Page 3 of Grumpy Alien Bodyguard

No kidding.I thumb the comm open. “Captain. Report.”

The static-filled reply makes my blood freeze.“Unmarked cruiser. They’ve got us in a disruptor net. Engines are down. Shields at—”A burst of feedback drowns him out.

The main monitor flickers to life, displaying the exterior feed. The pirate ship looms—a jagged brute of a cruiser, its hull studded with retrofitted ion cannons. No identifiers. No affiliations. Just raw threat.

T’vek growls low in her throat. “Pirates don’t hit IEC diplomats. Too messy.”

Clara exhales sharply. “Unless someone paid them to.”

Another blast rocks us. A muffled curse from the cockpit cuts off with a thud. The comm panel lights up—incoming hail.

Clara and T’vek exchange looks. Neither moves.

Right. Diplomatic immunity falls to me.

I slap the receiver. “This is theIEC Triumphanton official diplomatic?—”

A laugh slices through the static. Not amused. Not even cruel. Justhungry.

“But we—” The voice rasps like steel dragged over stone. “—are a threat toyou.”

Silence. Then the line dies.

Across the aisle, Clara’s wrist unit flashes. Life support failing. T’vek’s claws flex.

The cruiser’s docking clamps thud against our hull. And suddenly, I'm not so sure we're going to make our appointment at Armstrong.

CHAPTER 2

VARNOK

Gas 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 amachine.”

I snort, my tail thumping against the floor. “Stats? The Gur Gorillas haveheart. 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 arewarriors.” 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 iskillingme, Gas. I need a fight. A real one. Not this… thissitting 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. Aglorifieddesk 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, theTriumphant, 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. “Nowthat’swhat 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?”

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