Page 32 of Grumpy Alien Bodyguard

"During the war, we knew who our enemies were. Now?" He shakes his head. "The lines are blurred. Opportunists like Kallus exploit the chaos, while legitimate security concerns make it difficult to deny requests like his without appearing weak."

I pace the small chamber, processing his words. "So Kallus claims these minerals are vital to Alliance security?"

"Precisely. And there's enough truth in it to make the argument compelling. The minerals can be used in next-generation shield technology."

I stop pacing, a realization hitting me. "This isn't just about profit for him, is it? This is about power."

"Always has been." Dowron nods. "Kallus lost billions when the war ended. This is how he plans to reclaim his position."

My blood burns hot in my veins. The ambassador—Quinn—is walking into a battle far more dangerous than she realizes. "Our duty never ends, does it, General?"

"No," Dowron says, his voice firm despite his obvious fatigue. "And every time that duty calls, the Vakutan will be there to answer."

Pride swells in my chest. "Damn right we will." I thump my fist against my heart in salute. "The Vakutan have always stood between the innocent and those who would prey upon them. War or no war, that doesn't change."

"What will you do now, Annihilator?" Dowron asks.

I bare my teeth in what humans might mistake for a smile. "Whatever is necessary to protect the ambassador and stop Kallus from destroying an entire civilization for his profit margins."

"Be careful, Varnok," Dowron warns. "This is a different kind of battlefield."

"All battlefields are the same, General," I say, reaching to end the transmission. "They're won by those willing to fight the hardest for what they believe in."

I leaveSweet Charity with my mind churning. The writ changes everything. If Kallus gets his way, the Solari are finished. I need a drink.

The neon lights of Christmasville's entertainment district pull me in. I find a place called The Broken Orbit—dim lighting, strong drinks, and minimal conversation. Perfect.

I duck through the doorway, my head nearly scraping the ceiling. The patrons glance up at me, then quickly return to their drinks. Smart. I'm not in the mood for small talk.

The bartender—a burly human with cybernetic arms—nods as I approach. "What'll it be?"

"Something strong. Vakutan if you have it."

He slides a mug of frothy blue liquid across the bar. I drop my credstick on the counter and find an empty booth in the corner.

The drink burns pleasantly going down. I've barely taken my second sip when a shadow falls across my table.

"Mind if I join you?"

Kallus Bruw stands before me, immaculately dressed in what must be the latest fashion from some overpriced human designer. His light red scales gleam under the bar lights, polished to an unnatural shine.

"Actually, I do mind," I growl.

He slides into the seat across from me anyway, signaling the bartender. "Two more of whatever my friend is having. And put his tab on mine."

I bare my teeth. "In that case, I'll take one of every appetizer you have on the menu."

Kallus laughs, a practiced sound that never reaches his eyes. "A small price to pay to make good friends."

"We're not friends."

"That's because you don't know me yet." He leans forward, lowering his voice. "We have more in common than you think, Varnok."

The bartender delivers our drinks. I push mine aside, suddenly wary.

"I doubt that very much."

Kallus takes a delicate sip. "We're both pragmatists. Warriors. We understand how the galaxy really works." He gestures toward the window, toward the diplomatic center of Armstrong. "Not like those idealists playing at peace."

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