Page 7

QUINN

T he bridge of Sweet Charity smells faintly of burnt circuitry and old leather. The hum of the engines vibrates through the floor, a low thrum that matches the pounding in my temples. I press my fingers into my skull, the ache from Reku’s whip still sharp and insistent.

Var sprawls in the captain’s chair, his massive frame making the seat look like it belongs in a nursery.

His purple eyes scan the console, claws clicking against the armrests.

Beside him, Gas—a golden-furred Fratvoyan—navigates with the kind of casual ease that suggests he’s flown through worse than this asteroid belt.

“You should go below,” Var grumbles without looking at me. “Rest. You’re no use to anyone with that head of yours throbbing like a broken engine.”

“My place is on the bridge,” I snap, straightening despite the way my vision swims. “I’m on an official mission, or did you forget?”

He snorts and a snarl twitches over his lips. “Stubborn.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Gas snorts, his long snout twitching as he tries to stifle a laugh. Var’s head whips toward him, his glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

“You think this is funny, Gaspard?”

Gas shrugs, his furry shoulders bouncing. “Well… kinda? Yeah.”

Var growls low in his throat, but before he can unleash whatever scaly tirade he’s brewing, an alert chimes on the console. My head jerks up, the pain momentarily forgotten.

“Is it General Dowron?” I ask, leaning forward.

“I hope not,” Var mutters. He taps a claw against the screen, and a holographic image flickers to life. It’s Daria, Reku’s… whatever she is. Her red mohawk is tangled, her face smeared with dirt. The collar around her neck gleams even in the dim light.

I’m out of my seat before I even think about it, leaning over Var’s armrest, blocking his view of the holo. “Daria! We’ll turn around immediately. Just hold on?—”

“No!” Her voice cracks, sharp and desperate. “That’s not why I’m calling.”

Var grabs my arm, his grip firm but not painful, and pulls me back into my seat. I glare at him, but he’s focused on Daria. “Then why are you?”

She hesitates, her fingers twisting in the ragged remains of her flightsuit. “I wanted to thank you. For sparing Reku.”

I blink, my mind stumbling over her words. “Thank you? Thank you? That monster?—”

“And,” she interrupts, her voice steadying, “I have information. Critical information.”

Var leans forwardly. “Go on.”

Daria glances over her shoulder, as if afraid someone might overhear. “Reku wasn’t acting alone. Someone hired him to sabotage the Triumphant . Someone powerful.”

The silence on the bridge is thick, the kind of silence that feels like it’s pressing against your eardrums.

“Who?” I demand, my voice cutting through the stillness.

Daria’s image flickers, her face pale and drawn under the dim light of whatever hovel she’s calling from. I lean closer, my fists clenched so tightly my nails dig into my palms. “Kallus? You’re sure that’s the name you heard?”

She nods, her spiky mohawk bobbing slightly. “I never saw him. But Reku mentioned him once. Said he was ruthless.” Her voice trembles, and she glances over her shoulder, her fear palpable even through the holo feed.

I glance at Var, who’s leaning back in his chair, claws drumming on the armrest. His purple eyes gleam with something between amusement and annoyance. “Ruthless, huh?” I say, my voice sharp. “More ruthless than your lover?”

Daria’s face hardens, her lips pulling into a tight line. “You don’t understand. Reku is—he’s?—”

A roar cuts through her words, guttural and furious, and Daria flinches like she’s been struck. Her eyes widen, and she reaches for the console. “I have to go.” The feed cuts out abruptly, leaving the bridge in silence.

Var lets out a low whistle, tilting his head toward me. “Well, Ambassador, looks like we’ve got ourselves a lead.”

“A lead? That’s it?” I snap, pacing the narrow space. “Daria’s word isn’t enough to hold Kallus accountable. We need proof. Evidence. Something tangible to present to the Alliance.”

Var taps the plasma blaster at his side, the motion deliberate. “Legally?” He smirks, his fangs flashing. “How do your people say it? Un legal is just a sick parakeet? I bet I can get a full confession out of Kallus if I shove this blaster right up his?—”

“Just get me to Armstrong,” I interrupt, my voice colder than I intend. “And then we’ll never have to see each other again.”

The smirk vanishes from Var’s face, replaced by something that looks almost… hurt. His massive frame shifts in the chair, his claws stilling. “Why wouldn’t we see each other again?”

The question catches me off guard. I stop pacing, staring at him. His purple eyes meet mine, and for once, he doesn’t look smug or arrogant. He looks… genuine. I feel a pang of guilt, which I immediately hate. He saved my life, sure, but that doesn’t mean I owe him anything. Does it?

“Because,” I say, my voice softer than I mean it to be, “this isn’t my world. It’s yours. And as soon as I’m back on Armstrong, I’m going to do my job. And I assume you need to get back to YOUR job, um, blowing stuff up and causing mayhem."

"Damn right that's our job!" Gas whoops.

"I see," he says cooly. "So, we walk in different worlds, is what you're saying."

"We're FROM different worlds," I say with a sigh. "It's nothing against you, and I'll always be grateful that you saved my life, but once we get to Armstrong…well…That’s it.”

Var watches me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leans back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Armstrong it is, then.”

The bridge feels claustrophobic, the tension between Var and me thick enough to choke on. My head still pounds, and the way Var’s purple eyes keep flicking toward me isn’t helping. I clear my throat, breaking the silence.

“Mind if I use your comms? I need to reach out to the Alliance and IEC. Let them know I’m alive and… intact.” I gesture to myself, the motion a little too sharp.

Var leans back in his chair, his massive frame making the thing creak in protest. His claws tap against the armrest. “Gas,” he barks, not taking his eyes off me. “Take her to the ready room. Set her up.”

Gas hops down from his seat, his golden fur catching the dim light. “Right this way, Ambassador,” he says with a grin that’s way too cheerful for the situation.

I follow him off the bridge, my boots clicking against the metal floor.

The ready room is small, barely more than a closet with a console shoved against one wall.

Gas gestures to it with a flourish. “All yours. Just link your compad into the QE system here—” He taps a port on the console. “—and you’re good to go.”

I nod, pulling my compad from my pocket. “Thanks, Gas.”

He lingers, his long snout twitching like he’s chewing on something to say. “You know,” he starts, his voice casual in a way that immediately makes me suspicious, “the boss isn’t such a bad guy. Once you get to know him, I mean.”

I snort, plugging my compad into the console. “He’s impulsive, rude, and cocky. What’s not to love?”

Gas chuckles, his furry shoulders bouncing. “Yeah, sure. He’s all those things. But he’s also got a good heart. And he’d never do anything dishonorable.”

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you… trying to nudge me into seeing him as more than a rescuer? Or even a friend?”

He shrugs, his grin widening. “I’m just saying, the way you guys keep checking each other out when you think the other won’t notice is getting kind of embarrassing.

” He gestures vaguely toward the bridge.

“I mean, damn, sometimes I feel like I should just leave the room and give you two a little privacy.”

My face burns, and I quickly turn back to the console, fumbling with the connection. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I mutter, my voice tighter than I intend.

Gas laughs again, heading for the door. “Sure, Ambassador. Sure.” He pauses in the doorway, looking back at me with a wink. “But just so you know, I’m rooting for you two. You’d make a cute couple.”

“Out,” I snap, pointing at the door. He’s still chuckling as it slides shut behind him.

I sink into the chair, my cheeks still flaming. I thought I’d been subtle. Discreet. Clearly, I’d been wrong. I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the console. I need to reach out to the Alliance, not dwell on whatever ridiculous notions Gas has in his furry little head.

But as I start typing, I can’t help the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s not entirely wrong.

The holo image of General Dowron flickers to life in front of me, his pink scales dulled by the low light of the ready room.

His stooped posture and the deep lines etched into his face make him look older than the last time I saw him, but his eyes are as sharp as ever.

Relief flashes across his features the moment he sees me.

“Ambassador Gellar,” he says, his voice gravelly but warm. “You’re alive. I’ll admit, I was… concerned.”

“Thanks for being worried about me,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’m fine, by the way. I wasn’t raped and killed by space pirates. Thanks for asking.”

Dowron’s expression tightens, and he lets out a low, rumbling sigh. “My apologies, Ambassador. I didn’t mean to be brusque. But while you were missing, the situation on Jwoon X and with Bruw Interstellar Shipping has escalated. It’s reached a fever pitch.”

I lean forward, my irritation momentarily forgotten. “What’s happened?”

“When you didn’t arrive on Armstrong, Kallus used his influence to push for a new ambassador to be assigned—a former employee of Bruw Interstellar Shipping. Someone who is, shall we say, biased in his favor.”

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Of course he did. Let me guess, this new ‘ambassador’ is already pushing for a settlement that benefits Kallus and screws over Zantress and the Solari?”

Dowron nods. “Precisely. I’ve been stalling, and Prime Minister Serenity Garsdotter has flat out refused to allow the negotiations to continue if Kallus gets sole say in who the mediator will be. But time is running out.”

I pace the small room, my boots clicking against the metal floor. “Kallus very well may have tried to have me killed,” I say, stopping abruptly. I explain what Daria told us about Kallus hiring Reku to sabotage the Triumphant .

Dowron’s eyes narrow, and he leans closer to the holo feed. “The word of a traumatized slave girl isn’t enough to convict Kallus of anything. But it’s clear your life continues to be in danger.”

“No kidding,” I mutter, crossing my arms again. “So, what’s the plan? You’re not expecting me to waltz back into Armstrong without some kind of protection, are you?”

“Of course not,” Dowron says, his tone firm. “That’s why I’m assigning Varnok the Annihilator as your personal bodyguard.”

I stare at the flickering holo image of Dowron, my brain struggling to process his words. Then I laugh—a sharp, humorless sound that echoes in the small room. It’s the kind of laugh that makes me wonder if I’m losing my mind.

“Excuse the fuck out of my French, General,” I say, my voice rising, “but what in the hell did you just say?”

Dowron’s holo image flickers as I stare at him, my mouth hanging open. “You’re assigning Varnok as my bodyguard? Are you out of your mind? He’s not exactly the subtle type, General. He’s more the ‘smash first, ask questions never’ type.”

Dowron’s expression doesn’t change, but I swear I see the faintest twitch of amusement in his eyes.

“I don’t have a choice, Ambassador. The Armistice treaty between the Coalition and the Alliance prohibits military forces from entering Armstrong’s controlled space.

Varnok, however, is technically a Liaison.

It’s a loophole, but it’s one we can use. ”

“A loophole?” I throw my hands up, pacing the small room. “He’s a walking, talking wrecking ball. How is that a loophole?”

“Because he’s not officially military,” Dowron says, his voice calm but firm. “And he’s the best protection you’re going to get. Kallus has already tried to kill you once. I’m not taking any chances.”

I stop pacing, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fine. But you’d better make sure he knows to keep his mouth shut during negotiations. The last thing we need is someone named ‘the Annihilator’ at the peace table.”

Dowron nods, his expression serious. “I’ll make sure he understands the importance of discretion.”

“Discretion?” I snort. “Varnok doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

Dowron’s holo image flickers again, and he leans forward slightly. “Ambassador, I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s the best option we have. Trust me, Varnok will keep you safe.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Fine. But if he starts a war because he can’t keep his claws to himself, I’m blaming you.”

Dowron’s lips twitch into a faint smile. “Noted. I’ll inform Varnok of his new assignment. Good luck, Ambassador.”

The holo image fades, leaving me alone in the ready room. I lean against the console, my head still throbbing. Varnok as my bodyguard. Great. Just great. I can already imagine the chaos he’s going to cause.

The door slides open, and I turn to see Varnok himself standing there, his massive frame filling the doorway. His purple eyes lock onto mine, and he smirks. “So, I hear I’m your new bodyguard.”

“Lucky me,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “Just so we’re clear, this doesn’t mean we’re friends. You’re here to keep me alive, not to chat.”

He steps into the room, his claws clicking against the floor. “Oh, come on, Ambassador. You’re not even a little excited to spend more time with me?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the faint heat that rises to my cheeks. “Excited? No. Tolerating? Barely.”

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

I glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Just remember, Varnok. Keep your mouth shut during negotiations. The last thing we need is you scaring everyone off.”

He grins, his fangs flashing. “Don’t worry, Ambassador. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” I mutter, but I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. Despite my grumbling, a part of me is secretly thrilled that Varnok is going to be spending more time around me. At least I’ll have some eye candy.