get freaked out and mess up? Or get caught by the law?”

“As far as I know, it’s a legal supplements company, and they’re not doing anything that’s going to make security twitch. Except stalking highly decorated Star Guardian officers.”

“Oh. Is that illegal?”

“If it were, all the women who used to follow Sagitta around when he left the ship would have been arrested.”

“Did he ever follow them back?”

“I don’t think so. The ship is his wife and mistress.”

“That Eridanus?”

Treyjon laughed, imagining the ship’s haughty AI somehow taking a human form and becoming someone’s lover. “Nobody wants Eridanus as a mistress. I just meant the ship in general. And the crew. Being a captain is a life, not just a job.”

“What about being an animal trainer?”

“I’m open to other focuses entering my life.”

Treyjon was on the verge of implying that a relationship with a woman who stuck around as an assistant animal trainer might be quite appealing. Then the crate tilted alarmingly as the forklift maneuvered it up the ramp. Treyjon and Angela were tipped backward, gravity tugging at their bodies and threatening to spill them to the ground if they lost their grips.

Angela gasped in surprise. One of her hands slipped.

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 Captain 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.