Page 17

VARNOK

I stand at Quinn's shoulder, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her small frame. My wound throbs beneath the hastily applied medi-patch, but I ignore it. Pain is just weakness leaving the body, as we Vakutans say.

What I can't ignore is Kallus Bruw's smug face across the table.

His scales gleam under the artificial lighting, meticulously polished to highlight their reddish tint.

He's dressed in what I assume is the height of galactic fashion—some ridiculous outfit with too many layers and not enough armor.

Every few minutes, he checks his wrist chronometer, a gesture that makes my fingers itch to wrap around his throat.

This snake sent assassins after Quinn. After me. And here he sits, acting like a legitimate businessman.

Quinn's voice remains steady as she outlines another compromise proposal. Professional. Diplomatic. But I can sense the tension in her shoulders, see the slight tremor in her hands as she arranges her data tablets. The attack shook her more than she'll admit.

Kallus steeples his fingers, that infuriating smile never leaving his face. "A fascinating proposal, Ambassador Gellar. However, I believe we should wait for General Dowron's communication before proceeding further."

Of course he wants to wait. He knows what's coming.

My gaze shifts to Zantress. The Solari representative sits motionless, her expression serene. Too serene for someone whose entire world is about to be stripped away.

I lean down, my mouth close to Quinn's ear. "Something's off with Zantress," I whisper, keeping my voice low enough that only she can hear. "She doesn't look worried at all."

Quinn's eyes flick toward the Solari representative. "I noticed," she murmurs back. "She hasn't contested a single point in the last hour. It's like she's just... waiting."

"For what?"

"That's what worries me."

The communication alert chimes, and the holographic display in the center of the table flickers to life. General Dowron's weathered face materializes, his pink scales looking paler than usual in the blue glow of the projection.

"Ambassador Gellar," he acknowledges with a nod. "Representatives." His eyes meet mine briefly. "Varnok."

I straighten my posture automatically. Old habits.

"I'll get straight to the point," Dowron continues. "The Alliance Council has reviewed Bruw Interstellar's petition for a Writ of Industrial Conscription regarding the mining operation on Jwoon X."

Kallus leans forward slightly, barely containing his anticipation.

"The writ has been granted."

Kallus's face splits into a triumphant grin. He tries to contain it, schooling his features into something resembling humility, but the gleam in his eyes betrays him. The smug bastard got exactly what he wanted.

"Well," Kallus says, spreading his hands in a gesture of conciliation, "I understand this might seem like a setback for the Solari, but I assure you there are no hard feelings on my part.

" He turns to Zantress, his voice dripping with false sincerity.

"In fact, I'm prepared to compensate your people for their mineral rights in the form of one hundred billion credits. "

The number hangs in the air. Even I'm impressed despite myself. That's enough money to buy a small moon in some systems.

Dowron's holographic image nods approvingly. "A generous offer, considering the Writ means you're under no obligation to pay the Solari anything at all."

I study Zantress's face, searching for signs of anger, disappointment, anything. But her expression remains unnervingly placid as she rises from her seat.

"I will inform my people of these developments," she says, her voice as calm as still water. No rage. No protest. Just acceptance.

Something is definitely wrong here. The Solari speaker should be fighting tooth and nail for her people's home. Instead, she's walking away like she already knew the outcome. Like she has another plan.

As Zantress exits the room, Kallus turns his attention to Quinn. "Ambassador Gellar, thank you for being such a great mediator in this difficult situation."

Quinn's spine stiffens. "An odd thing to say to someone who you tried to have killed."

I clap my hand over my mouth, barely containing a bark of laughter at her directness. By the stars, this woman has more courage than most warriors I've fought alongside.

Kallus's scales seem to pale slightly. "Ambassador, I must protest these baseless accusations. I had nothing to do with any attempt on your life."

"Of course not," Quinn says, her voice sweet as poison. "And I'm not going to press charges against you, Mr. Bruw. You're right—I have no evidence."

Kallus visibly relaxes, but Quinn isn't finished.

"What I am going to do," she continues, leaning forward, "is use every contact I have in the Alliance and the IEC to make sure that NO ONE purchases minerals from your company. Not a single gram of ore. Not a single crystal."

The blood drains from Kallus's face. "You can't do that."

"I can. I will."

"You'll never stop commerce," Kallus snarls, his composed facade cracking. His hand slams down on the table. "It's the most powerful force in the galaxy after all."

"More powerful than friendship? Than loyalty?" Quinn stands, matching his intensity. "I've spent six years building relationships across seventeen systems. People trust me because I've never lied to them, never manipulated them. How many people trust you, Kallus?"

Dowron watches this exchange with interest, his holographic eyebrows rising slightly.

"This is absurd," Kallus says, but there's a tremor in his voice now. "The Alliance Council has already ruled in my favor."

"They've given you the right to mine," I interject, unable to stay silent any longer. "They haven't guaranteed you customers."

Kallus glares at me, his nostrils flaring. For a moment, I think he might actually try to attack me—which would be the highlight of my week—but he regains control of himself.

"This isn't over," he says, gathering his data tablets. "Not by a long shot."

As he storms out, Quinn sinks back into her chair, looking suddenly exhausted. The fight has drained her.

"That was impressive, Ambassador," Dowron says from the holographic display. "Though perhaps not the most diplomatic approach."

"With all due respect, General," Quinn replies, "diplomacy failed the moment the Alliance granted that Writ."

Dowron sighs. "Perhaps. But the Council made their decision. The war with the Ataxians cost us dearly. We need those minerals."

"At what cost?" I ask.

Dowron gives me a long look. "That remains to be seen. I must go—there are other matters requiring my attention." His image flickers. "Ambassador, Varnok... be careful. Kallus Bruw is not a man who accepts defeat graciously."

The hologram disappears, leaving Quinn and me alone in the suddenly quiet conference room.

"You realize you just made an extremely powerful enemy," I say, breaking the silence.

Quinn rubs her temples. "Add it to the list."

I admire her courage. Most beings would cower before someone like Kallus. But not Quinn. She faces danger head-on, just like a Vakutan warrior.

"What do you think Zantress is planning?" I ask, circling back to my earlier concern.

Quinn shakes her head. "I don't know. But the Solari are pacifists. Whatever it is, it won't be violent."

"Sometimes the most dangerous weapons aren't the ones that draw blood," I say, remembering an old Vakutan proverb.

Quinn looks up at me, her blue eyes sharp with sudden interest. "That's... surprisingly insightful."

I puff out my chest. "I contain multitudes."

She actually laughs at that, a genuine sound that makes my hearts beat faster. "Come on," she says, standing. "We need to find Zantress before she disappears completely."

I stride alongside Quinn through the corridors of the Superior Gardens Hotel, my senses on high alert.

After the assassination attempts, I'm not taking any chances.

Every shadow could hide a threat, every passing guest a potential assassin.

Quinn's heels click rapidly against the polished floor as she keeps pace with my longer strides.

"Gas should have Sweet Charity prepped and ready," I say, checking my wrist communicator. "We'll be wheels up in twenty minutes."

Quinn nods, her blonde hair bouncing with the movement. "Good. The sooner we get to Jwoon X, the better. I need to see what Zantress is planning."

We exit through a service entrance, avoiding the main lobby where Kallus might have eyes watching. The Armstrong air feels crisp against my scales as we cross the landing pad where Sweet Charity waits, her engines already humming with pre-flight checks.

Gas meets us at the boarding ramp, his golden fur ruffled by the wind. "Got her all warmed up and ready to go, boss! Oh, and I fixed that thing with the environmental controls. No more random cold spots in the cargo bay."

"Good work," I grunt, ushering Quinn aboard first.

Once inside, Gas seals the hatch and scurries to the pilot's seat. "Coordinates?" he asks, his fingers dancing across the navigation console.

"Jwoon X," Quinn answers before I can speak.

Gas whistles. "Back to where it all started, huh? Setting course now."

I drop into the captain's chair, feeling the familiar contours embrace my frame. Quinn takes the seat beside me, her small form dwarfed by the Vakutan-sized chair.

"Superluminal jump in three... two... one..." Gas announces, and the stars outside the viewport stretch into brilliant lines as Sweet Charity leaps into faster-than-light travel.

With the immediate rush over, I turn to Quinn. "I guess you don't need a bodyguard anymore, now that the assignment is officially over." The words taste bitter in my mouth.

Quinn's eyes remain fixed on the streaking stars outside. "This Jwoon matter is far from over, Varnok. But you're right about one thing." She turns to face me. "I don't want you to be my bodyguard any longer."

Her words hit like a physical blow. After everything we've been through—the fighting, the dancing, the nights spent exploring each other's bodies—she's just cutting me loose?

"Why not?" I demand, my voice rising with indignation. "Did I not perform adequately? Was I not attentive enough to your safety?"

A smile plays at the corners of her lips. "Because," she says softly, "it would be awkward if my bodyguard turned out to be my jalshagar."

The word stops my hearts. Jalshagar. Two bodies with one soul. The most sacred bond a Vakutan can experience.

"What did you say?" I whisper, hardly daring to believe my ears.

"You heard me," Quinn says, her blue eyes meeting mine without wavering. "I've been doing some research. The connection we have... it's not normal, is it? The way we move together, think together. The way I can almost feel what you're feeling sometimes."

I surge forward, capturing her lips with mine in a kiss that contains all the fire and passion of my warrior heart. She responds immediately, her small hands gripping my shoulders as she rises up to meet me.

"Oh, come on!" Gas groans from the pilot's seat. "You two need to be hosed down! There are perfectly good quarters below deck, you know!"

I break the kiss, but keep Quinn close, my forehead pressed against hers. "My jalshagar," I rumble, the word sacred on my tongue.

"Your jalshagar," she confirms with a smile that outshines the stars streaking past us.

The ship lurches as we drop out of superluminal speed, and I instinctively reach out to steady Quinn. My jaw drops at the sight before us.

"By the seven moons of Vakuta," I breathe.

Jwoon X hangs like a green jewel in space, but it's the ships surrounding it that steal my attention.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of Ataxian vessels form a protective sphere around the planet.

The massive capital ships dwarf even the largest Alliance cruisers I've fought against, their distinctive flame-shaped hulls gleaming in the light of Jwoon's sun.

"No wonder Zantress was so relaxed," Quinn whispers, her face pale as she stares at the armada. "She had backup."

Gas's fingers fly across the control panel, his golden fur standing on end. "I'm counting at least thirty capital ships, over a hundred cruisers, and... sweet mother of mercy... thousands of star fighters." His voice cracks. "Boss, they could glass half the sector with that kind of firepower."

I slam my fist against the armrest of my chair, denting the metal. "That conniving little—" I cut myself off, remembering that Quinn respects the Solari leader. "She played us. Played everyone."

"But the Solari are pacifists," Quinn protests, though I can see doubt creeping into her eyes. "They wouldn't..."

"They wouldn't fight," I finish for her. "But apparently they're fine with others fighting for them."

Gas's ears flatten against his head. "What happens when the Alliance fleet gets here to enforce the Writ?" he asks fearfully.

The answer is obvious, hanging between us like a blade about to fall.

"The Centuries War," I growl, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Starts up all over again."

Quinn sinks back into her chair, her small frame seeming to collapse in on itself. I know what she's thinking without her having to say it. Not only did she fail to help the Solari, but now it looks like she failed so badly that she's going to start an intergalactic war.

I reach over and take her hand in mine, my red scales a stark contrast against her pale skin.

"This isn't your fault," I say firmly.

"I was supposed to find a peaceful solution," she whispers. "And now look what's happening."

"We don't know what's happening yet," I counter, straightening in my seat. My warrior instincts are kicking in, pushing aside shock and replacing it with tactical assessment. "Gas, any communications from either side?"

"Nothing on open channels, boss," Gas replies, his paws still working the console. "But there's a lot of encrypted chatter between the Ataxian ships."

I make a decision. "Hail Zantress."

Quinn looks at me with surprise. "What are you planning?"

I bare my teeth in what humans might mistake for a smile. "To remind her what it means to face a Vakutan warrior in battle—even if it's just with words."