Page 1 of Grumpy Alien Bodyguard

CHAPTER 1

QUINN

The Paris Starport hums with the low murmur of a hundred languages, the air thick with the scent of alien spices and the faint tang of ionized air. My heels click against the polished floor, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the terminal. A Grolgath businessman strides past, his scales shimmering under the fluorescent lights. A Pi’Rell pauses to adjust the strap of their satchel, their eyes catching the light like polished marble. A Shorcu with a third eye that glows faintly in the UV spectrum is arguing with a Vakutan over the exchange rate on a credstick transaction. The Vakutan’s ridges flush a deeper red as the Shorcu’s third eye narrows.

I’m halfway to the IEC wing when the light dims. A shadow falls over me, blotting out the overhead lights. I glance up—way up—into the face of an Odex. His fur is a deep chestnut, and he’s wearing a beret tilted at a jaunty angle. It’s the kind of thing that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but on him, it’s almost charming. Almost.

“Human,” he rumbles, his voice like gravel under a steamroller. “You look like someone who appreciates art.”

“Do I?” I arch an eyebrow, glancing at the stack of canvases tucked under his massive arm. “Or do I just look like someone with a credstick?”

He chuckles, a sound that vibrates through my chest. “Both. But mostly the first one.” He pulls out a painting, holding it up with surprising delicacy. It’s the Eiffel Tower, but with a flying saucer hovering next to it, its metallic surface reflecting the Parisian skyline. “What do you think?”

I tilt my head, considering. “It’s... bold. Unexpected. I like it.”

“Good taste.” He grins, revealing teeth that could probably crush a small asteroid. “Five hundred credits.”

“Five hundred?” I laugh, pulling out my credstick. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood. Deliver it to the IEC Triumphant. I’m boarding soon.”

He nods, tucking the painting back under his arm. “Pleasure doing business with you, human.”

I wave him off and continue toward the security checkpoint. The Vakutan guard towers over the scanner, his scales a deep crimson. He glances at my ID, then down at me, his ridges furrowing.

“Diplomat Clearance?” he snorts. “Aren’t you a little young to be a diplomat?”

I plant a hand on my hip, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I wasn’t aware there was an age requirement. Besides, humans only live a little over a century, compared to almost a thousand years for you Vakutan. Aren’t we ALL a little young compared to you?”

He grunts, waving me through. “Vakutan young can hunt and slay their own dinner within hours of birth.”

“Of course you can,” I mutter, stepping past him. The terminal stretches out before me, a maze of gates and signs. I scan the board, searching for the Triumphant. My heels clickagainst the floor, the sound echoing in the vast space. The ship awaits, and with it, whatever the galaxy has in store for me next.

I spot him before he’s halfway across the terminal—General Dowron, towering over the crowd, his dark red Alliance uniform crisp even at this ungodly hour. His scales have faded to a soft pink with age, but his stride is still sharp, each step deliberate. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he approaches.

“General,” I greet him, my smile warm but laced with the kind of sarcasm that only comes from dealing with bureaucrats who think they’re subtle. “So nice of you to see me off in person. Did you bring flowers? Champagne? Or is this just your version of a friendly goodbye?”

“Gellar.” His voice is gravel, deep and unmovable. He doesn’t even crack a smile. “Cut the chatter. Did you get the files on the Jwoon incident?”

“I did.” I pat the tablet tucked under my arm. “And let me say, it’s a real page-turner. Murder, malfunctions, and a mining operation that’s about as legal as piracy. Speaking of which—” I tilt my head, feigning innocence. “Why hasn’t Kallus Bruw’s operation been moved off the planet already? He never filed the right permits, did he?”

Dowron’s ridges tighten. “Bruw’s challenging the vacate order. Claims it’s a misunderstanding. He’s tied it up in the courts—bureaucratic quicksand. It’s a mess.”

“Of course it is.” I roll my eyes. “Because why wouldn’t the dirtiest player in the shipping game drag this out until the Solari are out of a home moon?”

“That’s why you’re going to Armstrong.” His gaze locks onto mine, intense and unyielding. “Salvage this. Keep the Solari on their moon. And if you can, do it without starting another war.”

“No pressure, then.” I smirk, folding my arms. “Care to give me a hint on how to handle Bruw? Or are you just here to deliver the bad news and leave me to figure it out?”

“You’re clever, Gellar. You’ll manage.” He steps back, giving me a curt nod. “Don’t overthink it. And don’t underestimate him.”

“Never do.” I watch as he turns and walks away, his posture as straight as ever. He’s already moving on to the next crisis, the next negotiation, the next fire to put out. Typical Dowron—straight to the point, no pleasantries. I shake my head, adjusting my grip on my bag.

The Triumphant looms ahead, sleek and elegant, a falcon ready to take flight. I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. Time to see if I can outmaneuver Kallus Bruw and keep the Solari in their home. Piece of cake. Right?

The Triumphant’s boarding ramp hisses shut behind me, sealing out the chaos of the starport. The interior is sleek, all polished metal and soft lighting, with the faint hum of the engines vibrating through the floor. The captain, a grizzled human with a salt-and-pepper beard and a uniform that’s seen better days, greets me with a nod.

“Welcome aboard, Ms. Gellar. Captain Hargrove. We’ll be underway shortly.” His voice is gravelly, like he’s been chewing on stardust for breakfast.

“Captain,” I reply, flashing him my most diplomatic smile. “Looking forward to a smooth flight.”

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