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VARNOK

G as leans back in the pilot’s chair, his golden fur catching the dim light of the cockpit. “Supernovas are taking the Bowl this year, Var. You can’t argue with stats. Their offense is a machine .”

I snort, my tail thumping against the floor. “Stats? The Gur Gorillas have heart . You can’t quantify that. They’ll rip the Supernovas apart like a pi’rell in a meat grinder.”

“Heart doesn’t win championships, boss. Strategy does. And the Supernovas have it in spades.” Gas grins, his sharp teeth flashing. “You’re just mad because you’ve got a soft spot for underdogs.”

“Underdogs? The Gorillas are warriors .” My fist slams down on the armrest for emphasis, and the thing snaps clean off, clattering to the floor. I stare at it, then at Gas, who’s already shaking his head.

“You’re gonna bankrupt us with repairs, Var. This ship’s not a punching bag.”

“It’s a piece of junk,” I mutter, tossing the broken armrest aside. “And I’m going stir-crazy. Peace is killing me, Gas. I need a fight. A real one. Not this… this sitting around .”

“They gave you a promotion, didn’t they? You’re a big shot now. Alliance Liaison or whatever.”

“Liaison.” I spit the word like it’s poison. “It’s a desk job. A glorified desk job. I’m not built for this. I’m no good in peacetime.”

Gas shrugs, his fur rippling. “Could be worse. You could be stuck in a cubicle on Novaria, filing reports. At least you’ve got me for company.”

“Lucky me,” I growl, leaning back in my seat. The cockpit feels smaller than usual, the walls closing in. “Nothing ever happens in this sector. It’s?—”

The comms crackle to life, cutting me off. A voice, sharp and urgent, fills the cabin. “Priority one message to all Alliance vessels in the vicinity. Ambassador Quinn Gellar’s ship, the Triumphant , has gone missing. Last known coordinates attached. Immediate investigation required.”

I’m out of my seat before the message finishes, my blood roaring in my ears. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Gas, set course for those coordinates. Full speed.”

Gas’s fingers fly over the controls, his grin widening. “Finally, some action. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For jinxing it. You said nothing ever happens, and bam—missing ambassador. You’re like a walking disaster magnet.”

“Shut up and fly,” I snap, but there’s no heat in it. My scales itch with anticipation. This is what I’ve been waiting for. A fight. A mission. Something to do .

The Sweet Charity hums as it accelerates, the stars blurring into streaks of light. I crack my knuckles, my tail twitching. “Let’s see what kind of mess this ambassador’s gotten herself into.”

I’m sprawled in the captain’s chair, glaring at the broken armrest like it’s personally insulted me. “This ship’s falling apart faster than a pi’rell’s moral compass,” I mutter, flicking a piece of debris off my lap.

The comms chirp, and I perk up. “Finally. No doubt they’re commending me on my initiative. Probably promoting me to Supreme Annihilator or something equally impressive.”

The holographic display flickers to life, and General Dowron’s weathered face fills the bridge. His pink scales are duller than I remember, and the lines around his eyes are deeper. He looks like he’s aged a century since I last saw him.

“Varnok,” he barks, his voice sharp enough to cut through durasteel. “Are you en route to the coordinates where Ambassador Gellar’s ship disappeared?”

I lean back, crossing my arms. “Of course I am. I’m not one to sit around while there’s a damsel in distress.”

Dowron’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t a joke, Varnok. The ambassador is embroiled in very delicate negotiations. You’re the wrong man for this job. Stand down and let a more… diplomatic ship handle it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Diplomatic? You mean slow and useless. I’ll have her back before they’ve finished drafting their mission statement.”

Dowron’s scales flush a deeper pink, and his voice rises. “This isn’t up for debate, Varnok. I’m ordering you to?—”

I cut him off with a sharp gesture to Gas. My pilot grins, his golden fur catching the light as he grabs a bucket of glitter from under the console. With a flourish, he tosses a handful into the holo display. The glitter swirls around Dowron’s face, distorting the image.

“What was that, General?” I ask, leaning forward with mock concern. “You’re breaking up. There’s a lot of static.”

Dowron’s eyes narrow. “Quantum entanglement comms don’t have static, Varnok. And I can see your pilot throwing?—”

I reach over and shut off the holocom, cutting him off mid-sentence. The bridge falls silent, save for the faint hum of the engines.

“That fooled him,” I say, smirking. “Resume course, Gas.”

Gas chuckles, his claws dancing over the controls. “You’re gonna get us both court-martialed, you know that, right?”

“Worth it,” I reply. “Let’s go find this ambassador before Dowron sends someone boring to do it.”

The stars snap back into place as the Sweet Charity drops out of superluminal speed. I lean forward in my chair, my tail twitching like a live wire. “Gas, where are we?”

Gas’s golden fur ripples as he scans the console. “Right where the Triumphant was last seen. No sign of her, though. Just a whole lot of nothing.”

“Scan for her transponder signal. If she’s out here, we’ll find her.”

Gas’s claws dance over the controls, and a moment later, a faint ping echoes through the cabin. “Got it. Weak signal, but it’s there. Coming from… an asteroid belt. Of course it’s an asteroid belt.”

“Plot a course. Let’s go.”

The Sweet Charity glides into the asteroid field, and almost immediately, a chunk of rock the size of a hovercar bounces off the hull with a dull thunk . I glare at Gas. “Careful, you idiot. I’d like to keep this ship in one piece.”

“It’s harder than it looks, boss. At least I’m avoiding the big ones.”

“Big ones?” I growl, just as a massive asteroid looms into view, its craggy surface blotting out the stars. It’s practically a small planet, its gravity well already tugging at the ship.

“You were saying?” I snap as red alerts flash across the console.

Gas’s hands fly over the controls, and the Sweet Charity lurches to the side, narrowly avoiding the asteroid. The ship shudders as it breaks free of the gravity well, and Gas lets out a breath. “See? No problem.”

“No problem? You almost turned us into a smear on that rock.”

“Almost doesn’t count. Besides, we’re here.” Gas points to the transponder signal, now blinking steadily on the screen. The Triumphant’s transponder is drifting aimlessly in orbit around a smaller asteroid.

I frown, my scales itching with suspicion. “The gravity well from the big asteroid must have pulled them out of their jump. But if the Triumphant wrecked, where’s the rest of the ship? Not one bit of debris?”

Gas shrugs. “Maybe it got pulverized. Asteroid fields are messy.”

“No. Someone wants us to think the ship was lost here. Someone who’s not very bright.” I lean back, my tail thumping against the floor. “This is a setup. And I’m not walking into it blind. Gas, scan for any other ships in the area. If someone’s playing games, I want to know who.”

Gas’s claws dance over the console, his golden fur rippling as he squints at the readouts. “No ships in the area. But there’s background radiation. The kind that says there were ships here. Recently.”

I lean forward, my tail twitching. “Ships? As in more than one?”

“Affirmative, boss. At least two, maybe three. They left a mess of ion trails and residual heat signatures. Someone was in a hurry.”

I slam a fist on the console, and the whole thing shudders. “Our computer’s not up to tracking them through superluminal speed. We’ve hit a dead end. Maybe Dowron was right—this is a job for someone with better tech.”

“Hold up, boss,” Gas says, spinning his chair around to face me. He’s got that smug look on his face, the one that usually means he’s about to say something infuriatingly clever. “I never said they made a superluminal jump. The ships left this area at sublight speed.”

My scales itch with anticipation. “Sublight? Can you track them?”

Gas leans back, sucking on the straw of his Big Zhuvok soft drink like he’s got all the time in the galaxy. “Already found them.”

Without looking, he slaps a button on the console.

The main viewing monitor flickers to life, and for a split second, I’m treated to the sight of two Fratvoyans in a position that defies both physics and good taste.

The first moan echoes through the cabin before Gas’s eyes widen, and he spins back around, slamming the controls.

“Wrong file! Wrong file!” he yelps, his fur standing on end.

I raise an eyebrow, my tail thumping against the floor. “I didn’t know your people could bend that way.”

“Shut up,” Gas mutters, his snout turning a shade of pink that clashes with his fur. The screen finally clears, and an image of a battered, ancient refueling station fills the monitor. It’s a hulking mass of rusted metal and flickering lights, floating in the void like a forgotten relic.

“There,” Gas says, pointing a claw at the screen. “That’s where they went. The ion trails lead straight to it.”

I grin, my teeth gleaming in the dim light of the cockpit. “Then that’s where we’re going. Plot a course, Gas."

Gas’s claws fly over the controls, and the Sweet Charity hums as it accelerates. “You know, boss, this could be a trap.”

“Of course it’s a trap,” I growl, cracking my knuckles. “But I’m not walking into it blind. We’ll hit them hard and fast. They won’t know what hit them.”

Gas chuckles, his tail swishing behind him. “You’re gonna get us killed one of these days.”

“Better than dying of boredom,” I reply.