Page 18

QUINN

I watch Varnok's massive red finger stab the comms button with more restraint than I'd expect. My heart hammers against my ribs. This can't be happening.

"Hailing Speaker Zantress," Gas announces, his voice tight with tension.

The holoscreen flickers, and Zantress's weathered grolgath face materializes before us. Her leathery skin looks more drawn than usual, her expression solemn.

"Ambassador Gellar," she says, inclining her head slightly. "I had not expected to see you again so soon."

"What's going on, Zantress?" I demand, stepping forward. "An Ataxian fleet? This wasn't part of our negotiations."

Zantress folds her hands in front of her, the picture of calm despite the armada surrounding her.

"The negotiations failed, Ambassador. I have formally petitioned for the Solari of Jwoon X to be incorporated into the Ataxian Coalition.

They have agreed to grant us provisional membership and are here to protect their territory. "

My mouth goes dry. "Their territory? Zantress, this is insanity.

The Alliance will be here any moment with their own fleet to enforce Kallus's Writ.

This is only going to lead to war." I step closer to the screen, desperate to make her understand.

"Is that what you want? Aren't the Solari supposed to be about peace? "

Something flickers across Zantress's face—doubt, perhaps, or regret. For a moment, the mask of the hardened negotiator slips, and I glimpse the true believer underneath.

"The Solari way is peace," she says quietly. "But what peace is there in being driven from our homes? In watching our sacred groves torn apart for profit? Sometimes standing for peace means standing against those who would destroy it."

"There has to be another way," I plead. "We can still resolve this matter without bloodshed."

Zantress's eyes soften. "I wish that were true, Ambassador. You have tried harder than most would have in your position. But I fear the time for talk has passed."

She raises her hand in the traditional Solari farewell gesture. "May you find peace, Quinn Gellar."

"Wait," Varnok's deep voice rumbles beside me.

Zantress pauses, her hand still raised.

Varnok steps forward, his massive frame filling the pickup area of our comm system. "I've listened to all of you talk for days," he says, his voice surprisingly measured. "Quinn, Kallus, you, the Prime Minister—everyone's had their say."

He crosses his arms over his chest, his purple eyes gleaming with determination. "Now it's my turn to speak, and for all of you to listen."

Zantress lowers her hand slowly, studying Varnok with newfound interest. The tension in the cockpit is thick enough to cut with a knife as Varnok draws himself up to his full, imposing height.

I hold my breath, not knowing what to expect. Varnok the Annihilator is about to address a diplomatic crisis that could restart the bloodiest war in galactic history. Part of me wants to jump in front of him and cut the transmission before he can make things worse.

But another part—the part that recognizes him as my jalshagar—trusts him completely. And so I stand beside him, waiting to hear what the warrior has to say to the pacifist about avoiding war.

Varnok's massive chest expands as he draws in a deep breath. I've never seen him look so serious, so focused. Gone is the brash warrior who introduces himself as my next lover. In his place stands a veteran who's seen too much death.

"Speaker Zantress," he begins, his voice surprisingly gentle. "The Solari are unique among all peoples in our galaxy. You aren't a single sapient species bound by shared biology or homeworld. You're a collective of many different types from many different worlds."

I watch Zantress's expression shift subtly. She hadn't expected this level of insight from someone called "the Annihilator."

"What unites the Solari isn't the land you stand on," Varnok continues. "It's your philosophy, your deep love for each other, and your commitment to peace."

He steps closer to the holoscreen, his massive frame somehow less threatening than usual. "There are literally trillions of planets in this galaxy. What's so damn great about Jwoon? Let Kallus have it. Take the hundred billion credit payday and just relocate."

I bite my lip, watching Zantress closely. Her reptilian features remain impassive, but I can see her considering his words.

Suddenly, a massive figure shoves into view beside Zantress—a towering Odex with dark red fur and a glowing cybernetic eye that pulses an angry crimson.

"No one should trust the bastard who took my eye in the Centuries War," the Odex growls, baring his teeth at Varnok.

"Drach," Varnok acknowledges with a slight nod. There's history between them—violent history—written in the scars they both carry.

I step forward, ready to intervene, but Varnok's hand gently touches my shoulder, keeping me back. This is between warriors.

"Drach," Varnok says, his voice steady. "Both you and I lost a lot in that war. I took your eye. You took my brother."

The admission hangs in the air between them. I glance at Varnok, seeing the pain etched in the lines around his eyes. He's never mentioned a brother to me.

"But maybe," Varnok continues, "if two old soldiers like us can learn a new way, maybe the entire galaxy can too."

Drach's cybernetic eye flickers, its red glow dimming slightly.

"Don't just tell everyone you stand for peace, Zantress," Varnok says, turning his attention back to the Solari leader. "Show it by standing down."

The cockpit falls silent. Gas has stopped fidgeting with the controls. Even the ship's ambient hum seems to have quieted, as if the universe itself is holding its breath.

Zantress looks at Drach, then back at Varnok. "Your words are... unexpected, Varnok the Annihilator. But you ask us to abandon our home. Our sacred groves. The place where many of our children took their first breaths."

"I'm asking you to save those children," Varnok counters. "Because the moment the Alliance fleet arrives, there will be no sacred groves left. Just debris fields and body bags."

I step forward, unable to remain silent any longer. "Zantress, Varnok is right. The Solari way isn't about a specific place—it's about how you live. The Alliance won't back down with Kallus's Writ in play, and the Coalition won't retreat now that they've committed to protecting you."

I gesture toward the stars beyond our viewport. "If shots are fired today, the fragile peace we've all worked so hard to build will shatter. Is Jwoon X worth restarting the Centuries War?"

Zantress closes her eyes, and for a moment, she looks impossibly tired. When she opens them again, she looks at Drach.

"What say you, old friend? You came to protect us, but perhaps the greatest protection would be to help us find a new home."

Drach's massive hand comes to rest on Zantress's shoulder. His voice, when he speaks, is gruff but gentle. "The Solari taught me that home is not where you stand, but who you stand with."

He turns his gaze—both his natural eye and his cybernetic one—to Varnok. "I still don't trust you, Vakutan. But I trust war even less."

A small smile forms on Zantress's face. "Perhaps there is wisdom in what you say, Ambassador Gellar. And you as well, Varnok the Annihilator." She straightens her shoulders. "I will consult with the Solari elders. If they agree, we will accept Kallus's offer and seek a new world."

Relief floods through me, making my knees weak. I reach for Varnok's arm to steady myself, and his warm scales press reassuringly against my palm.

"Thank you, Zantress," I say. "I'll contact Kallus immediately to finalize the terms."

"One condition," Zantress says, raising a finger. "The Solari must have time to perform the proper farewell ceremonies to Jwoon X. Our departure must honor the sacred bond between people and place."

"Of course," I agree quickly. "I'll make sure that's part of the agreement."

Zantress nods. "Then we have the beginnings of peace."

The transmission ends, and I turn to Varnok, my heart swelling with pride and something deeper—something I'm finally ready to acknowledge.

"That was... incredible," I whisper, reaching up to touch his face. "You just prevented a war."

Varnok's eyes soften as he looks down at me. "I've started enough of them. Figured it was time to stop one."

Gas clears his throat loudly from the pilot's seat. "So, uh, should I set course back to Armstrong to finalize this deal, or do you two need a moment to celebrate not restarting the bloodiest conflict in galactic history?"

I laugh, the tension of the last few minutes finally breaking. "Armstrong, Gas. But maybe take the scenic route."

Varnok's arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against his solid warmth. "My jalshagar," he murmurs against my hair. "A diplomat who fights with honor and a warrior who makes peace. Who would have thought?"

I lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against mine. "I think we might be onto something here."

"Yes," he agrees, his voice rumbling through me. "I believe we are."

I watch the Ataxian fleet break formation, their ships gracefully peeling away from Jwoon X's orbit like a flock of birds changing direction. Relief washes through me, but it's tinged with bitterness.

"They're withdrawing," I say, watching the tactical display as the Coalition vessels enter superluminal travel one by one.

Zantress's face appears on our comm screen again.

"We will begin preparations immediately.

Our elders have agreed that preserving life is more important than preserving location.

" Her expression remains solemn, but there's a quiet dignity in her posture.

"The farewell ceremonies will take three standard days.

After that, we will be ready to depart."

"I'll make sure Kallus honors every part of the agreement," I promise her.

When the transmission ends, Gas spins his chair around, his golden fur bristling with indignation. "So that's it? Kallus tries to have you killed, nearly starts another war, and walks away with exactly what he wanted?"

He punches numbers into the nav console with more force than necessary. "A hundred billion credits sounds like a lot, but it's nothing compared to what he'll make once those mines are operational. We're talking trillions over the next decade alone."

I sink into my seat, the weight of his words settling on my shoulders. "I know. But what choice did we have? The alternative was war."

"There's always a choice," Varnok says, his voice surprisingly calm. He's standing by the viewport, his massive frame silhouetted against the stars, arms crossed over his chest.

I raise an eyebrow. "What are you thinking?"

Varnok turns, and there's a gleam in his purple eyes that I'm starting to recognize—the look he gets right before he does something either brilliant or catastrophically reckless.

"Kallus hasn't gotten away with anything yet," he says, his lips curving into a predatory smile. "I have an idea."

Gas groans. "Last time you had an 'idea,' we ended up naked in a Fratvoy prison with nothing but our dignity to cover us. And even that was in short supply."

"This is different," Varnok insists, moving toward us with purpose. "Quinn, you said yourself that Kallus tried to have you killed. We have Daria's testimony?—"

"Which isn't enough on its own," I remind him.

"Not on its own, no." Varnok leans forward, planting his massive hands on the console. "But what if we could get Kallus to confess?"

I straighten in my seat. "How exactly would we manage that?"

"The same way I've won half my battles," Varnok says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. "By making the enemy think they've already won."

Gas's eyes widen as understanding dawns. "Oh no. Oh no no no. Whatever you're thinking?—"

"I like it already," I interrupt, leaning forward to match Varnok's posture. "Tell me more."

Varnok's grin widens, and I feel that familiar thrill run through me—the one that reminds me why, despite all logic and reason, this warrior and I fit together so perfectly.

"First," he says, "we need to make a call to Prime Minister Serenity."