Page 9

QUINN

I ’m trying to steady my nerves while maintaining the practiced diplomat's smile that's been plastered on my face for the past hour.

The reception hall buzzes with conversation, laughter, and the string quartet's gentle melodies floating above it all.

Every few seconds, I feel Varnok's presence shift behind me—a mountain of muscle and scales constantly scanning for threats.

"Quite the turnout," Prime Minister Serenity Garsdotter remarks, her tall frame towering over me. The half-human, half-Pi'Rell woman surveys the room with those striking lavender eyes that miss nothing. "Representatives from fifty-three systems at last count."

General Dowron nods, his pink scales catching the light. "Everyone wants to be present when history is made—or unmade."

"Let's aim for the former," I say, taking a sip of my champagne.

Dowron's gaze drifts across the room to where Kallus Bruw stands surrounded by a circle of admirers. "For someone with such a notorious reputation, he looks rather... ordinary."

I follow his gaze, studying the shipping magnate. Kallus laughs at something one of his sycophants says, revealing perfect teeth.

"I respectfully disagree, General," I say, keeping my voice low. "Look at his eyes. There's a predatory gleam there—the look of someone who sees people as resources to be exploited, not as beings with inherent worth."

Serenity raises an eyebrow. "Strong words, Ambassador."

"Backed by stronger evidence. His actions have had devastating effects on local populations wherever he sets up operations.

" I turn to face them fully. "Right now, Bruw Interstellar faces forty-seven separate lawsuits for environmental damage caused by his mining operations.

Entire ecosystems destroyed, indigenous species pushed to extinction, water tables poisoned with industrial runoff. "

"Yet he walks free," comes a gravelly voice from behind us.

I turn to find Zantress approaching, her dour expression somehow even more severe in the bright lights of the reception. The female grolgath inclines her head slightly in greeting.

"Speaker Zantress," I acknowledge. "I'm glad you could join us."

"I observe that all those lawsuits are in Alliance or League space," Zantress continues, ignoring pleasantries. "In Coalition territory, Kallus would already be imprisoned for the harm he has caused."

Dowron stiffens beside me. "We have a thing called due process in the Trident Alliance, Zantress."

"Which you suspended for any and all Coalition citizens—including those who did not serve in the military," Zantress counters, her voice sharpening.

"We had no way of knowing which of them were spies," Dowron says, his stooped posture straightening as decades of military bearing reassert themselves. "It was a necessary sin."

I can feel the temperature of the conversation rising dangerously. Old wounds from the Centuries War reopening right before my eyes.

"Stop," I say sharply, cutting through their argument. "Both of you. We're here to find a peaceful resolution to the Jwoon incident. Not re-ignite the Centuries War over your clashing ideologies."

Behind me, Varnok lets out a deep, rumbling laugh. I glance back to see him grinning, clearly entertained by my bluntness. Dowron shoots him a withering glare, but the younger vakutan seems entirely unperturbed.

"Fair enough, Ambassador," Dowron concedes after a moment.

Zantress gives me an appraising look. "You speak with unusual directness for a diplomat."

"Sometimes directness is what's needed," I reply. "Especially when dancing around issues has cost lives."

Prime Minister Serenity nods approvingly. "Armstrong has always valued straightforward speech. It's refreshing to see it from an IHC representative."

A server drifts by with a tray of hors d'oeuvres, and I take the opportunity to change the subject. "Have you tried these, Speaker Zantress? They're made with vegetables grown right here on Armstrong."

The grolgath reluctantly accepts one of the small canapés. "This world has done well for itself, considering its history."

"That's what we're trying to prevent on Jwoon," I say, seizing the opening. "Another world torn apart by conflict between greater powers."

Serenity's expression grows serious. "The Prime Minister before me was on Armstrong during the battle. She always said the worst casualties weren't from the fighting itself, but from the environmental collapse that followed."

"Exactly," I nod. "And Jwoon's ecosystem is far more fragile than Armstrong's ever was."

Zantress finishes her canapé. "The Solari have lived in harmony with Jwoon for generations. They understand its rhythms and needs in ways Bruw's mining operations never could."

"Yet the mineral deposits on Jwoon could provide energy for billions," Dowron counters, though his tone is more measured now. "There must be a middle path."

I catch movement from the corner of my eye—Kallus Bruw is making his way toward our little group, his entourage trailing behind him like the tail of a comet.

"Speaking of middle paths," I murmur, "our other principal party approaches."

Varnok steps closer to me, his massive frame almost brushing against my back. I can feel the heat radiating from him, and despite myself, I find it oddly comforting.

"Ambassador Gellar," Kallus calls out, his voice smooth as silk. "What an absolute pleasure to finally meet you in person." His light red scales gleam under the reception lights as he extends a hand. "I was devastated to hear about your ordeal. Space pirates—how utterly barbaric."

Something in his tone makes my skin crawl. I shake his hand briefly, noting the expensive fabric of his sleeve, the perfect manicure of his claws.

"Mr. Bruw," I reply evenly. "I appreciate your concern. I'm just grateful to have arrived safely—if somewhat delayed."

His eyes flick briefly to Varnok, then back to me. "And with such impressive... security, I see."

"This is Varnok," I say, deliberately omitting his more colorful title. "He's been assigned as my liaison during these negotiations."

"How fortunate for you," Kallus says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I've heard so much about the famous Varnok the Annihilator."

"All true," Varnok rumbles behind me, and I resist the urge to step on his foot.

Kallus turns his attention to Zantress. "Speaker, you're looking well. How are your people faring on Jwoon? Still living in those charming mud huts, I presume?"

I can practically feel Zantress bristle beside me. "Our dwellings are constructed in harmony with the planet's natural resources, using sustainable methods that have served us for generations."

"How quaint," Kallus says with a condescending smile.

I step forward slightly, inserting myself between them. "I believe we'll have plenty of time to discuss housing and infrastructure during tomorrow's formal negotiations. Tonight is simply an opportunity for us all to become acquainted."

"Of course, Ambassador," Kallus says smoothly. "I'm looking forward to finding a solution that benefits everyone involved."

The lie is so transparent I'm surprised it doesn't shatter like glass on the marble floor.

The string quartet transitions from their gentle background melodies to something more spirited—a classic waltz with a contemporary twist. Conversations pause as couples begin moving toward the dance floor.

"Ambassador Gellar," Kallus says, his voice silky smooth as he extends a hand toward me. "Would you do me the honor of this dance?"

I see Dowron and Serenity exchange glances. This is unexpected—and potentially problematic. But also an opportunity.

Before I can respond, Varnok steps forward, his massive frame inserting itself partially between us.

"No," he snaps, the single syllable hanging in the air like a thunderclap. "I will not allow it."

The conversation around us stutters to a halt. Even the servers pause, drinks balanced precariously on their trays as they sense the sudden tension.

I feel heat rising to my cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from anger. I turn to face Varnok, arching a single eyebrow.

"You... won't allow it?" My voice could freeze nitrogen. "I hardly think that Mr. Bruw is going to snap my neck on the dance floor, BODYGUARD. So I'm overriding your objections."

Varnok's eyes widen slightly at my tone. For a moment, I think he might actually argue further, but he takes a half-step back, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles working beneath his red scales.

I turn back to Kallus with a practiced diplomatic smile and offer my hand. "Shall we?"

Kallus takes my hand with a triumphant smirk directed at Varnok. "Delighted."

As he leads me onto the dance floor, I can feel Varnok's gaze burning into my back.

Kallus positions himself with perfect technical form—one hand at my waist, the other clasping mine—but there's a clinical detachment to his touch.

His body maintains a precise, almost mathematical distance from mine.

"You handle your pet vakutan well," Kallus murmurs as we begin moving with the music.

"He's not a pet," I reply, matching his steps effortlessly. "He's a professional doing his job—sometimes with excessive enthusiasm."

Kallus guides me through a turn. "I was so terribly upset to hear about your troubles on the way to Armstrong," he says, his smile and tone completely at odds with the cold calculation in his eyes.

"The trouble was most unexpected," I reply, maintaining eye contact. "But now I have my eyes wide open. Such 'trouble' is unlikely to prevent me from doing my duties again."

His rhythm falters for just a fraction of a second—so brief anyone else might have missed it. But I don't.

"Yes, I noticed you hired a bodyguard," Kallus says, recovering smoothly. "Varnok the Annihilator. Not exactly the walking powderkeg I would choose to bring to peaceful negotiations."