Page 19 of Grumpy Alien Bodyguard

"Those two look ready to tear each other apart," I observe.

Quinn sighs. "And I'm supposed to get them to agree on something. Fantastic."

"Good luck with that."

As we move through the reception, Quinn is immediately swarmed by diplomats, politicians, and various hangers-on. Everyone wants a piece of her—to hear about her abduction, to get her take on the Jwoon Incident, to curry favor with the woman who might prevent another interstellar conflict.

I stay close, my hand never straying far from my blaster. A few of the dignitaries eye me nervously, which gives me a small satisfaction. Good. They should be nervous.

"Ambassador Gellar, your thoughts on mineral rights in disputed territories?" asks a thin human with spectacles.

"Minister Yularen, what a pleasure to see the Odexian delegation here!" Quinn deflects smoothly.

"Is it true you fought a Reaper captain?" a young aide whispers excitedly.

Through it all, Quinn navigates with the precision of a starfighter pilot, never revealing too much, never committing to anything. It's impressive, in its way.

What a time to be stuck in a historical moment, I think glumly to myself. All things considered, I preferred the War. At least you knew who was trying to kill you, and when. This smiling-while-plotting-your-demise business gives me a headache.

But watching Quinn work the room, her small frame somehow commanding the attention of beings twice her size, I can't help but feel a grudging admiration. She might not fight with plasma blasters, but she's a warrior in her own arena.

And I'm starting to think that arena might be more dangerous than any battlefield I've faced.

CHAPTER 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."

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