Date: 2018-03-07 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Science Fiction; Science Fiction Fantasy
Description: Corruption. Greed. Lust. Sins undercover Galactic Vice Detective Etch Knowles faces every day. Politicians on the take. Underground gambling. Sex trafficking. Another day at the office for Galactic Vice Lieutenant Angie McDade. Shaking down hustlers. Offering "protection" to bar owners. Cheating at tile games. Galactic Vice Detective Kalaka doesn't exactly play by the rules. A cargo barge filled with corpses. A potential war between crime syndicates. Traitors within the Galactic Vice. These are the nightmares the three must face. Using all of their resources and experience they will fight to k
Publisher: SEVERED Press

GALACTIC VICE

-A Jafla Base Vice Squad Novel-

Jake Bible

www.severedpress.com

Copyright 2017 by Jake Bible

1.

The alarm sent Xew Co’m Tikk on a mad mission of slapping at the bedside table, three of his eight tentacle arms frantic to kill the Eight Million Gods awful noise before his wife woke up.

“Can’t you simply have that alert you in your comm implant?” Mess’a Tikk grumbled from her side of the bed. “Must we do this every morning, Xew?”

“I told you,” Xew said as he managed to finally kill the alarm. “Comm alarms don’t wake me up. They become part of my dreams and I sleep right through them. I need the—”

“Auditory dissonance of a separate alarm to wake me from slumber,” Mess’a interrupted as she finished the oft-spoken explanation for Xew’s annoying habit. “We’re gonna have to work on that.”

“Love, there is no working on over forty years of conditioning,” Xew said as he gulped several lungfuls of air so his invertebrate body could become rigid enough for him to stand and stretch.

Being a Groshnel, Xew needed constant gulps of air in order to maintain a solid stature. He wasn’t like humans or Gwreqs or any of the vertebrate races that populated the galaxy. He was Groshnel and in order to function, a thousand rigid air sacks had to be constantly filled and refilled with air.

Other races saw Groshnels as soft, which technically they were, but all Groshnels knew that their perceived weakness was their greatest strength. They were flexible to the point of being able to slip through cracks that even the thinnest of humans couldn’t conceive of fitting through. Not to mention they could take a punch better than ninety percent of the galactic races without sustaining damage. And having eight arms certainly wasn’t a bad thing, especially in the line of work Xew was in.

Xew shuffled across the room and grabbed the neatly folded pile of clothes he’d set on a chair the night before. Still barely awake, he continued his pre-dawn shuffle towards the lavatory.

“We have the Holcostelbans coming over for dinner tonight, don’t forget,” Mess’a mumbled sleepily from the bed as Xew closed the lavatory door.

“Got it,” Xew called back through the door.

He frowned as he set his clothes on the counter and stared at his haggard image in the mirror. Twenty years on the Jafla Base police force and another twenty as a detective in the Galactic Vice, Jafla Base Squad hadn’t been kind to his rubbery, invertebrate body. Xew couldn’t quite figure out why Mess’a, a decade his junior, had wanted to marry an old being like him.

But he wasn’t complaining.

At his age, he didn’t have time to complain and simply knowing he would be coming home to a beautiful being like Mess’a each night made getting through the days that much easier. A late-in-life marriage had probably saved his ass from the ubiquitous depression that oncoming retirement instilled in those coming close to the end of the job.

Xew stepped into the shower and activated the steam nozzle. Then his comm implant rang and he paused.

“Tikk. Go,” Xew answered.

“Xew. Need you at Docking Hangar Thirty-Seven. Like yesterday, man.”

“Good morning to you too, Tipo,” Xew replied. “I’m stepping into a steam right now. I’ll be down there—”

“Nope,” Tipo S’lunn interrupted. “Now, man. We have a nasty situation down here.”

“I just woke up, Tipo,” Xew said, annoyed at being interrupted for the second time that morning. “I’m going to steam and have a cuppa. Then I’ll be down.”

“Again with the nope,” Tipo replied. “We have a lead on a sex trafficking barge. Just arrived from Egthak.”

“Egthak? Why would a trafficking barge be coming from Egthak?” Xew asked, his eyes staring at the enticing steam that was filling his shower. A shower he had yet to step into. “Nothing comes from Egthak.”

“Exactly,” Tipo said. “Yet there’s a barge about to land and after some digging, I found the transponder code to be fake and part of a batch used by the Collari Syndicate.”

“Collari?” Xew turned off the steam. “Do not touch that barge until I get there.”

“That’s why I commed you, man,” Tipo said.

“How are we for warrants?” Xew asked as he scrambled to get dressed. He flinched as he smelled himself and started hunting for his deodorizer. Finding it in the second drawer down, Xew activated the nozzle and turned himself this way and that so he was coated in a scent that didn’t smell like a recently awakened Groshnel. “The captain on board with this?”

“Captain Jorg told me to call your blubbery ass down here,” Tipo said. “We have all the warrants and the go-ahead from GV Division headquarters to pry the barge open as soon as it is finished landing.”

“Division headquarters?” Xew struggled to get dressed even faster. “Shit. What’s headquarters doing nosing around regional business?”

“My guess? The Collari Syndicate missed a bribe payment and someone is pissed.”

“Eight Million Gods, Tipo,” Xew hissed. “Don’t say shit like that over an unsecured comm. You’ll get us both killed.”

“Please,” Tipo said. “I’ve said a lot worse and I’m still standing.”

“For now.”

Xew sighed as he fought his equipment belt’s fuse buckle. He was a full Galactic Vice Detective, but even in plain clothes, he wore an equipment belt. Couldn’t fit all the gear the job needed in his suit pockets, especially since eight arms took up a lot of real estate in his jacket. He took shit from the other GVDs in his Squad, but he didn’t care. Better to be prepared than dead.

“On my way,” Xew said as he killed the comm and rushed from the lavatory.

“Don’t forget the Holcostelbans!” Mess’a cried after him as he rushed from the bedroom into the modest living room of their apartment, then out the front door.

2.

“Pilot logged the landing and left less than five minutes ago,” Tipo said as Xew joined him in an observation roller parked half a click from Docking Hangar Thirty-Seven.

Tipo was a Shiv’erna, a lithe race with thick skin and elephantine proboscises. Tipo’s proboscis had flared nostrils and was slightly elevated at the end, telling Xew he was more than excited about the prospect of raiding the barge. The fact the GVD was barely able to sit still was a dead giveaway also.

“Breathe,” Xew said as he sat down on the bench that was situated in front of the bank of holo projectors and vid screens lining one wall of the enclosed observation roller. “Last thing we need is for you to go rushing in there all half-cocked and get someone hurt.”

“That market thing wasn’t my fault, Xew,” Tipo replied, not seeming too bothered by the thinly veiled admonition. “Those Jesperians were jumpy as shit. They would have shot first if I let them.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Xew said. “We’re GVDs, Tipo. We don’t shoot first.”

“We do if we want to live to see tomorrow,” Tipo argued.

“What’s the call?” a human snapped from the far end of the roller. Dressed in full tactical gear, his light armor giving off a faint hum as the energy shielding coursed through the material, the human’s lack of patience was evident on his lined face. “We going in or what?”

Xew gave Tipo an annoyed look which was instantly returned. Dealing with the tactical division of Jafla Base PD was one of the least enjoyable parts of being Galactic Vice. Yes, the detectives had full autonomy from the general regional police department. But at the same time, they were beholden to said police department’s manpower availability. The GV, all across the galaxy, was investigative only; if they needed boots on the ground, then those boots were pulled from regional forces.

“What defenses does the barge have?” Xew asked. He held out two of his tentacle arms and snapped his rubbery fingers. Tipo handed him the warrants for the search and seizure of the barge and all of its contents. “Sergeant? What are we looking at?”

The human, Sergeant Ben Halsey, grumbled then nudged the tech, human also, that was seated at the far left of the bank of holo projectors. “Give the detective the stats.”

“No weapons we can detect,” the tech said gruffly. “That’s the problem. We can’t detect much. Interior is shielded, especially the cargo hold. Exterior comes up as a standard shipping barge that’s seen better days, but like a million others is still a workhorse. You couldn’t pick this barge out of a lineup of similar vehicles if you wanted to.”

“Barges aren’t usually shielded like that,” Tipo said.

“Give the rookie a prize,” Halsey growled.

“I’ve been a GVD for three years, Halsey,” Tipo snapped. “Stop calling me a rookie. And why are you here? I told Captain Jorg that we wouldn’t need you. We can handle a barge sweep.”

Halsey snorted with derision at this reply.

“We hit it now,” Xew said. “Unless we expect some new intel to come through.”

“This is what we have,” Tipo said. “Won’t get better than this.”

“Sergeant, tell your people to cover all of the hatches,” Xew ordered. “No one fires unless ordered to or fired upon. Understood?”

“I know how to do my job, Detective,” Halsey said with enough attitude to fill the barge’s cargo hold ten times over. Then he began relaying orders to his team as he shoved open the roller’s side door and jumped out, his RX31 plasma assault rifle at the ready.

“So close,” Xew said under his breath.

“You still have two years left,” Tipo said as he patted Xew on the head. “Don’t mentally retire yet.”

“Eat me,” Xew said as the two detectives followed Halsey out of the roller.

Jafla Planet was a desert. Nothing, not even B’clo’no’s, the universally reviled mucus-based lifeforms that drained other beings of their life force, could last very long out in the wasteland that was Jafla. Visitors either stayed close to the base or died. No real middle ground. Which meant Jafla Base always had a captive audience and a market for something new.

Up until recently, Jafla Base had been a whirlwind of interstellar vehicle activity. Being the only inhabited area of Jafla Planet, the base was a constant stream of ships coming and going. Everything from tourists to business beings to the many players from the different crime syndicates to galactic celebrities could be seen going to and from the base.

And all were there for the Orb fights. Or had been.

With the questionable death of Stava Shem Stava, the owner/operator/corrupt lord of the heavy grav mortal combat sport, the Orb fights’ prestige had dropped considerably and tourist traffic had died down a good amount the past year. But other traffic had started to pick up.

Xew hated the place. Yet it had been home for most of his adult life and all of his law enforcement career.

“Prostitution is legal on Jafla,” Halsey said offhandedly.

“Sex slavery isn’t,” Xew said with a tone that stated he was tired of arguing the same point over and over with the sergeant. “Registered and regulated prostitution is legal. Kidnapping beings and forcing them into the sex trade is not.”

“Keeps you employed, I guess,” Halsey said then moved off to join his tactical team while Xew and Tipo made a beeline for the barge.

“Asshole,” Tipo said.

“No arguments there,” Xew said.

He withdrew his pistol and his badge from his belt. The pistol hummed to life and the badge began to glow as the holo projector came online, ready to flash his credentials in half a meter high letters so there was no mistaking who he was or why he was there. Tipo did the same and the detectives slowly made their way to the aft end of the barge.

“Open channel,” Xew said. His comm implant bleeped once to indicate his order had been carried out. “Attention crew of Barge 8463211-EGTK! This is Galactic Vice Detective Xew Co’m Tikk! Open the cargo hold immediately for a warranted search!”

“Just sent them the warrants,” Tipo said as he swiped the hand holding his badge over his opposite wrist. “No pleading ignorance on this one.”

Xew nodded and waited for a response. None came and he repeated his announcement. Still no response. He gave Tipo a side glance then stepped closer to the barge.

“Operations channel only,” Xew said. His implant bleeped. “I need tech override on the hatch now. Get that hold open.”

“Copy that,” the tech from the observation roller responded.

Xew and Tipo waited impatiently, their bodies tense and ready for the hatch ramp to open and descend.

Two minutes passed. Three and four minutes. Five.

“Dammit,” Xew snapped. “What’s the holdup?”

“Hatch protocols are giving me the runaround,” the tech replied over the comm. “Whoever owns this barge does not want it opened up.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Tipo said. “If they wanted it to—”

The grinding of gears interrupted Tipo’s complaint and he and Xew lifted their pistols as they watched the ramp begin to descend.

“Oh, shit,” Tipo said, his proboscis tucking up under itself. “Eight Million Gods, do you smell that?”

“Hard not to when I have to take a breath every quarter second,” Xew said as he tried not to gag. “Wow. That’s bad.”

The ramp had almost touched the ground when Halsey and his tactical team came sweeping past the two detectives. They ascended the ramp, rifles to their shoulders, and began shouting orders for anyone and everyone onboard to hear.

Tipo waved a hand as he bent over and tried to breathe.

“Gonna have to take a second, man,” Tipo said to Xew. “Sorry. The sniffer is not happy with that stench.”

“Clear,” Halsey announced as he came to the edge of the ramp and glared down at the detectives. “Of live ones, anyway.”

“What you got?” Xew asked.

“See for yourself,” Halsey said and gestured towards the cargo hold. “It’s not pretty, Detective. These folks have been dead a long time.”

“You gonna be okay?” Xew asked Tipo.

“I’ll be fine soon,” Tipo said, still doubled over. “Go see and I’ll be right up.”

“Okay,” Xew said and walked up the ramp towards Halsey. “How many are we talking, sergeant?”

“Fifty. Maybe more,” Halsey said then narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “Hold on. The precinct is refusing to send transport to haul the bodies away. They’re saying GV is in charge, so GV needs to authorize the request.”

“Fine,” Xew said and pointed towards Tipo. “Coordinate with Detective S’lunn. He’ll get it straightened out.”

“Sure. Put me with the rookie,” Halsey grumbled as he descended the ramp and stomped over to Tipo.

Xew waited for the sergeant and Tipo to begin speaking before he turned and gave his full attention to the contents of the cargo hold. Half the tactical team was milling about, all trying not to look like they were going to vomit. Xew figured the other half were still sweeping the rest of the barge. He took a few steps then paused as the full weight of what he was seeing hit him.

Easily fifty corpses in stages of advanced decay covered the floor of the cargo hold. They were of all galactic races, genders, ages. The sex trade was indiscriminate when it came to appetites, so all demographics were represented.

“Eight Million Gods,” Xew muttered under his breath. “They’ve been dead for weeks. Why bring them here?”

“Detective?” a member of the tactical team asked.

“Nothing. Talking to myself,” Xew said.

“We got a live one!” someone shouted. “Help me get her up!”

All attention focused on a member of the team and a convulsing human woman that was propped up against the hold’s back wall.

“Wait!” Xew shouted. “Do not touch—!”

Those were the last words the detective ever said as the cargo hold was filled with a brilliant light and heat so hot that Xew never felt his flesh melt away. He was shouting then he was gone. Forever.

3.

The razor-sharp claw extended from the tip of his index finger then withdrew back into the flesh. Again and again, over and over, until the woman seated across the table slammed a tile down so loud that half the occupants of the gaming tables around the room drew weapons and jumped from their chairs. Once they saw no threat, everyone went back to their games with a few chuckles, some grumbles, and more than a couple of curses.

“Yes, you are half Cervile!” the human woman snapped as she began rearranging her upset tiles. “We get it!”

“You got something against Cerviles?” the man asked.

“I got something against halfers that like to shove their disgusting genetics in pure-blooded beings’ faces,” the woman growled. “Ain’t right.”

“You think you’re pure?” the man asked.

“Etch, chill,” a nervous-looking Ferg said from the seat directly to the man’s right. “That thing you do with your claw is a little distracting.”

The man turned and glared at the Ferg. Glared down. Fergs were a short race, around a meter tall, and looked like a cross between an ancient Earth beaver and praying mantis. More fur than bug skin, but those big eyes tended to make folks uncomfortable. It was the Ferg’s turn to be uncomfortable as the man continued to glare.

The man was a halfer. Half human and half Cervile, which was a humanoid feline race with all the deadliness that came with that comparison. While the man wasn’t completely covered in fur from head to toe, he did have a thick beard of fine, red hair that covered most of his face. He could easily pass as full human if he didn’t constantly show his genetic makeup by extending claws from the tips of his fingers.

That and the pupils in his golden eyes were vertical slits that pulsed in and out as he stared at the woman seated across from him.

“Call me a halfer again,” the man, Etch Knowles, said. He set his forearms on the table, almost on top of his row of tiles, and leaned forward. “Do it. Call me a halfer again.”

“Can we keep playing instead of spitting?” a severely obese Urvein asked from the seat next to the woman.

A bear-like race, Urveins could top eight feet in their prime and were built of muscle and thick hair. The Urvein in question had let himself go a long time ago and could barely reach his tiles from across his enormous belly.

“I gotta business appointment an hour after dawn,” the Urvein continued as he swiped at his wrist and brought up a chrono reading. “That’s in less than two hours. I’d love to win some of my chits back before then.”

“Fat chance, fat ass,” Etch said, his eyes still on the offending woman.

The woman was in her mid-thirties and beautiful even with the deep, jagged scar that ran from her left temple, across her cheekbone, and down to her left nostril. Dark skin with short-cropped platinum hair and bright green eyes, she’d turned heads when she’d walked into the gaming room fifteen hours earlier. Now she looked haggard and tired, not to mention close to homicidal, as Etch continued to extend and retract that single claw from his index finger.

“No need to get personal,” the Urvein grumbled.

“Call me a halfer again,” Etch said to the woman.

“Play your tile,” the woman replied. “It’s your turn.”

The corners of Etch’s mouth turned up in a brief smile. He leaned back, studied the woman, looked down and studied his tiles, then selected one and set it in the center of the table next to two similar tiles.

“Three set,” Etch said and the brief smile became a permanent fixture, widening until it took up his entire face. “Seventeens. Anyone got eighteens or higher to slap down? No?”

The entire table complained as they mucked their tiles into the discard chute. Except for the woman.

“Don’t need eighteens when I have a set,” the woman said. She placed a tile next to six others and smiled as the numerical progression lined up perfectly. “Line of seven. Hard to beat that.”

“Very hard,” Etch said and placed a fourth then a fifth seventeen tile next to the set of three already in the mix. “But not impossible. Set of five beats a run of seven. That’s how this game works, right?”

The woman leapt up from her chair, her hand reaching for a pistol that wasn’t on her hip. She slapped at her side for a second then rolled her eyes and sat back down.

“Good game,” she said and extended her hand across the table.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Etch said as he shoved the tiles in play into the discard chute then scooped up the nice-sized pile of chits that sat off to the side. “I’ve heard about your handshakes. Folks don’t live long once they touch that micro-toxin your palm is coated with.”

The woman’s green eyes widened then narrowed then relaxed as she in turn relaxed back into her seat.

“You did your homework,” the woman said.

“I always like to know who I play with,” Etch said. “Cassa Wickens is a name you don’t overlook. Killer for hire. And all that shit.”

“There’s more subtlety to me than killer for hire and all that shit,” Cassa stated. “But it’s hard for halfers to grasp subtlety, I know.”

“You had to go and say it, didn’t you,” Etch said and sighed.

The table was bolted to the floor. Which made Etch look like an idiot when he leapt to his feet and tried to flip it. All he ended up doing was give everyone still seated a good laugh.

“Jeez, Etch,” the Ferg said. “Calm all the Hells down, will ya? People talk shit at the table. Get used to it.”

“Talking shit and being a bigoted bitch are two different things, Klosp,” Etch said to the Ferg.

“You wear your issues on your sleeve, Etch Knowles,” Cassa said and laughed at the surprise on Etch’s face. “What? You’re not the only one that does their homework. I know all about the galactic scumbag called Etch Knowles. Had to make sure you paid your debts before I agreed to sit at the same table as you. Luckily, you do pay your debts. You rip beings off in every other way possible, but you always pay your debts.”

“You see any debts here?” Etch asked, pointing at his huge stack of chits. “Don’t need to pay anything if you all are paying me.”

“Yeah, I’m done,” the Urvein said as he pushed back his chair and struggled to his feet. His massive belly jiggled up and down violently, almost knocking his meager stack of chits off the table and on to the floor. The being scooped up the chits and stowed them in a small pouch on his belt. He turned and nodded to Cassa. “See you in a couple weeks?”

“I’ll comm you later,” Cassa said, giving the Urvein a smile. “Unless I’m on the run after killing this punk ass bitch.”

“Yeah, good luck with all that,” the Urvein said and waddled away. Beings at other tables had to shift their chairs to let him pass as his wide hips threatened to knock them from their seats if they didn’t adjust fast enough. “Good gaming, everyone.”

There were a few replies of “good gaming” back, but most of the occupants in the room continued to focus on the tiles in front of them and the stakes on their tables.

“We gonna rumble, Etch Knowles?” Cassa asked. “Or we gonna finish playing a few rounds before we all get back to our ships and catch some shut-eye. I’m only on Ballyway for three more days before I have to get back to work. I’d rather not spend those days locked up because I slit your throat.”

“You’re not that good,” Etch replied.

“Actually, she is,” Klosp said in a whisper all could hear.

“Say you’re sorry for calling me a halfer,” Etch demanded. “Say it.”

“If it’ll get the game going again,” Cassa replied without hesitation. “I’m sorry I called you—”

The room wasn’t large, able to hold a dozen gaming tables, when half the tables, along with the players seated at them, were sent flying across the room to collide with the rest as the far wall was obliterated and a massive, smoking hole appeared before everyone’s startled and quickly panicked eyes.

“Raid!” someone yelled as heavily armed and armored troopers rushed the room, H16 plasma carbine multi-weapons swinging left and right while an electronic voice announced, “Galactic Vice Division! Surrender immediately and survive! Do not resist! Galactic Vice Division! Surrender immediately and survive! Do not resist!”

Despite the words being repeated over and over at an ear-splitting level, many of the players did not surrender immediately and decided resisting was their best option. The electronic voice was quickly drowned out by the sound of gunfire and screaming from those that made the wrong choice.

Etch threw himself onto the ground and laced his hands behind his head. He flinched and shook at every gunshot and plasma blast that flew over his head.

“Etch…?” Klosp whispered as he tried to crawl over to Etch. “Shit…”

Half the Ferg’s face was gone, his entire left side roasted to a cinder by a plasma blast. Etch grimaced as Klosp’s wide eyes locked onto his then became empty as the life left the being’s body.

“Eight Million Gods dammit,” Etch growled under his breath as the fighting continued around him.

Then it was over. Five minutes of all the Hells followed by a deathly silence that lasted five seconds.

“Get them up!” someone roared. “Get this gambling scum up off the floor and into the roller!”

Armor-gloved hands yanked Etch to his feet, forced his hands down from his head so they could be restrained behind his back, then proceeded to half-shove, half-guide him through the chaos of the raid.

“I knew you were bad luck,” Cassa snarled as Etch was marched past her. She had a nasty wound to her right shoulder and a medic was tending to it while three troopers covered her with their weapons. “Better stay out of my orbit from now on, halfer.”

“Kiss my ass,” Etch snapped as he was shoved towards a line of prisoners that were being led out through the huge hole in the underground gambling room’s wall. “Whichever half your lips can stand. I don’t really care.”

“Shut up!” a trooper shouted as he cuffed Etch upside the back of his head. “Talk again and you get a stun baton up your ass, scumbag!”

Etch didn’t talk again. Not for a long while.

4.

Etch sat in a holding cell with over twenty other beings for six days before he was allowed to make his comm call. He was weak and dehydrated, having figured out that eating or drinking anything provided by the guards led to intestinal distress that none of the species and races could avoid. That and using the latrine wasn’t an easy proposition considering his hands had thick polymer mittens on them to prevent him from using his claws.

The cell smelled like a sewer and Etch was more than glad to be led away from it, if only for a few minutes.

“What in all the Hells?” Etch snarled into the comm when he was finally alone in one of the communications bubbles that prisoners were allowed to use to speak to their legal representatives. All the other bubbles were empty which meant he didn’t have to try to hide his anger. “You cut the game short by a week and I’ve been sitting in my own piss for almost that long. Wanna tell me what the fuck went wrong?”

“Nothing,” a wizened voice replied. It was a female voice, but not human, and it sounded exhausted. “The op was performing beautifully. Your cover was intact. But there were extenuating circumstances that required we pull you out without blowing that cover. The raid was the only way we could do it without exposing you.”

“Come on, Chief,” Etch replied. “You couldn’t wait a few more hours and pick me up out on the streets? People died, Chief. Klosp was a piece of shit, but he didn’t deserve to have his face blasted off.”

“The deaths were unfortunate, but we needed your extraction to be real and messy,” Galactic Vice Division Chief Morga Lu’Tes’Tu responded with a sigh. “We didn’t expect as much resistance as we faced. They were gamblers; they should have dropped their tiles and raised their hands. Instead, some opened fire. We did what needed to be done.”

“Good for you and your justifications,” Etch said. “Now, how about telling me why? Sixteen months of prep and five months of infiltration. That’s how long it took me to get in on that game. A game that would have led to an invitation to the private rooms upstairs. Chief, I was about to shut down the largest illegal tile game in the galaxy.”

“Not quite,” Chief Lu’Tes’Tu said. “There’re a couple ones that are larger, which is why we needed you out. I’m sending you to one of those games. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Etch asked and looked at the comm console, having no sense of time in the detention center.

It was almost midnight galactic standard time. That explained the empty comm bubbles. Public defenders weren’t dedicated enough to work at midnight. Not for petty gambling scum clients.

“Tonight,” Chief Lu’Tes’Tu answered. “I have a shuttle waiting which will take you to a GV ship parked next to one of the out-of-the-way wormhole portals. Too many tourists by the other portals.”

“Fuck tourists!” Etch shouted then took a deep breath. “Sorry, Chief…”

“Understandable,” Chief Lu’Tes’Tu responded. “I know this is hard, but everything will be explained when you’re in a secure environment. Which means I need you to do one more thing for me, GVD Knowles.”

“What?” Etch asked, one hundred percent sure he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Only way we can get you out right now without raising suspicion is a medical emergency,” Chief Lu’Tes’Tu said. Her implication hung there for a couple of seconds. “Knowles?”

“Which inmate is jumping me?” Etch asked finally.

“Not an inmate. The guards,” Chief Lu’Tes’Tu said. “That way none of the other inmates can decide to join in. It’s going to hurt, Knowles. A lot. I am sorry.”

“I better be getting a bonus for this,” Etch said as he leaned the back of his head against the cool surface of the plastiglass bubble. “At the very least, a few extra vacation days.”

“I’ll put in for the bonus and you can consider the vacation days approved,” Chief Lu’Tes’Tu said. “Once your next op is completed.”

“I figured,” Etch said. “Anything else I need to know before I get the Hells kicked out of me?”

“You’ll be fully briefed on the ship,” Chief Lu’Tes’Tu said. “I am sorry for this, Knowles, but when you hear what is happening, you’ll understand.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I will,” Etch said then killed the comm.

As soon as the signal went dead, four guards entered the comm bubble room. Etch slid the bubble open and stepped out to face the guards.

“We doing this here or when we get back to the cell?” Etch asked.

“The cell,” one of the guards said. “Witnesses make it more believable.”

Etch looked the guards up and down and quickly realized they were not standard detention center employees. They held themselves like trained operators and it was with that realization that Etch believed Chief Lu’Tes’Tu.

It was going to hurt. A lot.

“Fine,” Etch said and allowed himself to be led back to the holding cell.

On his way, he was marched past the other holding cells and couldn’t help but notice a rage-faced Cassa Wickens tracking him as he was escorted the cell she was in. Etch also couldn’t help but notice as Cassa drew a finger across her throat then pointed at him.

Etch gave her a “yeah, yeah, you’re gonna kill me, so what” nod and roll of his eyes. Cassa spat against the energy shield that kept the prisoners in their cells. The sizzle of her spit echoed in Etch’s ears as he was shoved along for a few more meters before he was back at his holding cell.

“You gotta resist,” the lead guard whispered as part of the cell’s energy shield dissolved to make a tight entryway. “Make it look real.”

“Not a problem,” Etch replied quietly right before he whirled around and slammed his forehead into the lead guard’s face.

Except that face was covered by a riot helmet energy faceshield. Etch’s head exploded with pain and he stumbled back into the cell’s energy shield which had instantly reformed as soon as he had made his move. More pain exploded in Etch’s head as the back of his skull, and the hair on it, began to sizzle from contact with the energy shield.

“Come on, you bastards!” Etch roared as he struggled to get his bearings. The holding cell corridor swam and spun in his vision. Etch tried to shake it off, but it only made the disorientation worse. “I said…come…on…”

He stumbled forward and was instantly stopped by five stun batons impacting various parts of his body. To Etch’s credit, he remained upright through the initial attack. But once the guards began to work on his hips and legs, he was down on the ground in the blink of an eye. They kept wailing on him well after he was completely incapacitated.

The last things Etch heard were two of the guards laughing as he lay there and flopped like a fish out of water, the voltage from the stun batons still working through his body. Then he went still and someone suggested they get a medic. There were quite a few cat-calls and laughs from the holding cells, but not as many as there normally would have been and not with as much enthusiasm as bored beings liked to muster when there was finally some action to watch.

As Etch drifted into unconsciousness, he wondered just how bad he looked. If he looked as bad as he felt, then it was no wonder the laughs were few and far between. No one wanted to jinx their situation and end up like him.

Black cotton filled his ears and occluded his vision and Etch welcomed the relief. A nice rest sounded great at that moment.

5.

Sixteen hours in the med pod was what it took to get Etch patched up enough that he could function fully yet still look like he’d been beat to all Hells. The medic in charge of his recovery made it very clear that orders were to keep him looking rough, so when they reached their destination, Etch’s cover story would hold up under scrutiny.

It was that cover story that Etch was learning about as he sat in the ship’s mess and gobbled his third bowl of extra sweet protein mush. Seated across from Etch was an annoyed looking human. She watched as half of what Etch tried to scarf up fell back into the bowl.

“You know the synthesizer can always make more of that shit,” Galactic Vice Division Operations Manager Lieutenant Angie McDade said. “How about you slow down before you choke to death and ruin this entire op, Knowles?”

“Bite me,” Etch said around a mouthful of mush. “Hungry.”

He glanced up and gave her a sarcastic smile. Angie rolled her deep-set, pitch-black eyes and leaned back in her chair.

In her late forties with shock white, close-cropped hair, Angie McDade did not look like the person you gave a sarcastic smile to, but Etch couldn’t give a crap. Dressed in cargo pants and a tucked-in, sleeveless T-shirt, Angie crossed her muscular arms over her chest and tried to look as intimidating as possible. Again, Etch couldn’t give a crap.

“What?” Etch asked after a satisfying belch. “You got something to say, so say it.”

“You’ve been deep too long,” Angie stated. “Chief should have pulled you from the field after your last op was complete. She should not have ruined the op in order to put you into an even more strenuous situation.”

Etch shrugged. “We all have our opinions. I just do what I’m told.” He belched again, looked down at what was left in his bowl, belched a third time, then shoved the bowl away and sighed. “How strenuous of a situation are we talking?”

“This’ll be your last undercover job,” Angie said. “This one will burn you. Chief will have to put you on investigations only, not operations, from here on out.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t tell me jack shit about the op itself,” Etch said. “Stop trying to mind fuck me, McDade. Play me straight here.”

“Play you straight,” Angie echoed then laughed bitterly. “You’re sounding like a scumbag.”

“It’s my job to sound like a scumbag,” Etch said. “If I sound like you, then the marks will know I’m not legit and I’ll end up spaced or buried up to my neck in B’flo’do spunk. The head of the gambling ring on Ballyway likes to take out snitches and cops that way. He laughs the whole time the sorry son of a bitch is being dissolved alive. Hells of a way to go.”

“Never understood the ops on Ballyway,” Angie said. “It’s an Eight Million Gods damn gaming planet. Billions of tourists a year get to gamble all they want and bring trillions upon trillions of credits and chits to that planet. There’s gonna be some under the table, so to speak, gaming going on. Let it happen. Waste of GV resources, if you ask me.”

“Did I?” Etch replied. “Because I didn’t. You’re shitting on years of my life, McDade. I worked my ass off to get where I was. And you want to know why? Because the head of the gambling ring likes to dissolve his problems away. That doesn’t happen in the legit casinos. Murder, off-books prostitution, illicit stim running, kiddie porn, you name it, that guy had a tentacle in it.”

“Tentacles? Oh, yeah, he was Groshnel. Right,” Angie said.

“And every time some dumb tourist crosses his path, they end up either permanently disabled or simply disappear,” Etch said. “That’s bad for business. The Galactic Fleet has to ensure that planets can operate safely or there’s no point in being part of the Fleet accord. Planetary administrations would be better off joining up with the Skrang Alliance. That bunch of lizards isn’t any better than the crime lords, but at least they’ll protect their assets with military might. We pay a high price for freedom, McDade.”

“Holy shit, Knowles,” Angie replied and laughed. “You drank all the propaganda juice when you were a kid, didn’t you?”

“Some of us have pride in our government,” Etch said.

“Hey, I have pride,” Angie said and leaned forward, resting her arms on the mess table. “I also have a decade and a half more experience in this job. I’ve watched overzealous detectives like you take that pride straight to the grave.”

“Then why do you do this job?” Etch asked. “Seriously. After the War ended between the Galactic Fleet and Skrang Alliance, you could have retired. You were a Tier Seven Master Sergeant. That pension ain’t too bad.”

“I’m here because the War never ended, Knowles,” Angie said. “It simply went underground. The Skrang are backing half the criminal syndicates in this galaxy. I want to take those sons of bitches down and make the Skrang hurt and keep on hurting. It’s a galactic economic war now, Knowles. Kick them in the bank accounts is how we hurt the Skrang.”

“Fine. Your motivation is whacked, but your dedication is solid,” Etch said. “Good. That’ll help keep me alive. Now, talk to me about the op.”

“First, you need to know, and this is not my call, I’m only co-manager on this,” Angie said. “I’ll be splitting the job with a GVD on Jafla base.”

“Jafla Base? Where the Orb fights are?” Etch asked, perking up. “I fucking love the Orb fights.”

“Yes, we know,” Angie said wearily. “Everyone in headquarters knows. We’ve all been cornered by you during championship fight season. You don’t shut up about the Orbs.”

“Have you ever watched a fight? Brilliant shit, McDade,” Etch said. “I get to see one live, yeah? If you are sending me into Jafla Base and I don’t get to see a real, live Orb fight, then I swear I will turn and join the first syndicate that will hire me.”

“Don’t joke about that shit,” Angie said. “And, yes, you will probably see quite a few Orb fights. Although, how you can stand those, I don’t know. It’s mortal combat. Fighters die, Knowles.”

“Only at the top levels,” Etch replied. “Lower-class fights are to unconsciousness or dismemberment.”

“Fuck me…” Angie muttered and shook her head. “I think the chief is making a mistake by sending you in.”

“Why am I being sent in? And what am I supposed to be investigating?” Etch asked. “Gambling is pretty dialed in on Jafla base.”

“It was,” Angie said and pinched her wrist then flicked her palm up and out so a holo display projected from her hand and over the mess table. “Shava Stem Shava. CEO and ordained ruler of the Orb fights was killed almost two years ago which has left a nasty power vacuum on that planet.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Etch said. “Some bounty hunter took him out over a job gone wrong, right?”

“That’s the rumor,” Angie said. “Don’t know for sure. Bounty hunters are Fleet Intelligence Service jurisdiction. But, yes, pretty sure that’s what went down. What also went down is the lieutenants in Shava Stem Shava’s regime immediately started selling off their own niches and territories to the syndicates. It’s hot, contested real estate since nowhere on that planet except the base is inhabitable. You get outside that environmental dome and you’re breathing dirt and sand for the last few seconds of your life.”

“Stay inside the dome. Got it,” Etch said.

“Chief picked you because gambling is dialed in on Jafla Base, like you said, except that means the majority of the betting is no longer legit. Someone with your tile skills will fit in perfectly,” Angie explained. “With your new rep of surviving a beat down by GF detention center guards, and winning a small legal settlement which puts more than a good amount of credits in your pocket, you should be able to work your way into one of the top tile games on the base.”

“But tile games have to be small nuts on Jafla,” Etch said. “The action is in the Orb fights.”

“Which gives you something to work towards,” Angie said. “You parlay your performance at the tile tables into a meeting with someone that can get you into the inner circle of off-books Orb betting. Once you’re in that circle, then you’re where we need you.”

“Because…?”

“Because we don’t care about off-books Orb betting,” Angie said. “We care about the other business that’s going on. The abduction and trafficking of beings for the sex trade.”

“Prostitution? That’s legal on Jafla, right?” Etch asked. “Why do the syndicates need to traffic beings? I’d think there would be plenty of young, dumb, down on their luck losers to fill that niche.”

“There are,” Angie said. “But legal prostitution is highly taxed and regulated on Jafla because of the close quarters everyone lives in. All that base needs is a breakout of Jesperian herpes and half the population would be sick by the end of the year. Not because they’d be spreading it through sex, but because there are half a dozen races that have DNA strong enough to modify the herpes virus and turn it into an airborne pathogen. We go from a recreational hazard to a full-blown epidemic in a matter of weeks.”

“Okay, so?” Etch asked. “The local Squad can’t handle that? I’d think the Galactic Fleet’s Health and Being Services Department would be locking that down, not Galactic Vice.”

“That was the plan,” Angie said. “But things got out of hand a year ago. Someone was bringing in captives at a rate that was overloading the Fleet’s ability to monitor. They called in the local GV Squad for some assistance. Then it got messy. Jafla PD lost a tactical team and the Squad lost a good detective. It was a setup that was supposed to send a message to butt out. Which the Jafla Squad has done for the past year as they work their contacts to find out who ordered the killings.”

“And have they?” Etch asked. “Or is that why I’m here?”

The spinning holo image of Shava Stem Shava was replaced by an even uglier image of a heavily scarred Slinghasp. Slinghasps were a snake-like humanoid race known for their industriousness and penchant to be workaholics. The one that glared out of the holo certainly looked like he’d been working his scaly ass off for a long time.

“Theff Gants,” Angie stated. “He’s been positioning himself to take over for Shava Stem Shava. Problem is no one legit will take him seriously. Everyone knew Shava Stem Shava was a syndicate stooge, even though he ran his own small empire with the Orb fights. But even with the syndicate knowledge, Shava Stem Shava had gonads and he built the Orb fights into the galactic phenomenon it is. Gants doesn’t have that rep to boost him up, so all the legitimate galactic money that Shava Stem Shava had at his disposal has dried up. Gants is a thug, Knowles. No mistaking it.”

“And thugs will thug,” Etch responded. “If he can’t be taken seriously by legit organizations and institutions, then he’ll transition Jafla Base into a scumbag paradise and get rid of all legal pretense. I get it. Seen it happen on a few other planets. It gets messy fast. Any other assassinations of Jafla PD or GV Squad personnel?”

“Nothing major,” Angie said. “Which makes us think that something big is going to come down soon. Your job is to get close enough to Theff Gants so you can either implicate him one hundred percent in illicit activities or…”

Etch waited for Angie to finish, but she didn’t.

“Shit, Angie, I’m not a cleaner,” Etch said. “That’s Fleet Intelligence Service black book shit. FIS are more than free to get their hands wet, if that’s what’s being asked. I’ll put pieces in place to nail Gants, but no way am I taking him out myself.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Angie said. “Don’t forget, the asshole killed a GVD. He went after us first. Chief is in agreement on this, Knowles. If the situation warrants it, you are authorized to use deadly force. And there will be very few to almost no questions asked afterwards.”

“Fuck…” Etch said and groaned. He tapped his temple. “I’m a thinking man, not a trigger man.”

“That’s debatable,” Angie replied. “About the thinking part.”

Etch mumbled and grumbled to himself for a few seconds then nodded. “Fine. The job is the job. I’ll put my all into this since you say after this op I’m burned and everyone will know Etch Knowles is a Galactic Vice Detective. Final glory for Etch Knowles, galactic scumbag, before I’m put out to pasture behind a desk.”

“Do I look like I’m behind a desk, Knowles?” Angie asked. “You make this op work and you’ll get promoted up the ladder faster than everyone else. You won’t see that desk for long.”

“Great,” Etch said, not sounding like he meant it in any way. “Alright, we have a target objective. Now, who the Hells has the brass gonads to claim co-manager with you? That’s gonna be a headache and a half, McDade. For me and for you.”

“No shit, Knowles,” Angie replied.

6.

“S’lunn!” a reedy voice screeched from the back office in the Jafla Base Galactic Vice Squad headquarters floor of the Jafla Base’s local galactic affairs municipal building. “Dammit, S’lunn! Get your ass in here!”

Tipo S’lunn slowly pushed up from his desk and turned to stare at the enraged Spilfleck that stood in the office’s doorway. Spilflecks were one of the upright lizard races of the galaxy known for their prominent neck frills. The being’s neck frill at that moment was fully enlarged and framed the man’s angry face like a gray-green saucer.

“S’lunn! Don’t just stand there! Get your ass in my office! Now!”

“Yes, sir,” Tipo replied, ignoring the looks of apprehension that the rest of the detectives were shooting his way as he slowly walked his way past desks and tables until he stood before the pissed-off Spilfleck. “Sir?”

“Where are you supposed to be right now?” Galactic Vice Squad Captain for Jafla Base, Kazparnan Jorg, asked, sounding like he knew exactly what the answer to his own question would be.

“Right here, sir,” Tipo replied with a wheeze as he scratched at the scarring on his face and neck. One nostril of his proboscis was completely collapsed and the other side looked like it was barely open. “I can’t meet this Knowles guy at the docking hangar or his cover will be blown.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Jorg nearly shouted. “You think I don’t know that? I do know that. Which is why GVD Knowles and his manager—”

“Co-manager, sir,” Tipo interrupted.

Jorg’s neck frill expanded even further and darkened to a forest green.

Tipo took a deep breath and said, “Sorry. Please continue, sir.”

“They’re going to be at safe house number three,” Jorg continued. “That’s your rendezvous for face to face meets. You were told that in the briefing. If you want this job, which I’m Eight Million Gods damn crazy for letting you talk me into, then you better get your shit stowed and head screwed on straight. Move your ass and get to that safe house now before they arrive.”

“That’s not the plan, sir,” Tipo said.

“Yes, that damn well is the plan!” Jorg shouted. “I made the plan! That is part of it!”

“Co-manager McDade and I decided we’d meet on our own somewhere else,” Tipo said. “Once we’re on the same page, then she’ll set up the first meet with Knowles. We’ll establish protocols from there.”

“I didn’t clear any of that,” Jorg said, stunned by the revelation. “Who do you think you are going over my head?”

“I didn’t, sir,” Tipo said. “McDade insisted on it and she has GV Division Chief Lu’Tes’Tu’s blessing to go with her gut on this op. I’m not stepping in front of that, sir. I already played it hard getting the co-manager position.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Jorg said and looked like he was going to spit on the floor. But he lowered his voice. “You screw this up and you’re done. We’re both done. I’m not talking just in the GV.”

“Well aware, sir,” Tipo said. “Not going to screw this up. I’m doing this for Xew, sir.”

The captain’s face flinched then softened somewhat at the mention of the deceased detective. Somewhat.

“Get out of here, S’lunn,” Jorg ordered.

“Sir, I’m still waiting for contact from McDade,” Tipo said.

“She has your comm signature,” Jorg stated. “She can call you wherever you are. For now, get out of my sight. Seeing you just pisses me off.”

“Yes, sir,” Tipo said and nodded to Jorg then turned on his heel and went back to his desk to collect his coat, badge, and pistol. He put them on, ignored the furtive looks from his colleagues, and got out of there as Jorg had ordered.

He was down on the ground level of the municipal building, halfway across the lobby, when his comm chimed.

“GVD S’lunn,” Tipo answered.

“Tipo?” a quiet voice asked. “Are you busy?”

Tipo stopped in his tracks, glanced around, then hurried over to a corner of the lobby where he wouldn’t be eavesdropped on.

“Mess’a? What’s wrong?” Tipo asked.

“It’s a bad day, Tipo. Bad dreams again. Those dreams,” Mess’a Tikk responded, sounding like she was a million miles away. With the amount of stim she was doing, Tipo was surprised she could work her comm. “I miss him, Tipo. Can you come by?”

“Not right now, Mess’a,” Tipo said. “I’m working.”

“Always…working…” There was silence for a long while. Tipo was used to the silences. Then, “Tonight? I’ll make dinner…”

“Sure, if I’m not working late,” Tipo said. “I’ll comm you. Don’t worry about dinner. If I come over, I’ll pick up something so you don’t have to cook.”

“I can…work a stove…” More silence.

Tipo waited for a couple minutes until he heard the light snores coming from Mess’a’s end of the comm. He killed the signal and closed his eyes. They weren’t closed for more than a couple of seconds when his comm chimed again.

“Mess’a, listen, I’ll come by tonight no matter how late,” Tipo said. “We need to talk about—”

“Who’s Mess’a?” a woman asked.

Tipo started then swiped at his wrist to see who was calling. Lt. Angie McDade.

“Shit. Sorry about that,” Tipo said. “I thought you were a friend.”

“Wait… Mess’a Tikk? Your late partner’s wife?” Angie asked over the comm. “Shit, S’lunn, how messed up are you on all this?”

“I’m not messed up; she is,” Tipo replied. “Have you landed, McDade?”

“I technically can have you call me Op Manager Lt. McDade, you know?” Angie said.

“Never gonna happen, man,” Tipo said.

“Didn’t think so,” Angie replied. “And, yeah, I landed and am at some dive bar. Shitty beer and shittier prices, but everyone looks like they want to mind their own business.”

“What’s the name?” Tipo asked.

“Hold on. I have a coaster here,” Angie said. “Pitcher’s. What in all the Hells does that even mean? Is it because they have pitchers? Or is someone’s name Pitcher?”

“I know it,” Tipo said.

“That’s not encouraging,” Angie replied.

“Sit tight and I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Maybe thirty depending on traffic,” Tipo said. “Can’t take a GV roller or I’ll be spotted pulling up. I’ll use a taxi, but they are notorious for gouging riders by taking the long way.”

“Good to know,” Angie said. “See ya in thirty then.”

“Try not to drink the place dry,” Tipo said. “You’ll end up with the shits for a century if you drink too much of that swill.”

“Is the liquor any good?” Angie asked.

“No,” Tipo said. “See ya in thirty.”

He killed the comm and hurried from the building. It took him a while to find a taxi that would pull up to the municipal building since most of the commercial transport rollers were controlled by one of the syndicates and they had strict orders to bust cops’ gonads.

Once Tipo did get one to stop, he initiated a masking protocol so the driver couldn’t report who was in the taxi. Tipo got a hard glare in the rearview mirror, but he returned the glare equally as hard until the driver pulled away from the curb.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“Mesker District,” Tipo said.

“Got a specific address?” the driver asked.

“Yeah, but I’m keeping it to myself,” Tipo snapped. “Get me to the Mesker District. That’s all you need to do and all you need to know.”

“Whatever, pal-o,” the driver said and pretended to ignore Tipo for the entire ride even though Tipo was well aware of the fact the man was trying every few minutes to pierce the masking protocol so he could score some brownie points with one of the local hoods.

Tipo smiled and closed his eyes so he could grab some rest while he had time to spare. Tipo’s gut told him the new job, and Mess’a’s issues, were going to make sleep hard to come by for a long while. Get it while you can was what he’d learned in the Fleet Marines. That applied to almost every category of life, but especially sleep.

He sighed as he thought of the mess he’d gotten himself into. Co-manager with Lt. Angie McDade was not going to be easy. It certainly was not the move he’d wanted to make, but he didn’t have a choice. The choice had been made for him and he was along for the ride.

Tipo only hoped that ride didn’t end up killing him.

7.

Dive bar was a kind description when it came to Pitcher’s.

A door barely on its track; walls coated in decades of dust on grease on dust on grease and so on; the stink of unwashed beings stewing in their own juices and pickling in cheap liquor and even cheaper beer; an even stronger stink of multi-racial piss; and a bartender that looked like he was a serial killer on his days off.

Angie sat there and glared at the bartender as the being, a pock-marked Groshnel with stim burns on half his tentacles, glared just as hard back at her. Angie downed her beer, shivered, and held up the empty mug. The bartender snorted, scratched at one of the burn marks, proceeded to light a stim stick, took a long drag which filled his entire body with smoke, and poured another beer from a tap that looked like it had more layers of crust on it than the walls.

“Here ya go,” the bartender snarled around his lit stim stick. He inhaled deeply again and his skin flashed different colors for a moment before he leaned away from the bar and closed his eyes. “Come and get it.”

“You aren’t bringing it to me?” Angie asked.

The bartender didn’t answer, too lost in his fresh stim haze to bother.

Angie smirked and got up. She walked to the bar and picked up the beer mug. The handle was sticky and it wasn’t from the liquid currently occupying the drinking vessel.

“Gonna need a week in a med pod after this,” she mumbled to herself as she walked back to her tall table and stool. She stopped before she got more than two feet. A Shiv’erna was sitting there, waiting. “You better be S’lunn.”

Tipo nodded and eyed the mug that Angie was drinking from. “You did hear me about not drinking that shit, yeah? How many have you had?”

“Six,” Angie said and walked steadily to the table then raised an eyebrow. “You’re in my seat.”

“There’s another stool right there,” Tipo said, nodding at the opposite of the table.

“Nope,” Angie said. “That one faces the door.”

“I know,” Tipo said, not budging.

“This how we’re going to start things?”

“Listen, man, I didn’t want a co-manager on this op,” Tipo began, but Angie held up a hand and he stopped.

“Neither did I,” she said. “This is my op. Until you wormed your way in. Don’t know who owes you a favor, but they pulled the right strings and took this from Division and split it with your Squad. I’m all for intradepartmental cooperation, but you don’t poach someone’s op like this, S’lunn. This is going to bite you in the ass one day.”

“You going to do the biting?” Tipo asked then waved a hand. “That wasn’t a come on. Just need to know if I’ve made an enemy or not. I wasn’t trying to poach anything, man—”

“Don’t call me man.”

“—but this op is personal. Xew was my mentor and friend. Best partner a GVD could ask for. No one will partner up with me now. They think I’m either bad juju or I was on the take and had something to do with Xew’s death.”

“And the death of the Jafla PD tactical team,” Angie said.

“Them too,” Tipo said. He pointed at his face and the scarring that disfigured more than half his features. “Do I look like someone on the take? The only reason I didn’t die is because I’m Shiv’erna. The smell of that barge was about to knock me off my feet. I was bent over retching like a rookie when the barge blew.”

Tipo patted his mangled proboscis.

“Don’t have to worry about smells now,” he continued. “This baby is useless, man. I couldn’t smell a fart if my schnoz was halfway up someone’s ass.”

“Feel lucky,” Angie said. “That means you can’t smell this place.”

“I’ve been here before. I know what it stinks like,” Tipo said.

“Now that we have that all worked out, how about we talk business?” Angie said, still standing, still glaring, still eyeing Tipo’s stool.

Tipo sighed and stood up, offering the stool to Angie. She set her beer on the table and took back her seat.

“Thanks,” she said. She shifted on her stool and fixed Tipo with a hard look. “Retching like a rookie. Weren’t you a rookie a year ago when that barge blew?”

“No,” Tipo said. “I wasn’t. But I’m the newest in the Squad, so I’ll be the rookie until we get an actual rookie to take the name from me.” Tipo sighed. “And they still might call me rookie. None of the other GVDs like me worth a shit.”

“Not a people person?” Angie asked.

“Not a take shit from assholes person,” Tipo said.

“We have that in common,” Angie responded and smiled. She sipped from her beer. “Talk to me about Gants. You really think he’s the guy that ordered the bombing?”

“Think? Man, I know,” Tipo said.

“I said not to call me man,” Angie snapped.

“I call everyone man. Except for the captain. I call him sir. Everyone calls him sir or he goes ballistic.”

“But he’s a baby nuft at heart, right?”

“No, he’s a total asshole. He has three settings: pissed off, really pissed off, and homicidal. If you ever meet him and he stops yelling at you, then run. Odds are he’s about to slit your throat.”

“Nice Squad you work in. Co-workers that hate you and a captain that hates everyone. Why stay on Jafla, S’lunn? You were wounded in the line of duty and lost your partner. You could have had the pick of the galaxy for assignments. Why let that window of sympathy close and stay in this craphole?”

“You can probably guess,” Tipo said.

“What? Mess’a Tikk? Your dead partner’s wife?” Angie asked. She drank half her beer, winced, then downed the rest. She held up the empty mug and said, “Don’t make me come over there, barkeep. Or I will rip those nasty tentacles off and shove them in your air sacks.”

“Fuck off,” the bartender replied, but began pouring a new beer.

“Should have you go undercover,” Tipo said. “You fit in nice around here.”

“I come from rough stock,” Angie said. “This place would have been a haven growing up.”

“Damn.”

“And I’ve paid my UC dues. This pretty face is burned in underworld circles. I couldn’t go undercover if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

Tipo shrugged and nodded.

“Mess’a Tikk,” Angie said. She waited as the bartender shuffled over, set down the fresh mug, grabbed the empty one, glared hard at her, then turned and shuffled back behind the bar. “You two getting it on?”

“Me and Mess’a? Shit no, man,” Tipo said. “Shiv’erna and Groshnel aren’t exactly compatible.”

“Beings always find a way,” Angie said and shrugged.

“No, Mess’a is a friend and that’s all,” Tipo said. “I thought about leaving Jafla, but she fell apart and I’ve been the only one she can rely on since Xew died. Her friends bailed on her since none of them approved of her marrying a GVD anyway.”

“Not a cop-loving people here on Jafla?”

“Not a decade older than her, out of shape, or GVD loving people here on Jafla,” Tipo said. “At least not her friends. They never approved of her marrying Xew and ditched her as soon as they could. I was all that was left to keep her from eating the business end of a laser pistol.”

“Wouldn’t have done much,” Angie said. “Punched a hole in her cerebral membrane, but she would have bounced back. You gotta use plasma blasts or explosives to take out a Groshnel.”

Tipo glared.

“Shit. Sorry. That was a horrible thing to say,” Angie said. “Okay, okay, you stuck around to help your partner’s wife get through her grief. She still grieving?”

“She’s worse,” Tipo said.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

They sat there for a few seconds. Angie was about to start speaking again, but a horrible noise from her guts made her eyes widen and she began to hurriedly look around the bar.

“Told ya,” Tipo said, unable to hide his smug grin. “Far corner.”

Angie rushed from the table and towards the far corner where she saw the faded sign for restrooms. She threw open the door, rushed inside, slammed the door, and locked it tight. Then she popped a pill for her gut, took a couple deep breaths, relaxed, and activated her comm.

“McDade,” a wizened voice replied over the comm. “Progress?”

“I think so, Chief,” Angie responded. “S’lunn looks to be legit. If he’s on the take with Gants, then he’s either the greatest actor in the galaxy or he’s such a psychopath that even the best analyst would fail at profiling him. The guy really does want revenge and justice for his dead partner. He also wants justice for his dead partner’s wife. That seems to be the main motivation.”

“They screwing?”

“Groshnel and Shiv’erna.”

“Beings find a way.”

“No, I don’t think they are. The guy is young and still has part of his heart intact. The job hasn’t taken it all yet.”

“Careful. The ones that still have beating hearts tend to act first and think second.”

“I’m having to work with Knowles, Chief. I’m very aware of that type of personality.”

“Knowles does more thinking than you know, McDade. Don’t underestimate him. He will come through in ways you didn’t think possible.”

“I Eight Million Gods damn hope so, Chief. Because this op could ruin all our careers if we get it wrong. The Collari syndicate has a far reach. We make one wrong step and they’ll have their paid-off stooges in the Fleet bury us.”

“Now you’re thinking like me. You think you can do this without us all going down?”

“I do.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then do it. Set up the meet between S’lunn and Knowles. Make this op work and let’s take down the Collari syndicate on Jafla.”

“Copy that, Chief. I’ll comm you when I can, but it’s going to be few and far between. Gotta lot of work to do.”

“Understood. Weekly reports would be nice, but comm-in only when it’s safe. If I don’t hear from you after three weeks, then I send in a recovery team.”

“Copy. Gotta go.”

Angie cut the comm and washed her hands. She splashed water on her face and neck, pinched her cheeks so it looked like she’d been straining hard, then unlocked the door and left the bathroom.

When she saw the table, she stopped. Tipo was no longer alone. Instead, there were two Gwreqs and an Urvein towering over where he sat. All three of the beings screamed stim junkies and their twitchy behavior pretty much confirmed Angie’s assessment.

She sighed and began to walk towards the table, but, without looking back at her, Tipo lowered a hand and waved her off. She changed course and found a shadowed booth where she could take a seat and watch whatever was about to go down.

8.

“You is an ugly one,” one of the Gwreqs said.

Gwreqs were a stone-skinned, four-armed, humanoid race that were built of muscle and aggression, averaging about seven feet tall. The one that spoke was easily seven and a half feet tall, but lacked a good amount of muscle definition due to the unfortunate stim habit the being was obviously beholden to.

Tipo glanced at the second Gwreq, but that being was so checked out that even though he was a good deal heavier, and even taller, than the first Gwreq, Tipo figured he could take the guy out with one hard swing.

The Urvein, on the other hand, was a different matter.

Even strung out on stim, Urveins were dangerous. Gwreqs were certainly dangerous, too, but their metabolism didn’t process stim the way Urveins’ metabolisms did. Despite multiple patches of mange on the huge being’s coat—and the being was huge at just under three meters tall—the Urvein’s musculature was actually more defined on stim than if he’d been a healthy, happy, productive member of Jafla Base society.

Tipo understood that, so he angled his body to be ready for the attack from the Urvein over any attack from the Gwreqs.

“You got the scoots in your pants?’ the first Gwreq asked. “Why you shifting, ugly?”

“How about you move along, man,” Tipo said. “I don’t want trouble and I know you don’t want trouble.”

“You’re in our seat,” the second Gwreq screeched.

Tipo’s eyes widened at the high-pitched voice that came out of the being’s mouth.

“You got a bit of a squeak there, man,” Tipo said. “You should have that looked at.”

“Cop punched me in the throat,” the second Gwreq said. “Hurt.”

“I bet it did, man,” Tipo said. “Listen, I’m here with someone and she’s about to come back. How about I give you guys some credits and you go buy a few drinks on me? You can sit over at that table instead.”

“This is our table,” the first Gwreq said, looking confused, enraged, and a little like he was going to throw up.

“Chits,” the Urvein said, his voice a deep, dangerous rumble in his chest. “Chits.”

“Don’t have chits on me,” Tipo said. “Credits are good here. The bartender will set you up with credits, no problem.”

“Chits,” the Urvein repeated.

“Yeah, yeah, chits,” the second Gwreq squeaked. “We need chits. They don’t take credits on the corner, ugly! They don’t take credits!”

“Don’t have any chits on me,” Tipo said.

“Hey, baby,” Angie chirped as she shoved past the Gwreqs and wrapped her arms around Tipo’s neck then gave him a huge kiss, her cheek shoving his proboscis to the side so she could get to his lips. She pulled away then flashed a brilliant smile at the three junkies. “Did I hear you say you need chits? Oh, I have chits in my roller out back.”

“You got chits?” the first Gwreq asked, his eyes narrowing. “Out back? Out back where?”

“The alley,” Angie said. “That’s where I parked my roller. A girl has to be careful when she has thousands of chits stashed in her vehicle, am I right?”

“Honey, maybe you shouldn’t have said that,” Tipo muttered.

“Chits,” the Urvein said and clamped a hairy paw on Angie’s shoulder. “Now.”

“You bet, you furry lug,” Angie said and extricated herself from the grip. She walked off then turned and looked back over her shoulder. “I’m not bringing the chits inside a place like this. If you want some, then you’ll have to come with me.”

Tipo watched the junkies try to figure out what to do. It was a very confusing situation all around. The Urvein finally made the decision for them and pushed the Gwreqs out of the way so he could follow Angie towards the back of the bar.

“Hey! Where you going?” the bartender shouted.

“Just doing a little business,” Angie called back. “Pour me another?”

The bartender glanced at Tipo, who shrugged and nodded his head at Angie. The bartender shrugged back and poured the beer.

Tipo got up once the Gwreqs decided they’d follow their pal who was walking so close to Angie that Tipo lost sight of her behind the being’s massive bulk. With undetected ease, Tipo slid his pistol from its holster and kept it down and pressed close to his thigh. He gave a brief glance at the rest of the bar, but the few patrons there were focused on their own misery and not even close to glancing in his direction.

The strange party reached a back hatch door and Angie whirled the wheel then shoved the hatch open out onto the alley that stood behind half the establishments on that block. She walked out like she didn’t have a care in the world. The three junkies followed her.

Before Tipo could step outside, Angie caught his eye and gave a quick shake of her head. He paused and waited just inside the hatch.

“Where the roller?” the first Gwreq asked.

“Down there. Behind that incinerator bin,” Angie said and pointed to the darkest part of the alley. “You guys go on down and I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”

Tipo almost started laughing. Why would she make sure the coast was clear if they were her chits? The junkies were so fried in the brain, and used to being sketchy, that they didn’t even think twice. In their lives, someone always had to make sure the coast was clear.

Once the party of three was a few meters away, Angie hurried back to the hatch and inside the bar. She slammed the hatch closed and spun the wheel, locking it tight.

“They’re going to come back,” Tipo said. “Through the front door. And they’ll be pissed.”

“They aren’t coming back,” Angie said. “Not when they get to the roller.”

“Whoa, what?” Tipo exclaimed. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “There’s actually a roller?”

“Yeah. How else did you think I got here?” Angie asked.

“I didn’t think about it,” Tipo said. “Why would you send them to your actual roller? Please tell me there aren’t chits inside either.”

“Better,” Angie said and held up a finger. She cocked her head like she was on the comm then said, “Yes, I’d like to report my vehicle stolen, please.”

“All the Hells,” Tipo muttered as he took a step back and leaned against the wall. “You are something, man.”

“Yes, officer, I rented a roller and it has been stolen,” Angie continued. “Where? I believe it is called the Mesker District.”

Angie rolled her eyes then winked at Tipo.

“Oh, well, no one told me that. Now that you mention it, it certainly does not seem like a nice area of town, no.”

She paused and tapped her foot.

“I parked it in front of a bar called Pitcher’s and now it’s gone. I thought I saw it turn the corner. Or maybe it wasn’t a corner but an alley. Is there an alley behind the bar?”

Another pause, more foot tapping. Tipo was starting to enjoy the performance.

“Oh, no, I didn’t go looking. I’m back at my hotel now. I took a taxi.”

Angie snapped her fingers. Tipo mouthed the words, “Hotel Voc.”

“Hotel Voc. I’m checked in under Spollo,” Angie continued. “Mags Spollo. What was that? Oh, yes, you can reach me at this comm signature. Thank you, officer. I certainly hope you find the roller. I didn’t opt for the travel insurance and I simply can’t afford to lose it.”

She smiled wide and nodded.

“Exactly. Silly old me. Of course. I’ll be waiting to hear back. Thank you.”

She killed the comm and grinned at Tipo.

Tipo grinned back, nodding, and said, “And why did we just go through all that terpigshit?”

“Time to get the op started,” Angie replied as she walked back towards the table. “The opportunity presented itself and I took it.”

“The opportunity to…what? Have three huge junkies mess up your rented roller? Because that’s what’s about to happen. They are going to tear through that vehicle from stem to stern. Nothing will be left of it.”

“I don’t care about the roller. It’s disposable. The chief will understand when I expense it.”

“Listen, man, I’m trying to follow, but you are not helping me out here. What in all the Hells is going on?”

“Popping Knowles’ Jafla cherry is what is going on,” Angie said as she sat down and sipped her beer.

“Excuse me?” Tipo asked as he sat down too. He eyed the beer. “You sure your body can handle more of that?”

Angie didn’t respond to the question. She simply sipped the beer until it was gone then got up and walked out of the bar. Tipo cursed and followed her.

When out on the sidewalk, Angie slowed so Tipo could catch up. As soon as he was walking next to her, she looped her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder for appearances.

“We need a meeting place,” Angie said. “Not one your Squad knows about. No safe houses.”

“You really think there’s a mole?” Tipo asked, shifting his body so he leaned in closer to Angie in order to make the facade of them being a couple look more real. The few folks out on the sidewalk barely gave them a second glance. No one in Mesker cared about appearances or facades.

“I don’t know, but until I do, I plan on keeping all details of the op off your Squad’s books,” Angie said. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Tipo said. “I’ve always wondered if there was a mole.”

“Good. So, where should we meet that no one will be watching?” Angie asked.

Tipo snorted and glanced up at the gray sky that swirled outside the environmental dome far, far above.

“I know a place. No one from the Squad will go anywhere near it,” Tipo said.

“Great. Tell me that address and I’ll pass it on to Knowles,” Angie said. “Once he’s done with the mess he’s about to get into, then he can arrange to meet us there. Probably going to be a couple of days, though.”

“I thought I was meeting with him today,” Tipo said. “And what mess?”

“The mess of three junkies who are going to be really pissed off when they find a tile hustler in that roller instead of chits,” Angie said. “Well, they’ll find chits because Knowles has a bankroll he’s supposed to use, but I have a feeling he’s going to lose that bankroll.”

“Are you shitting me?” Tipo cried.

That got some notice from passersby and he winced as Angie dug her fingernails into the flesh of his arm.

“Calm down,” Angie said. “Knowles is a pro at this. I’ll call him and give him a heads up.”

“You better call him now,” Tipo hissed. “Those guys are going to kill him.”

“I’m on it,” Angie said.

9.

“Yeah, they’re here, asshole,” Etch snarled into his comm as the roller shook back and forth from the multiple hits it was taking from the enraged junkies. “What? I can barely hear you. These stim freaks aren’t exactly happy right now.”

“Police are on the way,” Angie said over the comm. “Do enough that they lock you up, but not enough that you do any real time, got it?”

“I know how to weasel into the system,” Etch replied. “A little heads up next time would be nice.”

“No time,” Angie said. “The situation presented itself and I went for it. A little birdie told me that now is the time to put you in a cell. You know how it goes.”

Etch studied the three junkies, his eyes lingering on the Urvein.

“Gwreqs won’t be a problem, but the big hairy son of a bitch isn’t going to go down easily,” Etch said as he reached under the seat and pulled out a Blorta 22 laser pistol.

“No weapons,” Angie said. “Keep that Blorta I brought hidden in the roller. You’re going to have to get out and handle this hand to hand.”

“Fuck me, I am!” Etch shouted.

The junkies shouted back, spitting curses at Etch and telling him exactly which parts of his anatomy he was going to lose if he didn’t open the roller and give them the chits.

“Knowles, this has to look real,” Angie said.

“I already look real!” Etch shouted. “We made sure I didn’t fully heal so I could look as real as possible!”

“Now you’ll have new bruises to go with your old ones,” Angie said. “Shows you can take a beating and get back up for another.”

“I don’t want to get back up for another,” Etch said. “Eight Million Gods, McDade. These guys are going to tear me apart.”

“You got this, Knowles,” Angie said. “Wait until you hear the sirens then get to work. The Jafla PD will arrive before you can get too hurt.”

“That’s hardly a scientific assessment of this shit show,” Etch said.

“Sorry. It’s what we have,” Angie said. “You get thrown in the clink and then you can do what you do best.”

“Yeah. Great. Just wonderful,” Etch said. He took several deep breaths. “Then what?”

“Memorize this address,” Angie said then repeated an address five times. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Etch replied as he put his hand on the door’s handle. “Could be a week or two before I can meet up.”

“I know,” Angie said. “So make that week or two count.”

“Got it,” Etch said. “Going to go now. Time to get my ass handed to me.”

“Hand them their asses too or the cops won’t arrest you,” Angie said.

“Really? I didn’t think of that,” Etch said then killed the comm.

He opened the door and was instantly yanked from the roller and thrown across the alley.

“Look for the chits!” the Urvein yelled as he forced his bulk into the front of the roller.

The Gwreqs ripped open the rear doors and began ransacking the back seat.

Etch picked himself up out of a puddle of something that certainly wasn’t water and looked up and down the alley. One way in, one way out. Incinerator bins here and there. Trash everywhere. Not a weapon in sight.

Not that Etch needed an external weapon to do some damage.

Razor-sharp claws extended from the tip of each finger as Etch rolled his neck, cracking the vertebrae loud enough to get the first Gwreq’s attention.

“Where the chits?” the first Gwreq yelled as he yanked himself out of the back of the roller and started stomping towards Etch. “Give us the chits or we kill you, you little…”

The Gwreq paused and looked Etch up and down.

“What is you?” the being asked.

“Tile player by trade,” Etch said.

“Found them!” the Urvein whooped and nearly destroyed the roller’s frame as he pulled back out of the vehicle. He held up a small case. “Chits!” The Urvein glanced in the case and frowned. “Not many chits.”

“That’s my bankroll,” Etch said. “I was going to try to get in on—”

“Don’t care,” the first Gwreq said as he swung a stone fist at Etch’s head.

Etch ducked and swiped at the Gwreq’s belly. His claws raked across the being’s stone-like skin and made several deep gouges, but didn’t draw blood. Piercing a Gwreq’s skin was a job for a plasma blaster, not Cervile claws.

But it did cause the Gwreq to panic and back away, his bloodshot eyes staring down at the gouges.

“You cut me,” the Gwreq said, stunned.

“Where the rest?” the Urvein shouted as he rushed towards Etch and the confused Gwreq. “Where more chits?”

“I don’t have more,” Etch said, widening his stance as he slowly stood upright. He angled his body to give the Urvein the smallest target possible. “That’s all I brought.”

Etch looked at the roller and frowned.

“Your friend going to be okay?” Etch asked.

The Urvein and the Gwreq turned like idiots. It wasn’t a total feint. The second Gwreq had gotten his shoulders wedged in the rear door frame and was thrashing about like a nuft in a trap, so there truly was something to look at. But Etch didn’t care if there was an actual distraction or not, he only needed the junkies to turn around. Which they easily did.

The sound of sirens filled the air and Etch struck.

Both hands swiped back and forth, over and over, the claws digging past Urvein fur to draw a good amount of blood. The Gwreq only ended up with a few more sets of gouges, but that seemed to unsettle the junkie enough that he cried out with each hit and leapt out of Etch’s reach.

The Urvein did the opposite. He spun about and charged Etch at full speed.

Etch was lifted into the air and flying across the alley once more before he realized the Urvein had even reached him. Junkie or not, the Urvein was still an Urvein.

Pain exploded in Etch’s back as he collided sideways with the back wall of Pitcher’s. He landed in a crumpled heap and screamed as one of his claws snapped off against the muck-coated plasticrete ground. Etch didn’t have time to look at the wound. The Urvein was on him again and Etch took yet another flight across the alley.

The sirens were louder and three rollers sped past the mouth of the alley.

“No… Here,” Etch grunted as he struggled onto his hands and knees.

Then he was being lifted up by the back of the neck, turned about, and was face to stinking face with the Urvein.

“Where more chits?” the being snarled.

Etch gasped at the smell that came from the Urvein’s mouth. A quick glance inside the being’s maw revealed a severe lack of fangs. That was a positive. An Urvein’s canines could tear through steel alloy; they would have ripped Etch apart like butter.

“No…more…chits,” Etch gasped.

More flying.

The back of Etch’s head collided with the alley wall and his vision dimmed as he slid to the ground. He tried to stand, but his legs and arms did not feel like coordinating and he only ended up falling over onto his side, his cheek landing in a pool of muck that smelled surprisingly like berries. Etch knew the pool was not berry juice, but he didn’t quite have the capacity to extricate himself from the muck.

The Urvein did it for him.

Once more, Etch was heaved into the air and face to face with the being.

“Chits!” the Urvein roared.

“Freeze!” a voice shouted.

The Urvein appeared confused. His eyes looked down at Etch’s mouth as if he thought Etch had yelled the word. Then something clicked and Etch could have sworn he saw a light come on inside the Urvein’s brain. The being swiveled his massive head on his massive neck and stared down at the six Jafla PD officers that stood there, weapons drawn.

“Put the halfer down!” one of the officers yelled.

“Ah, come on,” Etch muttered. He wasn’t exactly surprised that the first PD officer he encountered was a bigot towards halfers. Most officers were.

“I said put him down!” the officer yelled.

Etch was thrown to the side as the Urvein charged the officers. They fired their weapons over and over, but the Urvein didn’t drop until he was only a meter away from the almost panicked officers.

Etch tried to see the rest of the action, but his landing spot was behind an incinerator bin and he only knew it was all over when the second Gwreq stumbled past, his belly wide open from more than a couple of plasma blasts. The being collapsed a couple feet from Etch, his eyes already glazed over in death.

“Shit,” Etch said.

“Stay where you are,” an officer ordered as he stepped into Etch’s line of sight. “You want to tell me why you’re here, sir?”

Human, Etch guessed, but with greenish skin. Etch gave the officer a nod and started to get up.

“I said stay put!” the officer yelled and Etch realized the officer’s weapon was still drawn. Etch stayed put.

“I was waiting in my roller,” Etch said. “And these junkies came up all of a sudden. They started—”

“That roller?” the officer asked, nodding his head back towards the demolished vehicle. “That one there?”

Three officers were searching the vehicle. One of them straightened up and flashed a blinking holo.

“This is the roller,” the officer with the holo said.

“You were in that roller there?” the officer in front of Etch asked. “That’s what you are saying?”

“Yeah,” Etch replied.

The officer smiled. “Now, how about you put those claws away and stand up nice and slow. Make one wrong move and I put a hole in your chest. Understood?”

“Hey, I was the one jumped here,” Etch said. “Why are you hassling me?”

“That’s not your roller,” the officer said. “It was reported stolen.”

“Oh… Was it? Huh…”

Etch tried not to grin as two other officers grabbed him, spun him about, and put his wrists in restraints. The officers dragged him down the alley towards several waiting patrol rollers. A small crowd had gathered and Etch made sure to keep his head down like he was embarrassed for getting arrested, but not too far down so no one could see his face. He needed his face seen.

He was shoved into the back of a roller and he struggled to get comfortable with his hands behind his back and two fingers throbbing from the pain of losing their claws. Etch closed his eyes and waited out the ride to Jafla Base PD headquarters.

10.

The food wasn’t the worst. It wasn’t the best either. But at least it was compatible with his digestive system. You never knew what crap got cooked up in jail kitchens when the staff was having to deal with a multitude of races and species.

“You gonna eat that carrot?” a Lipian prostitute asked from right next to Etch, her eyes locked onto the very not carrot piece of something that sat untouched on Etch’s plate.

“Knock yourself out,” Etch said, and groaned as he rubbed his chin. “Too tough for me to chew right now.”

“Thanks,” the Lipian said and snatched up the carrot thing. She gobbled it down in two bites then pointed her chin at Etch’s face. “The cops do that?”

“Junkies,” Etch said. “I got jumped in an alley in Mesker District.”

“You were in an alley in Mesker District?” the Lipian asked, wide-eyed.

Honest and inquisitive eyes. They went well with her handsome face. She wasn’t a beauty, but she wasn’t ugly either. Average weight and height with tan skin that was speckled with iridescent spots like many Lipians had. The spots would have sparkled in sunlight, but under the harsh halogen glare in the cell, they simply sat there like tiny, flat discs of dull color.

“No wonder you got jumped,” the Lipian continued. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I’m new on planet and didn’t know Mesker wasn’t such a hospitable area,” Etch said.

The Lipian laughed. Hard.

“Hospitable area!” she guffawed. “Oh, baby, nothing hospitable about Mesker!”

“Yeah. I got that,” Etch said.

“Junkies take everything?” the Lipian asked, eyeing the dried out roll on Etch’s plate. He handed it to her and she beamed with glee.

“Cops got there in time,” Etch said. “Once I’m out, I can get my chits back.”

A few of the other prisoners stopped talking and eating. They turned and glanced at Etch. Then almost simultaneously they burst out laughing harder than the Lipian had before. That time, the Lipian didn’t join in. She gave Etch a sad, pitying look.

Etch sighed.

“I’m not getting my chits back, am I?” he stated.

“Not a chance in all the Hells,” the Lipian responded around a mouthful of roll. “You had a better chance with the junkies.”

“Leave the whore be, halfer,” a Jesperian snapped from across the cell.

Jesperians were a rough and tumble race that looked almost exactly like humans. Eye shape and body proportions tended to set them apart, but most races didn’t see much of a difference. So the Jesperian’s use of “halfer” elicited a few snarky snickers from the rest of the inmates.

“He’s not bothering me,” the Lipian said. “Poor guy got jumped in Mesker District by some junkies then the cops took his chit stash.”

“Probably stolen,” the Jesperian said.

“No, they weren’t,” Etch growled and stood up, his food tray clattering to the floor loud enough to make a few inmates jump and scatter to the edges of the cell. “I earned those chits and they were all I had left.”

“You earned them? Right,” the Jesperian replied with a chuckle. “How’d you earn them? I hear you’re in here because you stole a roller. You steal rollers, but earn chits like some legit member of society. Sure. That’s exactly what happened.”

“Never said the chits were legit,” Etch responded as he flexed his fingers. His pupils thinned to almost imperceptible black slits. “But I didn’t steal them.”

“But you did steal that roller,” the Jesperian stated.

“Nope,” Etch said as his claws slid from the tips of his fingers. Except for the two that had snapped off in the alley. The tips of those fingers welled with blood that threatened to drop onto the disgustingly dirty plasticrete floor of the cell. “I haven’t stolen shit since I landed here on Jafla Base.”

“Why are you here?” the Jesperian asked, standing tall as Etch approached him. “Huh? What brings an ugly halfer piece of terpigshit like you to Jafla? What brings you and your maybe not-so-legit chits to the base?”

“You a snitch?” Etch asked. A few of the inmates drew sharp breaths. Other than those noises, the cell went deathly quiet. “You’re asking a lot of questions. Most folks stick to themselves in jail. Stay out of other people’s business. Why do you want to know so much about me? Huh? The cops paying you with those tacos you Jesperians love so much. Why do you call them tacos? They aren’t food, just some nasty drug dust that gets your kind high as the moons.”

“You’ll want to watch what you say, halfer,” the Jesperian snarled as Etch drew closer. “I won’t tell you again, scumbag. You don’t know shit about the ways of Jesperians.”

“Sure I do,” Etch said. “You’re a race of junkies. That simple. Maybe you know the assholes that jumped me? All junkies know each other, right?”

“I’m confused,” the Lipian said, sounding like she’d worked the last few of her brain cells into overdrive. “Are you mad at him because he’s Jesperian or because he’s a junkie? Or because he called you a halfer? I can’t keep up.”

“Shut your mouth, whore,” the Jesperian spat.

“I’m not mad, just puzzled,” Etch said.

“That’s like being confused,” the Lipian said, looking proud of herself for understanding what synonyms were.

“Close,” Etch said. He was almost within arm’s reach of the Jesperian. “Puzzled is more like not being able to figure out the answer. There’s a difference.”

“Who fucking cares?” the Jesperian shouted. “Why are we listening to this halfer piece of terpigshit?”

“Because they all want to know if I’m right,” Etch said, stepping right up to the Jesperian so the two men were almost nose to nose. “They want to know if you’re a snitch.”

The two faced off for several seconds before the Jesperian laughed weakly and gave Etch a soft shove. Etch took two steps back and shook his head.

“That’s not a denial,” Etch said as he backed away then turned and sat down next to the Lipian. Etch fixed the Jesperian with a hard gaze. “Snitch.”

The Jesperian’s eyes were filled with fear. He tried laughing it off as he looked around at the other inmates, but no one would look him in the eye.

Except for one.

A Leforian. Female by the size and shape of her chitinous exoskeleton, although it was always hard to tell. Leforians were a mammalian insect race with dual skeletons. One internal, like most humanoid races, and one external, like an insect. Leforians had four arms and the general appearance of a friendly Great Dane dog, if that Great Dane had mated with a massive Dung beetle.

Generally, Leforians were a mild-mannered race that were affectionately referred to as “moms” because they naturally tended to worry a lot about their allies. They were fierce and loyal fighters, and very effective in combat due to being close to seven feet tall.

The Leforian woman that stood up and started walking towards the Jesperian did not look mild-mannered. And no one was about to call her Mom.

“Strip,” the Leforian said, her quad-jawed mandibles clicking with obvious anger. “Drop those pants and take off that shirt.”

“No way,” the Jesperian said. “I’m not stripping. Not in here with you lot. More than one of you is a fiddler, that’s for Eight Million Gods damn sure. Not letting you get your rocks off by looking at my naked skin.”

“Strip or I strip you,” the Leforian said.

“Not a chance in all the Hells!” the Jesperian shouted then spun about and began banging on the cell’s wall. “Guards! This crazy bitch Leforian wants to rape my ass! Guards! Get me out of here!”

“You’re not really gonna rape his ass, are you?” Etch asked as the Leforian passed by him.

The Leforian hissed. That was all the response Etch got, so he shrugged and leaned back against the wall.

“This isn’t good,” the Lipian said.

“Probably not,” Etch said.

The guards didn’t arrive in time.

The Leforian grabbed the Jesperian by the throat and lifted him up off his feet. With her other arms, she tore the man’s clothes away as he tried to fight her off, but it was obvious he was fighting to breathe more than he was fighting to stay dressed.

Naked and almost choked out, the Jesperian fell to the floor as the Leforian suddenly let him go. She kicked his clothes out of the way and towered over him as he coughed and spat, his eyes watering and filled with pain.

“Arms up,” the Leforian ordered.

“Come…on,” the Jesperian gasped. “This shit is nuts. Why are you listening to a halfer piece of—?”

The Jesperian didn’t get to finish as his mouth met the Leforian’s right foot. Teeth shattered, lips split, blood flew.

Every inmate except for Etch turned away at that point. No one wanted to see what was going to happen.

With two of her arms, the Leforian grabbed the Jesperian by the wrists and yanked up. She grinned, her mandibles stretching at a grotesque angle.

“Do you see it?” the Leforian asked, not looking at anyone specifically. Etch knew who she was talking to.

“Yeah,” Etch said, daring to look. He stood back up and walked over to the Jesperian then knelt down and studied a small, bruised looking lump in the man’s left armpit. “Standard bug. Cops are probably listening right now to see what extra crap they can get on all of us.”

Etch stood up and slowly, carefully patted the Leforian on the left arm that had a hold of the Jesperian’s right arm.

“You should let him go,” Etch said. “Guards will be here soon to bail his worthless ass out.”

The words had barely left Etch’s mouth when a yellow light began flashing in the cell as a thick, bluish mist descended from the ceiling.

“Or they could just gas us,” Etch said before falling over unconscious just like everyone else, including the Leforian, in the cell.

11.

Etch stood outside the Jafla Base PD headquarters and glanced up at the filtered light that came down in strong, sparkling streams from the far-off dome above. He blinked a few times and rubbed at the back of his neck. His mouth tasted like bile from all the puking he did when he finally regained consciousness. The cell floor had been covered in multi-species vomit by the time he’d woken up, so he hadn’t really cared too much that he added to the mess.

Having been moved from ship to roller, alley to holding cell, Etch hadn’t gotten a very good look at Jafla Base after landing. He gave the area by the municipal building a cursory glance. A few eyes were on him, he knew that. Eyes were always on those that left a municipal building. Fleet eyes, local law enforcement of various divisions, small-time criminals waiting for a buddy or waiting for a target, big-time criminals checking to see if they could spot a snitch. Eyes everywhere, so Etch’s perusal of his surroundings was brief.

Tan and beige.

That was what he saw. Buildings made from the local stone and brick. All tan and beige. Etch was positive most of the facades were simply that: facades designed to mimic the color of the planet. Under the brick and stone were frames, girders, and walls made of plasticrete and various metal alloys.

Those beings walking the sidewalks were mostly professionals, but Etch spotted more than a few members of the lower classes. Etch had to consider himself part of that class. Even coming up in the Galactic Fleet then in Galactic Vice, Etch never felt apart from his very humble, and at times brutally meager, beginnings.

The beings hurrying by in business suits and expensive outfits made him uncomfortable. The ones wearing torn pants and stained shirts, the ones that lingered by the street corners and kept glancing at the shadowy areas of buildings and mouths of alleys, those were the beings Etch could relate to. It made undercover work a lot easier.

Rollers of various sizes and shapes rushed by on the street, carrying passengers, cargo, secrets. Etch studied the traffic pattern for a while, trying to get a feel for the flow of the base, but after a few minutes, the vehicles began to blur. The streets of Jafla Base were essentially no different than the streets of any other settlement he’d been on. People going about their lives, completely unaware that death and danger were driving alongside them, walking next to them, standing there in one of those shadowy areas or even on the street corner they were about to approach.

Ignorance was bliss. A bliss Etch mourned the loss of.

Tired of musing on the great mysteries and philosophies of galactic existence, Etch looked left, looked right, patted at his pockets, sighed, then chose a direction and started walking. He had nothing. Other than freedom. That had been easy since somehow the municipal vid surveillance of the area around the bar in the Mesker District had ended up all garbled and corrupt. There was nothing to tie Etch to stealing the roller, which was good since he didn’t steal it and the truth would have blown his cover.

Thank you, McDade, Etch thought as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets and kept walking.

Getting clipped by the cops hadn’t been part of the original plan when they first landed, but Etch knew Angie couldn’t pass up an opportunity. She’d wanted him in that cell, at that time, with those inmates. Etch felt that in his bones. His aching bones.

Having been beaten senseless once then beaten senseless again then knocked out by riot mist hadn’t exactly been rejuvenating. Despite his time in a med pod on the way to Jafla, Etch felt like he could sleep for a few decades and still need a century’s worth of rest after that. Every single molecule in his body ached.

“Where are you staying?” a voice called from almost right behind him.

Etch spun about, claws extended, and nearly slit the throat of the Lipian prostitute. She squealed in fear and stumbled backwards, tripping over her own feet then falling hard on her ass.

“Sorry,” Etch said and retracted his claws. He held out his hands to the Lipian. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I scared you,” the Lipian said as she took Etch’s offered hands so he could help her up. “I knew you were half Cervile. I should have known better. Twitchy kitties…”

Her wide, almost innocent eyes studied Etch’s face.

“What?” Etch asked.

“You don’t seem like a crook,” the Lipian said.

“Thanks,” Etch said with a sly grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it is one,” the Lipian said and stuck out her hand. “Guska.”

“That a name?” Etch asked.

“Yeah, dummy, it’s my name,” the Lipian, Guska, said and giggled. “What else would it be?”

“Just checking,” Etch said as he took her hand and gave it a quick shake. “I’m Etch. Etch Knowles.”

“It is very nice to meet you, Etch Knowles,” Guska said.

She smiled with true warmth and friendliness, but Etch could see the agenda behind her eyes. He couldn’t tell what the agenda was, but he knew she had one.

“Listen, it is nice meeting you too, Guska, but I’m flat broke,” Etch said. He held his hands up to show empty palms. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t afford you right now.”

Guska gasped and shook her head. “No, no, I’m not trying to pick you up. No, not that at all. The cops got your chits, I know that. No, no, I was just trying to see if you were staying someplace already or if you need somewhere to crash until you get back on your feet. Jafla hasn’t been so nice to you, has it?”

“Not really, no,” Etch said and narrowed his eyes, he took a couple steps back. “What’s the hustle?”

“No hustle,” Guska replied, not looking offended at all. “You shared your food with me in the cell. Most people wouldn’t spit on a Lipian let alone give her their food. You were nice to me, I want to be nice to you until you can get up on your feet.”

The agenda was still there, but so was honest sincerity. Etch could see that Guska had something more in mind than simple charity, but his gut told him she actually wanted to help him out. A debate raged inside Etch’s brain for several milliseconds as he wondered if taking Guska up on her offer would be a distraction or if it was the break he was looking for.

Only one way to find out…

“Yeah, I could use a place to crash,” Etch said and pointed his fingers at himself. “But I’m not a freeloader. I can help out with whatever you need helping out with.”

“Since you’re offering…” Guska said carefully.

“Yes?”

“You any good with those claws?” Guska asked, glancing at Etch’s hands. “If someone was hassling me, could you maybe get them to stop hassling me? Flash those sharps you got and scare them with your cat eyes?”

“Depends on how big this being is that’s hassling you,” Etch said. “Gwreq skin is too tough to get through, so if your pimp is a—”

“I don’t have a pimp,” Guska snapped. “You think I would have been locked up if I had a pimp? Nah, all the pimps pay off the local law boys and girls to keep the coochie moving. I’m an independent contractor.”

She said it with so much pride that Etch laughed. He instantly felt bad about it when Guska’s face dropped and she looked away.

“Shit. Sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” Etch said. “You sounded so earnest that it was funny. But funny in a good way.”

“Earnest? What’s that?” Guska asked.

“Shit, I don’t know how to define it,” Etch said. “Uh… It’s like being sincere and eager at the same time. Eagerly sincere? You know what those words mean?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “I’m not stupid.”

“Don’t think you are,” Etch replied.

They stood there in awkward silence until Guska met Etch’s gaze again.

“My landlord likes to break into my apartment during the day when I’m sleeping,” Guska said. She didn’t elaborate.

“What race is he?” Etch asked.

“Dornopheous,” Guska answered, shaking her head. “Mostly. Looks like he has lizard in him, but he’s mostly made of putty. Doesn’t look halfer. More like a quarter or whatever.”

Her eyes went wide.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed and gripped Etch by the biceps. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m not bigoted towards halfers or any mixed race beings.”

“All good,” Etch said as Guska’s grip turned into quick caresses of his arms. Then she let go abruptly. Etch smiled and moved a little closer to her. “So, your landlord is a maybe Dornopheous that likes to come into your apartment uninvited?”

“Yep. Maybe you can show him that’s not a good idea?”

“I can do that,” Etch said. “You sleep during the day?”

She rolled her eyes and cocked a hip.

“Right. Of course,” Etch said. “I have the same schedule. Or did when I had chits. No schedule now.”

Guska hooked her arm in his and pulled him back in the direction of the PD headquarters.

“My place is this way,” she said as she got them walking again. “What do you do that has you up at night?”

“I play,” Etch said. “I have a knack with the tiles. Came to Jafla because I heard there were some solid tile games going on. Last place I played got raided and a few people were hurt bad. Kind of wanted to put some space between me and that place. Start fresh.”

Etch laughed.

“Can’t start more fresh than dead broke, right?”

Guska laughed too and leaned her shoulder into Etch. “Broke is pretty fresh.”

They walked for a few blocks, Etch studying each new area as much as he could without looking like he was casing the neighborhood. Curiosity was normal, a full-on visual scan was suspect. Especially since he knew he and Guska were being followed.

“We have friends,” Etch said after the fifth block. “Maybe we should get a taxi?”

“With what?” Guska asked. “Cops got my night’s haul too. I’m as fresh as you are.”

“Oh, crap,” Etch said. “Sorry. Any idea who is following us?”

“Yeah,” Guska said.

Etch tried to stop, but she pulled on him hard to keep him moving.

“Guska? Is this a setup? Is this just a bunch of terpigshit and all you’re doing is leading me to some new alley where I’ll get my ass handed to me again? I’m not lying about being broke, so this will not be a profitable hit.”

“No, it’s cool,” Guska said. “They’re making sure you’re not being followed.”

“But I am being followed,” Etch said. There was a hint of honest panic in his voice. Etch had to wonder if maybe McDade was having him followed. He hoped not or he might be made for a GVD at any second. “Who are they?”

“They’re good,” Guska said. “And they aren’t the ones to worry about.”

“I worry about anyone that follows me,” Etch said and tried again to stop and turn around. But Guska held tight and kept him moving.

Etch glanced down at her hands and wondered just exactly how strong she was. Before the thought could go too far, Guska said, “Here we are.”

Etch looked up at the sign they stood under: Zhi’s Diner and Rest Area.

“Rest area?” Etch asked.

“Neutral territory,” Guska said. “Everyone knows that if you’re in Zhi’s then there’s no trouble. Zhi’s a great guy, and tolerates a lot, but he won’t allow beefs on his property. Start something and you meet Sham.”

“Sham?”

“Chassfornian,” Guska said like it was no big deal.

“You have got to be shitting me?” Etch said.

Chassfornians were massive creatures. Built like giant mastiffs, but bipedal and at least ten feet tall. Usually with a handler since their default personality was pure rage. Once used as shock troops in the War, they were pretty much turned into pariahs when the fighting ended between the Galactic Fleet and Skrang Alliance since none of the other races wanted to deal with them anymore due to their intense need to kill anything they came in contact with, even supposed allies.

“There’s a Chassfornian in there?” Etch asked. “Screw that.”

“Sham’s good,” Guska insisted. “Unless you start trouble. Don’t start trouble.”

“Don’t plan on it,” Etch said. He looked back up at the sign. “Why are we here? Do you live above it or something?”

“Uh…no,” Guska said and pulled open the door, yanking Etch inside with her.

“Then why are we…?”

Etch let the question drop as he looked quickly about the diner. It was filled close to capacity with beings of almost all known races and species. No one even glanced his way. Except for the Leforian sitting in the corner booth at the far back of the diner.

The same Leforian from the cell.

“Not exactly feeling like this is a coincidence,” Etch said.

“Sorry,” Guska apologized. “She wanted to meet you and she paid me a lot of chits to get you here. A lot.”

“So that staying with you line was a bunch of crap, huh?”

“What? No! You can stay with me. My landlord is a total creeper.”

“This is not cool, Guska.”

“Stop worrying. This is going to be good for you. Especially if you’re good with tiles. That’s what she needs.”

“How would she know I play tiles?” Etch asked.

Guska scrunched up her face then tapped her ear.

“She was listening to our entire conversation over the comm,” Etch said. “Great. She tell you to bring me here before or after she heard I play tiles?”

“She said she wanted to thank you for finding the snitch. Then she said she’d double the chits once she heard you play tiles,” Guska said then smiled as wide as her face would allow. “Come on. This is a good thing!”

Etch agreed one hundred percent, but didn’t say that out loud. It was a good thing. Exactly the good thing he needed and exactly the good thing he knew McDade had hoped would happen by having him locked up in jail.

He squared himself and tried to look like a mix of annoyed, apprehensive, and dangerous at the same time. Guska giggled which didn’t exactly put him at ease. He let her drag him through the diner to the corner booth and the waiting Leforian.

12.

“Order whatever you like,” the Leforian said.

“Can I order your name?” Etch asked.

The Leforian laughed and patted him on the shoulder with her lower left hand.

“They call me Dark,” the Leforian said.

“Dark?”

“Dark.”

“That’s a nickname, right?” Etch asked. “Doesn’t sound very Leforian.”

“Oh? And what does sound Leforian?” Dark asked.

“Uh… Dark is good,” Etch said.

“Yeah. It is.”

Etch waved his wrist over the sensor built into the table and a holo of the menu came up. He studied it for a minute then waved it away. A waitress appeared in half a second, her eyes wide and fearful as she tried not to keep glancing at Dark, but failed miserably.

“What can I getcha?” she asked Etch.

The waitress was Tcherian, a humanoid chameleon race that could alter their skin and scales in order to blend in with any surrounding. Naked, they could become completely invisible. The waitress looked like she wanted to do just that, become invisible.

“How’s the creekle snake burger?” Etch asked. “I had creekle snake back in the day and liked it, but it was locally cooked by this old woman that had probably been cooking creekle snake for centuries.”

“Zhi loves creekle snake,” the waitress said.

“His name is on the place, so I guess he’d know,” Etch said. “I’ll take a burger and whatever starch of the day. I don’t care what it is. And tea. Hot.”

“Hot tea? With a burger?” the waitress asked.

“The man asked for hot tea,” Dark said. Her voice was calm, almost soothing, but the waitress nearly jumped out of her skin. “Get the man hot tea.”

“Whatever is handy,” Etch said. “I’ll drink any tea.”

“Creekle burger with mash and hot tea,” the waitress said, repeating the order so the comm would relay it back to the kitchen. “That’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“Tea now,” Dark said.

“When it’s not a bother,” Etch added. “Thank you…”

The waitress looked down at her chest and frowned. “Oh, I must have left my name tag back on the counter.”

She hurried off without giving her name.

“I didn’t get to put in my order,” Guska said.

“No. You didn’t,” Dark replied and turned to stare at the Lipian.

Guska squirmed for a bit then scooted out of the booth, straightened her clothes, and nodded towards a set of doors.

“Gonna pee and make some calls,” she said like it was the best idea she’d ever had.

Etch waited for her to go then leaned forward and smiled at Dark. It was a weak smile, a fake smile, intended to show faux confidence.

“Guska said this was neutral territory,” Etch said. “There’s a Chassfornian in the back or something to keep the peace here. But that waitress sure didn’t think you were going to stay peaceful. You had her pissing her britches.”

“That’s her problem, not mine,” Dark said.

“You’re not worried about the Chassfornian? What’s his name? Sham?”

“Sham only comes out if it is truly necessary,” Dark said. “When fools throw down and try to fight it out here in the diner. Just being me is not offense enough to warrant Sham making an appearance.”

“You must be well known, and not in a good way, if that waitress was so scared of you,” Etch said.

“Are you scared of me, Etch Knowles?” Dark asked. “Are you afraid this is all a setup and I plan on having you killed?”

“This is all a setup, but I don’t think you want me dead,” Etch said. “Guska told me you doubled her finder’s fee once you heard I play tiles. Why’s that?”

“I’m in need of a tile player,” Dark said. “Among other things. Do you do other things? Or are you simply a one trick nuft?”

“I have quite a few talents,” Etch said, but didn’t elaborate.

“You said back in the day,” Dark said. “What day would that be? Galactic Fleet? You infantry? Marines? Intelligence, maybe?”

“Why maybe?”

“You don’t carry yourself like ex-Intelligence,” Dark said and snorted. “They never get rid of that smug attitude like they know all the secrets of the universe.”

“No shit,” Etch said and snorted too. “Stuck-up bastards.”

“So…?”

“Marines,” Etch said. “Galactic Fleet Marines, Punch Division.”

“Demolitions? Impressive.”

“Some demolitions. Not much,” Etch said. “That’s a myth that Punch allowed to grow. Our job was to come at the enemy lines sideways and punch a hole in their defenses. Make a leak in the seal, so to say. We used explosives here and there, but mostly it was us and our H16s refusing to give up, give in, or die.”

“I admire that,” Dark said. “A never-quit attitude will get you far in life.”

“Maybe,” Etch said and shrugged. “So far it has gotten me to Jafla Base and into jail.”

“You’re not in jail now,” Dark said.

“Only because the surveillance infrastructure in Mesker District is subpar,” Etch said. “In other words—”

“You got lucky,” Dark finished for him. “Don’t knock luck, Etch. Luck is your best friend, especially when playing tiles.”

“I’m more a skill guy than luck guy at the table,” Etch said.

“Luck helps.”

Etch shrugged again. “Can’t argue with that. Luck does help.”

The waitress arrived with the tea and was gone before the cup and saucer were barely on the table.

“Why were you in the holding cell?” Etch asked as he blew the steam from the cup and stared across the table at Dark. “I get the impression you don’t get picked up for little shit around here. Not sensing a petty crook vibe from you, Dark. What’s the story?”

“I had you brought here so I could ask the questions,” Dark stated.

“Plans change and life is chaos,” Etch replied.

Dark smiled.

“No, really, why were you in the holding cell?” Etch asked, sipping his tea. He winced. Still too hot. “And how did you get out faster than me? They dumped my ass pretty damn fast, but you were here waiting for me.”

“I was in there to prove a point,” Dark said.

“The Jesperian snitch?”

“The Jesperian snitch. He’s far from the only one, but I showed that entire holding cell how and where to look if they suspected a plant was in with them. Helps keep the chatter and rumors from being whispered too much in those cells.”

“All you need is one set of loose lips to think they’re talking safely because comms are jammed in holding cells and days, weeks, months of planning goes to shit.”

Dark nodded. “Now you get it.”

“Couldn’t you send one of your underlings? I assume you have underlings.”

“I have underlings.”

“Why not send one of them to make the point?”

“Because I was sent to make the point.”

Etch’s eyebrows rose.

“We all have our bosses, Etch Knowles,” Dark said as she turned her head and watched the waitress approach with Etch’s food. “My boss wanted me to make the point personally so word would spread that much faster.”

The waitress set the plate down, but before she could retreat, Dark grabbed her by the wrist. A few heads in the diner turned, but quickly looked the other way.

“I’ll have a burger too,” Dark said. “Extra rare. No side. No condiments. Burger and bun. That’s it. Can you handle that, Tortia?”

The waitress gasped and looked like she was going to cry.

“It’s your third week,” Dark said. “I learn all the new waitstaff’s names by the end of their first week. You don’t have to keep taking your name tag off every time one of us comes in here.”

“I don’t… I…” Tortia stammered so hard that it looked like she was having a small seizure in her jaw. “I don’t know what…you mean.”

“Lie to me again and that son of yours won’t make it home one day after school,” Dark said and let go. “Burger. Extra rare. Bun only. No side.”

Tortia nodded over and over as she rushed out of the dining room and back into the kitchen.

“That’s not gonna bring out Sham?” Etch asked.

“Probably not,” Dark said and relaxed into the booth seat once again.

“Huh,” Etch said and took a bite of his burger. He paused, looked down at the food, then grinned so wide that half of what he’d just put in his mouth almost came tumbling out. “This is fucking good.”

“Everyone loves Zhi’s,” Dark said.

Etch finished chewing and set the burger down. “Why am I here? You wanted to ask me questions, so ask.”

“You built yourself a solid reputation in the middle-level games,” Dark said and held up two hands. “Don’t ask how I know, I just do. I have people that learn things for me when I needed things learned fast.” She tapped at her left earhole. “They have been catching me up.”

“Okay. Fair enough. Yeah, I have a solid rep in the mid-level games. I was close to getting a rep in the upper games, but shit went down and I lost that momentum.”

“Bad bust,” Dark said. “Good friends.”

“Excuse me?” Etch asked, about to take another bite. “What does that mean?”

“You survived a serious beating by the cops,” Dark said. “That’s something right there. Then you get set free and manage to hustle some legal credits out of the authorities too? Who were you blowing to make that happen?”

“The cops were wrong to bust that joint,” Etch said then rolled his eyes. “Well, they were right to do it, but they handled it all wrong. PR nightmare for Ballyway politicians since a couple of the dead ended up being spoiled rich brats from families that had a lot of political pull to make life miserable for those responsible. I happened to catch some crumbs from the fallout, that’s all. Didn’t have to blow a single being.”

“Lucky you,” Dark said. “Again.”

“No, not luck,” Etch said, a hard tone in his voice. He watched with pleasure as the tone made Dark tense. “Like I said, I lost all my momentum. Did I get a chunk of credits out of it? Yes. Credits I cashed out at a loss for hard currency. Currency that is now in the hands of the Jafla Base PD. Not feeling too lucky when all my chits are gone and now it doesn’t matter what class of tile game I want to play in because I’m not playing shit without any Eight Million Gods damn chits!”

Dark’s eyes widened and she leaned back, crossing all four arms.

“Not luck,” Dark said. “Gonads. Big ones. They might be taking all the blood that’s supposed to go to your brain, though.”

“Oh? And why the fuck is that?” Etch snapped.

“Because talking like that is one way to end up getting shoved in a barrel of acid and dissolved away into nothing,” Dark said. “No one will mourn you because there will be nothing left to mourn.”

Etch took his bite, chewed, swallowed, took another bite, chewed that, swallowed that, then set the rest of his burger down. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, wadded that up, and threw it on the table as he stood.

“Thanks for the burger,” Etch said. “I assume it’s on you since you know I can’t pay.”

Etch waited.

“Yeah, the burger is on me,” Dark said.

“Great. I appreciate it. I feel bad for not eating it all, especially since it is damn fantastic, but I think it’s time for me to go. Have a good one, Dark. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

“Sit your ass down, Knowles,” Dark said. “We aren’t done talking.”

“I am,” Etch said.

He turned to leave, but saw the doorway at the front of the diner blocked by four thugs of various races. None of them were under six feet and all of them weighed twice what Etch did.

“I have a feeling I’m about to meet Sham,” Etch said over his shoulder to Dark.

“Sit down, Knowles,” Dark said. “I mean it. They won’t make trouble inside here, but they will make trouble once you leave.”

“Oh, I plan on making a lot of trouble inside here,” Etch said. “I’m about to crap myself thinking of coming face to face with a Chassfornian again, but I don’t play for people that threaten to kill me.” He nodded at the thugs. “And since I’m going to either get the shit kicked out of me yet again or I’m going to end up in one of your acid barrels, I might as well play the Chassfornian card.”

“Tile,” Dark said.

“What?”

“Chassfornian tile,” Dark said. “You play tiles, not cards.”

“It’s an old expression,” Etch said.

“I know. But I want to keep you focused on the job at hand which is you playing tiles for me,” Dark said. “Please sit down, Etch Knowles. I’m sorry I threatened you.”

Etch turned slowly, reluctant to put his back to the thugs, but he needed to portray the size of gonads that Dark expected him to be carrying. Etch had to admit that they were huge gonads. Had to be in GV undercover.

“Don’t hear apologies like that much from your lot,” Etch said. He hesitated as Dark stared at him. Then he sat down and pulled his plate back to him. “Give me your pitch.”

“Thank you,” Dark said. “The pitch is this…”

Dark talked for close to an hour and Etch listened to every word. All the while, Etch had to keep himself from freaking out. Dark was offering him exactly what he needed and it took all his strength not to grin like a kid opening birthday present after birthday present.

Guska appeared almost on cue when Dark and Etch shook hands and the meeting was over.

“Ready to go?” she asked, all chipper smiles and wiggling hips. “I am beat and really need to take a sonic and get some sleep before tonight.”

“You’ll contact me when the first game is ready?” Etch asked Dark.

“I’ll have someone pick you up tonight,” Dark said. “You’re on the payroll as of this second. Be ready.”

“I’m always ready,” Etch said.

“I see that,” Dark replied.

Tortia appeared with Dark’s burger on a bun only. She’d been waiting by the counter to deliver it, obviously afraid to interrupt Etch and Dark’s conversation. Dark didn’t even glance at the waitress as she picked up the burger and began to chow down, hunks of meat and bun falling from between her clicking mandibles. Tortia retreated as fast as possible.

“My place is tiny, so we’ll have to share the bed,” Guska said, escorting Etch away from Dark’s table and out of the diner. The thugs had sat back down and gave Etch the hard stare the entire way. “You don’t mind sharing a bed, do you?”

“No. I don’t mind,” Etch said. He’d have slept on broken glass and loved it, he was that pleased with how the meeting turned out. “We’ll make do.”

“We sure will!” Guska chirped.

13.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch every time,” Mess’a said as she brought a mug of hot caff over to Tipo who was stretching and working the kinks out of his everywhere. “There’s plenty of room in—”

“Couch is fine, Mess’a, thank you,” Tipo said, taking the mug from the less than healthy looking Groshnel. “How’d you sleep?”

“Great,” Mess’a said, avoiding eye contact with Tipo. “Like a baby.”

“Liar,” Tipo said. He sipped the caff and grimaced.

“Too hot?” Mess’a asked.

“Nope. Just perfect,” Tipo said.

Mess’a took the mug right out of his hands and sipped from it. She cried out and dropped the mug, two of her tentacles going to her mouth. “It’s freezing! Oh, dear, I must have hit the wrong setting on the cooker. I was trying to heat it up and I turned it into slush!”

She lost it. Completely lost it. Her invertebrate body folded in on itself and she collapsed to the floor, falling next to the dropped mug and puddle of caff ice that had plopped out onto the carpet.

“Mess’a, please,” Tipo said as he knelt to comfort her. “It’s a cup of caff. Not something to worry over. Easy to fix and easy to clean up.”

“Clean up!” Mess’a wailed as she jolted and took several deep breaths to solidify her body. She was up and scrambling towards the kitchen of the apartment. “That is going to stain! The carpet was new! Xew and I bought it just before he…”

She made it to the kitchen before collapsing again. Tipo sighed and rushed to get her back up standing again. He walked her over to the counter so she could lean on something solid while he opened lower cabinets in search of a sonic scrubber or some sort of cleaning device. He found a sponge and an unlabeled bottle of pink spray.

“Someone comes and cleans,” Mess’a said between sniffs and sobs. “I never was good at that. Made Xew laugh because he grew up cleaning every square inch of his house for his parents.”

“He did know how to get a stain out,” Tipo said and laughed, hoping it would be infectious. It wasn’t. Mess’a only sobbed harder. Tipo left the sponge and spray. He took Mess’a by the shoulder area and guided her from the kitchen. “How about a quick lie down?”

“I just got up!” Mess’a shouted and shoved him away. “I do not need to lie down!”

“You need something,” Angie said from the couch, one leg crossed over the other. She nodded at the floor. “That’s gonna leave a mark if you don’t get to it.”

“What in all the Hells, McDade?” Tipo shouted. “How did you get in here?”

Angie gave Tipo a look like he’d asked the dumbest question ever in the history of dumb questions. Then her eyes shifted to Mess’a.

“This is the widow that has you all twisted up, huh?” Angie asked and shook her head. “This does not look like a healthy relationship, S’lunn.”

“Tipo? Who is this ugly woman?” Mess’a asked.

“Ugly? Sweetheart, that is not how most folks describe me,” Angie said as she stood up and offered her hand. “Angie McDade. Harsh. Brash. Uncouth. Possibly a psychopath. But never ugly. Got the notches on my bedpost to prove it.”

“What does that mean?” Mess’a asked Tipo. “Notches on a bedpost?”

“It means she gets laid a lot,” Tipo said.

“Bingo,” Angie said. She lowered her hand when Mess’a didn’t take it. “Listen, I’m sorry about barging in, but I needed to chat with S’lunn. He gave me this address.”

“You gave her my address?” Mess’a asked.

“She works with me,” Tipo said. “We needed a safe place to meet without Squad interference.”

“The Squad knows where I live,” Mess’a stated. “They know you come here.”

“True,” Tipo replied.

Mess’a half-sighed, half-whined. “And none of them will come by because they don’t want to face me. They all think I’m crazy.”

Mess’a pushed Tipo away gently and moved towards the hallway.

“Where are you going?” Tipo asked.

“To lie down like everyone wants,” Mess’a said. “You two talk. Maybe you can figure out what happened to Xew…”

She shuffled down the hallway and was lost from sight as she entered the bedroom. The door clicked shut and the lock engaged, echoing down into the living room.

“Sure she isn’t going to off herself right now while we talk?” Angie asked.

“No, McDade, she isn’t going to off herself right now while we talk,” Tipo replied. “Shit, man, you are cold.”

“I told you not to call me man,” Angie said.

“And I told you I call everyone man,” Tipo responded. “Sit down and let’s get to work. I expected to meet with you a week ago. What’s up? What have you heard from Knowles? And when in all the Hells am I going to meet him face to face?”

“The first couple questions I can answer,” Angie said as she sat back down. “My little ploy of having Knowles locked up paid off. He’s shacked up with a Lipian whore and already got himself a nice job working for some Leforian captain in Gants’ outfit.”

“Leforian? Knowles got in with Dark?” Tipo whistled. “Damn. Okay, your guy is good. Usually it takes a while for a tile player to work up to meeting Dark. She is not just some captain, McDade. She’s one of the top employees in Gants’ outfit.”

“That’s what Knowles is telling me,” Angie said. “She has him working the tile establishments, feeling out which spot is full of cheats and which spot is obviously raking more in for the house, and skimming that extra, instead of passing it all on to Gants.”

“That’s it?” Tipo asked and huffed. He sat down and slumped into the couch cushions. “Dark made him a duck hunter?”

“I’m sorry, a what?” Angie asked. “Duck hunter?”

“Duck hunters are sent in to find the lame duck,” Tipo said. “They find the cheaters and skimmers and morons that think they can get away with ripping off Gants or anyone that works for Gants. Duck hunter is a nowhere job, McDade. Your boy is in criminal limbo. He does his job well and Dark won’t want him to leave that position. He sucks at it and we won’t find his body unless the exact acid barrel he’s stuffed into falls out of the cargo hold of the next trash barge leaving the base.”

“Duck hunter. Interesting. Never heard that term,” Angie said. “We always called them snake charmers or plumbers. You know, because they fix the leaks.”

“On Jafla, they’re called duck hunters, so get used to the term,” Tipo said.

“I could use some more terms,” Angie said. “Might help me understand the way things work better if I know the local slang.”

“Figure that out on your own time. I’m not a scumbag tour guide. You want to learn the slang? Hang out in Mesker District again.”

“I have been. It’s highly entertaining.”

“Can we get on with this?”

“You can put that broken nose of yours back in place, S’lunn,” Angie said. “Knowles isn’t locked in to the duck hunter job. Dark is intentionally grooming him to move up into the bigger, better games. Right now, this is the audition. If he can handle winning at tiles while also sussing out who the lame ducks are, then that proves that Dark can trust him to take down some of the whales that come to play tiles here on Jafla.”

Angie eyed Tipo for a second then grinned. Tipo frowned at the grin.

“What?” he asked.

“You don’t know shit about how tile games work, do you?” Angie asked. “You know what a whale is?”

“I know what a whale is,” Tipo said. “Rich mark that can get taken for everything.”

“Wrong,” Angie said and sighed. “Let me explain it. A whale is a rich mark, yes. But you can never, not ever, take a whale for everything. You do that and they don’t come back. In fact, you have to let whales win the majority of the time.”

“Win? What’s the point of that?” Tipo asked.

“Eight Million Gods,” Angie said and rubbed her face. “You need to branch out from sex trafficking, S’lunn. Learn the other vices better.”

“Then learn me, man,” Tipo said.

“You let the whales win, but not in a big way,” Angie said. “They get their small victories. Lots of small victories. Then they lose big. The loss is so big that it makes up for the previous wins. But not so big that it pisses off the whale so they never come back to the game. It is a razor-thin line to walk and you have to have the table under complete control.”

“All the players work for Gants?” Tipo asked.

“No, not even close,” Angie said. “Maybe two. Never more than three, but even that is a risk. Ideally, it’s only one player. The one that wins big, but makes it look like it’s his lucky day, not a setup from the start.”

“Knowles is that good?”

“Why the fuck do you think I’m here, S’lunn? Yes, Knowles is that good. And he’s having to prove he’s that good by playing at duck hunting until Dark moves him up to the next level. Then once he’s proved himself there, he gets moved to the next level, and the next, and so on until he’s sitting across from the exact whale that Dark, and more importantly Gants, wants him to be sitting across from.”

“That could take months,” Tipo said. “Then Knowles has to parlay that into getting in on Orb betting. That’s where the real high rollers are. And those are the rollers that all these people are being trafficked into Jafla Base for. These assholes have appetites that turn beings into disposable pieces of trash. They go through them like napkins.”

“Oh, I know,” Angie said. “Now, here’s the good news. Ready?”

“Sure,” Tipo said. “I could use some good news, man.”

“Knowles isn’t going to have to get in on the Orb betting,” Angie said.

“Do what now?” Tipo asked. “Hold on. The plan was to—”

“Calm down, Detective S’lunn,” Angie said. “This is undercover. The plan changes all the time with undercover. Follow the path of least resistance.”

“What in all the Hells does that mean?”

“Knowles says he has a better way, a faster way, to get the intel we need on the shipments of captive sex workers. Two better, faster ways. He thinks that he can get into that side of Gants’ business by sticking with the tiles the entire time.”

“What if he’s wrong? We’ll have wasted months for nothing!” Tipo snapped.

“Am I gonna have to restrain you, S’lunn?”

“No. Sorry. Keep talking.”

“The Lipian whore he’s living with. Knowles got her a better gig within Gants’ outfit. She didn’t have a pimp, and she still doesn’t, but Knowles made it a point to get her a job working the tile joints. She doesn’t work the ones he does at the same time, which is good because then he can quiz her when they meet up back at her place once the sun comes up. He says that she is pretty quick on the uptake, although not exactly smart.”

“Street smart,” Tipo said. “She knows how to survive which means she’s observant.”

“I understand street smarts,” Angie replied. “Thanks for the lesson.”

“How long are we looking at here?” Tipo asked.

“As long as it takes, but Knowles thinks this will cut the duration of the op in half,” Angie said. She scrunched up her face and exaggerated like she was thinking hard. “Probably less than a year. Might be more, but he’s thinking a year.”

“A year!” Tipo exclaimed and jumped to his feet. “Xew died over a year ago! You want his widow to wait another year before we can take Gants down for that? No. No! We’re co-managing this op, McDade. And my co-authority is saying Knowles has to move that schedule up by several months!”

Angie started laughing but quickly stopped.

“Seriously?” She stood up to face him. “It takes as long as it takes, S’lunn. But, I can see you aren’t going to believe that no matter what I say. Which means it’s time for you and Knowles to meet.”

“Yes, it is,” Tipo growled. “Way past time, man. I could have nipped this year shit in the bud if you’d let me meet him earlier.”

“You keep believing that,” Angie said and patted him on the cheek.

Tipo almost punched her, but he restrained himself. He flexed his fists a few times as the two stood there, each holding their ground.

“When?” Tipo finally asked. “When will I meet Knowles?”

“It’ll have to be when he’s done playing,” Angie said. “Tomorrow morning, around dawn. You pick the safest place and I’ll get word to him. Will that work for you, Detective S’lunn?”

“Yeah, that’ll work for me,” Tipo said. “Let me think about it and I’ll comm you the spot later today.”

“Don’t be too late,” Angie said as she nodded, turned, and walked to the front door. “It’s not an instant process, getting him a message. I need the location before sundown or he’ll be in a tile game and they jam comms during games to stop collusion.”

“Give me three hours,” Tipo said.

“Three hours,” Angie agreed. “Talk then.” She glanced at the hallway as she opened the front door. “Good luck with the widow. Don’t let her suck you dry, S’lunn. Grief has a way of drowning those trying to help.”

She was out the door and gone before Tipo could reply. Not that he had anything to say.

He rubbed at the scars on his face and proboscis then looked down the hallway. Reluctantly, since it was the last thing he wanted to do, he walked down to Mess’a’s bedroom door and knocked. He had work to do. Work he disliked, but had to be done. Captain Jorg had insisted.

14.

“Hey,” Guska said as she tossed her jacket then her top then her skirt onto the floor just inside her apartment door. “When did you get home?”

Etch smiled from the small couch at the beauty of Guska’s lack of modesty. The woman shuffled herself to the side of the room that was the kitchen and began hunting in the cooler. The place didn’t have enough room for a full refrigeration unit, but it did have a small cooler that kept perishables from perishing at least for a couple of days.

“There are leftover noodles,” Etch said. “I snagged some from the buffet at the tile room before I left.”

“Oh, thank the Eight Million Gods,” Guska said. “I’m starving.”

“How was your night? Anyone hassle you?” Etch asked as he got up from the couch and walked to the front door.

“Nope,” Guska said. “A few blowies and three full romps, but no one that I couldn’t handle. Gonna go have a sonic and hit the pillow. You coming to bed?”

She turned from the cooler, a container of noodles in her hand, and frowned.

“Hold on. Where the Hells are you going?”

“Meeting,” Etch said. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Keep my side warm, will ya? I’m dead on my feet already and I am so looking forward to sleeping the day away.”

“Meeting? Okay,” Guska said as she opened the container and began looking around for a fork. “Don’t be too long.”

“What’s it matter?” Etch asked, hand on door handle. “You’ll be asleep when I get back.”

“Maybe not,” Guska said without looking at him. She was making a point of concentrating on the noodles once she found a fork. “Maybe I’ll wait up for you.”

“Oh,” Etch said. “Okay. Yeah. Maybe you should.”

She finally looked up and he met her eyes. Too much hope in those eyes.

Etch knew they were getting closer over the weeks he’d been living with her, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t become romantic. That always made undercover super messy. On one hand, it meant she would trust him more and maybe he’d get better intel out of her. On the other hand, if the romance soured, then she’d be useless to him and the op. He couldn’t afford to risk that.

But he also couldn’t afford to risk alienating her if she was dead set on them progressing to something other than simply being roommates of convenience.

“Keep my side warm,” he said with as big of a smile as he could muster after being up all night. “Back in a few.”

He left the apartment fast and shut the door firmly behind him, the look in Guska’s eyes swirling around in his head. He was so distracted by that look that he ran straight into the building’s owner as he came around the corner of the hallway.

“I’m doubling the rent,” the owner said, a slovenly looking Dornopheous fellow. Full Dornopheous. Guska had been wrong about him having lizard in him. Dornopheous were putty beings, able to form themselves into almost any shape. They were also notorious for melting into puddles of goo when terrified.

Etch wanted nothing more than to make the asshole melt right then and there, but he had to play it cool.

“Double? Why?” Etch asked.

The Dornopheous shrugged what might have been considered shoulders. “Double occupancy, double the rent.”

“Not sure I’m cool with that,” Etch said and made sure the tips of his fingers were very visible to the scumbag landlord. “How about we chat about this later this evening before I head off to work?”

Etch shoved past the man and headed for the stairs. No lift in the building. Barely anything other than rusty water and bad wiring.

“Maybe I’ll go talk with Guska right now about it,” the landlord called after Etch.

Etch paused at the top of the stairs, turned slowly, and fixed his feline eyes on the Dornopheous.

“She’s getting ready for bed,” Etch said. “Bother her and we won’t be having that conversation over you upping the rent.”

“Oh, and why’s that?”

“Because I’ll slash you into tiny putty pieces and shove you down the incinerator chute, asshole,” Etch said in nothing but a calm, cool, even voice. “Or maybe I’ll have my boss do it. You know Dark, right?”

The landlord’s putty body turned a brilliant pink and he shuffled to put his back against the wall.

“You… You work for Dark?” he asked.

“Gotta go,” Etch said without answering the question. “We’ll talk later, right? Since you aren’t going to bother Guska right now? You’ll wait and bring it up with me later?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the landlord gasped. “Whatever you say.”

“Exactly,” Etch replied as he started down the stairs. “Whatever I say.”

It was the first time Etch had invoked Dark’s name. He didn’t like doing it, in case it got back to Dark and pissed her off, but it had the effect he’d hoped it would have. Etch doubted the landlord would go anywhere near Guska’s apartment for a long, long time. They could probably get away with not paying rent at all, but Etch didn’t want to push it.

Down the stairs and out onto the street, Etch wiped the interaction with the landlord from his mind. Which meant Guska’s obvious desire for them to hook up came rushing back.

“Shit,” he mumbled which caused a woman to look at him sharply.

“Sorry. That wasn’t at you,” he muttered as she passed.

He continued down the sidewalk towards the closest public transport stop. His meeting was at one of the larger outdoor markets in Jafla Base and Etch did not feel like walking the thirty-two blocks to get there. He reached the stop and waited with the others that didn’t have access to or the means to own a roller of their own.

“Nice day,” a perky Ferg said. She had a bright blue bow in her hair and was made up like she was about to be the main star of a stage production of the latest musical hit. “Supposed to be a huge sandstorm later this afternoon. The whole base will be that beautiful orange. You know that orange? I love that color.”

“Haven’t been here long enough to see a sandstorm,” Etch said.

The public roller pulled up just then, the three long segments bouncing and swaying as the vehicle came to a full stop. Half a dozen beings got off and went their separate ways before Etch could get onboard. The Ferg followed him to his seat and sat down with her hip almost touching his.

“Oh, you are going to love the color of the dome when the storm hits,” the Ferg said, continuing the conversation as if Etch and she had been talking the entire time.

“Great,” Etch said.

He started to shift as if to stand up, but the Ferg put a hand on his knee and leaned closer. She batted her eyes at him and he recoiled. As he grabbed her hand to remove it, not too gently, he felt something under her fingers.

“Perv!” she shouted and stood up, stomping all the way to the back segment of the transport.

Some eyes glanced his way, but not for long. Most everyone pretended like nothing had happened. That worked for Etch since he found that his hand was no longer empty. A wadded-up napkin was stuffed between his fingers. He eased his hand down to his side and unwadded the napkin.

A quick glance down at the napkin revealed a faint holo that read, “Glupernian potato stand.” Then the holo faded away and Etch was left with a less-than-clean-looking napkin in his hand. He tucked it into the space between the seats and looked out the windows across from him.

Jafla Base was a hodgepodge of architectural eras and designs. Almost every race and culture that Etch knew of was represented by something. Except Earth. It was considered bad luck to emulate any part of that toxic planet. The ancestors of his human side had fled thousands of years ago, left the deteriorating mess and found their fortune out in the stars like every other human being that didn’t want to die of a thousand different cancers. No one in their right mind set foot on Earth anymore. No one.

Of course, Etch had heard rumors of secret bases and Galactic Fleet data installations being built, utilizing the planet’s reputation as a dump to hide whatever covert operation was in vogue at the time. Etch didn’t put much stock in the rumors. The risk was too high to try to keep anything intact on that nightmare world.

His stop was called and he got up without making eye contact with anyone and hopped off the roller. His feet had barely touched the plasticrete pavement before the transport was rumbling away. Etch stood in front of one of the side entrances to the massive street market and tried to read the crude map that someone had provided. To say it was confusing was an understatement.

Etch sighed and walked through the entrance. He was early enough that he could wander and get his bearings in the market before he needed to be at the Glupernian potato stand. The hand-off of the meeting location had McDade written all over it. Etch needed to remember to thank her for the embarrassment of the interaction. It had been a perfect McDade touch.

The market had pretty much anything that anyone would want to buy. It also stank. At least to Etch. Bodies pressed closely together, the intense odors of foodstuffs meant for a hundred different races, barely working incinerator bins overflowing with refuse, children unattended and standing there wailing while wearing obviously soiled clothes, drunks and junkies, vendors trying to get customers to buy way past overdue and spoiled produce. It was capitalistic chaos at its most base.

Perfect cover for a clandestine meeting.

When his stop had been called, the electronic voice had said, “Tiff-Span District.” From Etch’s brief observations, the Tiff-Spann District made Mesker look like a vacation spa.

Even more perfect for a clandestine meeting.

Etch worked his way through the stalls and stands, pausing here and there to study merchandise or pick up strange-looking fruit. He didn’t buy anything, but he certainly blended in with the rest of the browsers. A woman of indistinct genetic heritage motioned for Etch to approach her stand and he shrugged and obliged, shoving past a couple of arguing Jesperians to get to the stand.

“You like small pebbles?” the woman asked, her accent as indistinct as her genetic makeup. “Or you like large pebbles? I have all sizes.”

“Uh, I’m not looking for pebbles today,” Etch said.

“You look for this one,” the woman said and held out a plain, gray, circular rock that was only an inch across. “Very lucky.”

“Ma’am, I’m not looking for pebbles. But thank you,” Etch said. “Just browsing today.”

“Take pebble,” the woman insisted, grabbing Etch’s wrist in a grip that he quickly realized he was going to have a hard time getting free from. “Gift. Take.”

Etch took the pebble, but only so she would let go. He slipped it into his pocket as she let go of his wrist.

“Thanks,” he said and hustled away. She didn’t call after him or say anything as he retreated into the crowd. Etch had no idea what that was all about.

He wound his way through almost the entire market before he spotted the Glupernian potato stand. He’d come in at the complete opposite side of the market. Etch made a point of checking out all the stands around it before he decided to start inspecting potatoes.

“Make sure you keep the pebble on you,” Angie said as she walked by him. “I wanna listen too.”

Etch glanced out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t see her. The pebble. Of course that would be a McDade thing too.

“We don’t have much time, so walk with me,” a Shiv’erna said from Etch’s right side. “I’ll go first, you follow right behind. I know a place we can talk.”

“You’ve got the wrong guy,” Etch said.

The Shiv’erna sighed. “No, I don’t.”

15.

They reached a half-broken bench on the very edge of the market, tucked between a less-than-healthy-looking bush of a species that Tipo didn’t know and a pile of empty food cartons. Tipo sat down and glanced about to make sure no one was watching before he nodded at Etch.

“Not much time, man,” Tipo said when Etch hesitated. “Sit your ass down so we can chat.”

“Little out in the open,” Etch said as he cautiously sat down. “Eyes everywhere.”

“You know what a broken bench means in markets like this on Jafla?” Tipo asked.

“Not a clue,” Etch replied.

“People will think we’re negotiating terms for sexual favors,” Tipo said. “A halfer and a scarred-up Shiv’erna sitting here means no one will make eye contact and everyone will avoid looking at us at all costs.”

Tipo watched Etch study the crowd. A crowd that was actively ignoring the both of them.

“You’re right,” Etch said. “My apologies. Etch Knowles.”

“Tipo S’lunn,” Tipo said. “Glad we could finally meet since I’m technically supposed to be your co-manager.”

“Yeah, McDade doesn’t work well with others,” Etch said. “She also doesn’t like being told what to do, so you’re lucky you even got this meeting.”

“I thought we were going to meet that day at Pitcher’s,” Tipo said.

“Same here,” Etch replied. “McDade had other plans.”

“She seems to always have other plans,” Tipo said, but not without some joviality. “She cares, though, which is more than I can say about a lot of GVDs in my Squad.”

“Got a few burnouts here on Jafla?” Etch asked. “That doesn’t put me at ease. Burnouts end up on the take fast.”

“Which is why we’re meeting here, man,” Tipo said. “Just you and me. I don’t need any possible leaks getting word back to Gants that his new prize tile player is at the least a snitch and at the most an undercover GVD. That wouldn’t be good, man.”

“No shit,” Etch said. “You think you have a mole or two?”

“McDade does,” Tipo said. “I’m not exactly going to argue with her.”

“Few win that try,” Etch said.

“I’m getting that, man,” Tipo said and laughed hollowly. “Boy, am I getting that.”

“So, what do you want to know, S’lunn?” Etch asked.

“Progress. Are we making any?” Tipo asked.

“Some,” Etch said. “I’m gaining trust. But it takes time.”

“McDade said it could be a year,” Tipo said with undisguised disgust. “That can’t be right.”

“No, that’s about right,” Etch said. “I’ve got a Lipian friend. She’s making headway with the clients and loves to talk when she gets off shift. I’ve learned a lot.”

“Such as?” Tipo asked.

“McDade hasn’t filled you in?”

“I want to hear it from you, man.”

“Sure. I’m learning the hierarchy of Jafla tile games. I’m still small time, but I think in about two months I should be able to work my way into one of the big games. One with a couple of whales in it. If I can do that, then I can finally get an audience with Gants. Gants likes to vet his tile players when they get to that level. Experience and performance aren’t everything with the guy. From what I’ve heard, he insists on face to face so his gut can tell him if the person is worth the risk or not.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Gants,” Tipo said. “But that long? Can’t you push the timeline?”

“Sure,” Etch replied.

“You can? Great!”

“I can also eat the end of a slug chunker and blow the back of my head off,” Etch continued. “It’ll be less painful than pissing off Dark. Where would you like me to do it? Right here? I don’t have a slug chunker, but I’m sure I can buy one off some vendor in this market.”

“Point taken, smart ass,” Tipo said. He had to sit on his hands to keep from bunching them up into infuriated fists. “The thing is, man, that I’ve already wasted a year. I can’t wait another.”

“We haven’t wasted shit,” Etch said. “I’ve been working my ass off since I arrived a couple months ago. I’m making pretty Eight Million Gods damn good progress. I try to push it and not only will it take much longer, odds are that Gants will realize he’s being targeted for the sex trafficking and move the operation to a different base or station or outpost. Jafla is filled with potential clients because of the Orbs, but beings are beings and he can find a market for his goods somewhere less risky even if it doesn’t net him the same profit.”

Tipo tried to counter the logic, but he couldn’t find a flaw. He knew the only flaw in their operation was his own impatience. Tipo shook his head, glanced up at the sky, then nodded.

“A year?” he asked.

“A year,” Etch replied. “Maybe less. But I don’t want to oversell it, so if it is less than a year, then we’ll consider ourselves lucky. Cool?”

“Cool,” Tipo said. “What do you need from me?”

“Nothing right now,” Etch said. “I’m not at a level where I need much. But once I get into the higher games, I may ask for a list of informants and contacts your Squad already has on the payroll in the tile houses. I want to avoid them as much as possible, otherwise we’ll only end up circling each other and going nowhere. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know, man,” Tipo said. “Jorg, my Squad Captain, probably won’t authorize that kind of information release. If you get found out and they torture you…”

“Not going to happen,” Etch said. “I don’t get tortured.”

“You do if Gants wants you tortured,” Tipo said.

Etch flicked a claw from one of his fingers and placed it against his own throat. He drew it across the skin without drawing blood and stared hard at Tipo.

“I’m faster than any of them,” Etch said. “If it gets to the point where I’m busted by Gants, I’ll take myself, and all my intel, out of the equation. Fast.”

“You say that now,” Tipo responded. “Not going to be so easy if the time comes.”

“You ever been tortured?” Etch asked.

“No,” Tipo admitted.

“I have,” Etch said. “Back when I was a Fleet Marine. Got captured by the Skrang for six days. My platoon found me and got me out of there, but those six days were, and still are, some of the worst moments of my life. Skrang are vicious. Gants is a thousand times worse from what I’ve heard. I’ll handle myself without even blinking if the time comes.”

“Okay. Fair enough. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Tipo said.

“Ya think?” Etch responded and chuckled. “S’lunn, you need to take a few steps back and look at the big picture. You’re too close to this. Trust me. I know. Let McDade run the op and hang back to assist. You try to push any part of this and you’ll only fuck things up. Understood?”

“That’s not how I want to play this,” Tipo said.

“I know,” Etch said. “I can see that plain as day. But you have to. You’re the part of this op that worries me. I can’t afford to be worried when I’m undercover. I have to play my best and act my best. I have to live and breathe and be who I am or I’ll get sniffed out and snuffed out. That little worry at the back of my head about whether or not you’re going to get impatient and pull a trigger that will end up getting me killed is going to make my job very, very hard.”

“That’s not my intention,” Tipo said.

“Good. Because my job is already very, very hard,” Etch said as he stood up. “I don’t need you making it worse. Let McDade run the op, alright?”

“I won’t get in the way,” Tipo said.

“Not the same,” Etch said and started to walk off. “I’m going home to sleep. Get me a message by tonight that you understand what I’m saying or I call this op off. It’ll destroy my career, certainly destroy McDade’s, and probably destroy yours, but that’s what I’ll do unless you agree to let McDade run the op so I can breathe easy. I leave the apartment at about eight. Get me a message before then.”

And Etch was gone, lost back in the crowd of browsers and shoppers, junkies and drunks, thieves and pickpockets. Tipo tried to track him, but it was impossible. Etch was good at becoming invisible. Tipo admired that.

He leaned his head back on the bench and thought about his next move. He probably needed to report to Captain Jorg. Then again, if he did that, it could make the situation a lot more complicated than it already was. The smart thing was to do exactly what Etch said and let McDade take point and keep point through the op while he hung back and provided support from his position in the Squad.

And Jorg had already told him what needed to be done if Knowles took too long and became a problem.

“Hey there,” an unusually thin Urvein said as he stumbled up to the bench and Tipo. “Should we talk?”

“No thanks,” Tipo said and got up. “Already worked out my evening.”

“You sure, sweetie?” the Urvein asked. “Because I could make your evening even better.”

Tipo walked towards the market exit without responding. The Urvein called out a few choice words, but they were lost in the other choice words that many of the shoppers and stand owners were calling back and forth to each other.

16.

The blood was a deep indigo and Theff Gants stared at it with disgust.

He hated blood on his hands. Literally speaking.

“Towel,” he hissed.

The man was full Slinghasp, so no matter the words, he hissed. Some of his kind tried to break themselves of the speech habit. Not Theff Gants. He reveled in being Slinghasp. He loved how beings underestimated him when they first interacted. He loved shoving that underestimation up their asses.

Like with the corpse that lay at his feet.

“Where’s my fucking towel?” he roared.

Three bodyguards appeared with clean towels in less than a second.

Gants took the towels, wiped his hands, tossed the towels in the faces of the bodyguards, then gave the body at his feet a good, hard kick.

“Clean her up,” Gants ordered as he walked across the Club, empty due to the time of day, and sat down at one of the many bar stools. He snapped his fingers. A triple whiskey appeared at his elbow almost instantly. “Leave the bottle.”

The prescient bartender had already done so and was walking away to grab the freshly soniced glasses out of the dishwasher under the bar.

“You get me, Schigg,” Gants said to the bartender’s back.

“That’s my job,” Schigg replied.

A tall, thin man of indeterminate race, with skin a bright yellow and eyes that glowed like embers, Schigg cocked his head and gave Gants a side look. “Getting you is why you pay me what you pay me.”

“So fucking true,” Gants said as he downed his whiskey and poured himself another triple. He raised the glass and gave the rim a quick tip in Schigg’s direction. “If only everyone on my payroll was so practical.”

He downed that drink, slammed the glass on the bar, and spun in the stool so he was facing in the direction of the bludgeoned corpse. His three bodyguards stood by the body, all looking like they had no idea whether they should clean it up or shit themselves.

“Like these morons,” Gants said. “Can you believe I paid good money for these genetic freaks. Gwreq, Urvein, Leforian, Tcherian, and even a little Cervile. Size and strength, but that DNA cocktail couldn’t produce a single, fucking brain cell!”

Gants picked up his empty glass and flung it at the bodyguards. It bounced off the forehead of one of them, knocking the being back a step.

“I said to clean her up!” Gants shouted. “Why is the bitch’s body still on my floor?”

“She’s Jafla PD,” one of the bodyguards said. “Where do we put her? They got trackers in their brains.”

Gants sighed. It was like a slow, high-pitched whistle.

“What number are you?” Gants asked the bodyguard.

“Seven,” the bodyguard replied, not looking too sure of his answer.

“Seven?” Gants asked. “Oh, the irony.”

Gants waved his palm over his left wrist and a holo display came up. Gants toggled to a specific screen, found a bright red number seven, and tapped the icon. The bodyguard’s head exploded all over his two comrades.

“Now there are two bodies to clean up,” Gants said to the two remaining bodyguards. “Want to ask me more stupid questions? Or maybe say stupid shit about brain trackers that don’t exist?”

“No brain trackers?” one of the bodyguards asked as he wiped brain from his face. “That’s a lie?”

“I’m going to let those two questions pass,” Gants said and banished his holo display. “Because this will be a good lesson in economics. Schigg?”

“Jafla Base PD cannot afford brain trackers because they are a shit operation that is mainly funded by our benefactor here,” Schigg said as he put a stack of glasses on a shelf above his head. He turned and regarded the bodyguards. “Mr. Gants. That’s the benefactor I am speaking of. Mr. Gants does not pay them enough to afford tech like that, therefore, they do not have tech like that.”

“And her wrist implant was fried the second she walked into the Club without authorization,” Gants said.

Both Gants and Schigg watched the bodyguards’ confusion build.

“Fuck me,” Gants said. “What are your numbers?”

“Sixteen,” one bodyguard said.

“Thirty-five,” the other said.

“Sixteen and Thirty-five, clean up the bodies then come back with a sonic mop and scrub that floor until it shines,” Gants said. “Do that and you get to live another day.”

Schigg went back to his busy work while Gants watched the bodyguards fumble with cleaning up the bodies. Neither Sixteen nor Thirty-five asked what to do with the corpses.

“You think they’ll figure out that the corpses go in the incinerator in the basement?” Gants asked Schigg. “Can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

“You keep killing your test tube thugs and you’re going to go broke replacing them,” Schigg said as he moved on from putting dishes away to slicing some sort of spiky fruit.

Gants picked at a scale on his neck, looked at the mite he dug out, squished the bug between his thumb and forefinger, then wiped the mess on a cocktail napkin. He wadded the napkin and threw it into the incinerator chute behind the bar.

Schigg slid an empty glass down the bar to him without looking and Gants caught it, poured the remains of the whiskey bottle into it, downed the liquor, then sighed that whistle sigh of his.

“You know I’m right,” Schigg said.

“Yes, Schigg, I know you are right,” Gants grumbled. “But they piss me off so fucking much.”

“So do hangnails, but you don’t chop your fingers off every time you get one,” Schigg said. He’d switched his chore to refilling the condiments trays up and down the bar. “You paid a lot of chits for the morons. They have one purpose: to keep you alive and make others dead. You did not pay for the genius upgrade.”

Gants began to speak, but Schigg held up a slender, yellow finger. Gants grunted and remained quiet.

“Let them be morons and do their job of physically protecting you,” Schigg continued. He twirled a finger at the ceiling. “You have enough tech in here to alert you to any possible threat coming at the Club. If a threat does pass the tech test, then you have the thugs. Keep killing them and you are exposed in your own establishment. We do not want that.”

“You love being right, don’t you?” Gants snapped. “You just love having the answers, yeah? So smart and full of wisdom from centuries of living. Must be nice to be perfect.”

Gants glared down the bar at Schigg who was trying to wrangle a glob of wriggling worms into a dish at one of the condiment stations. The man didn’t look back at Gants, only continued doing his busy work.

“No answer to that?” Gants asked, still glaring.

“What would you have me say? If I say I’m not perfect, then you will berate me and demand to know why you are paying me so much,” Schigg answered. “If I say I am perfect, then you’ll berate me for having too much of an ego and how dangerous egos are.”

Schigg shut the lid of the worm dish and turned to face Gants.

“What do you want from this interaction, Mr. Gants?” Schigg asked. “Tell me what you want and I will do my best to provide.”

“I want another bottle of whiskey,” Gants said without any irony or sarcasm to his voice.

“Well played,” Schigg said. “Normally, I would warn you off drinking so much before the Club opens, but you set up the situation so that if I did that then I would look like I am trying to control you. Which means you get your bottle of whiskey without comment. Very well played.”

“Without comment?” Gants laughed as Schigg fetched a fresh bottle, broke the seal, and slid the whiskey down the bar to Gants. “Your without comments sound a lot like comments.”

Someone cleared their throat by the Club entrance. Both Gants and Schigg paused in their tête-à-tête and regarded the owner of the throat phlegm with suspicion and disdain.

“Good afternoon, Dark,” Schigg said, glanced at Gants, then set about refilling the sanitary snack dispensers that were set every few feet up and down the bar. A dozen different pictures were displayed on the dispensers showing the snack offerings that could be enjoyed by most beings in the galaxy. “What brings you in so early?”

“Need a word with Mr. Gants,” Dark said as she crossed the floor, careful not to step in the pools of blood. She barely gave the gunk a second look as she stepped over the last puddle and approached the bar. “May I have a minute, sir?”

“Have a seat, Dark,” Gants said. “I have nothing better to do at this moment.”

“You have the meeting in twenty minutes,” Schigg said.

“That’s in twenty minutes,” Gants replied as he watched Dark sit down two stools away. “Do I stink, Dark?”

Dark appeared confused, so Gants patted the stool right next to him.

“I didn’t want to crowd you, sir,” Dark said as she got up and took the offered stool. “Leforians take up a good amount of space.”

“Yeah, you bug hounds do,” Gants said. “But I like to be close to the person I’m speaking with so I can get a feel for what terpigshit is about to be shoveled my way.”

“No terpigshit, sir,” Dark said. “I came to talk to you about Etch Knowles.”

Gants blinked at Dark for a few seconds then turned and blinked at Schigg.

“The new tile player,” Schigg said.

“Right. The one kicked off Ballyway,” Gants said. “How in all the Hells do you get kicked off Ballyway?”

“We should ask him,” Schigg said.

“We should,” Gants said. “He here now? You want to finally introduce us to this wiz with the tiles, Dark?”

“He isn’t with me now,” Dark said. “I trust him with the tiles, but I don’t know if I trust him seeing you yet, sir.”

“Good thinking,” Gants replied, tapping Dark’s chest. The exoskeleton made a dull thudding noise. “You trust him with tiles, but not meeting me. What else do you want to talk about? He’s making us chits, yeah?”

“He’s making us chits and he’s got the routine down tight with the middling bunch of tile players in the Mesker District,” Dark said.

“And now you’d like to move him up to this district, that it?” Gants said. “You don’t trust him enough to meet me, but you trust him enough to go up a level?”

“It’s been six months, sir,” Dark said. “If he’s going to be the one we use for whale hunting, then we need to move him now. Any longer where he is and someone will spot that he’s playing an intentional win/loss system. Then he’ll be blown as a duck hunter and no one will want to play with him.”

“You hear that, Schigg?” Gants laughed. “Dark says that no one will want to play with him!”

Gants drank deep from his whiskey and leaned in close to Dark. His finger tapped Dark’s exoskeleton again and again.

“They play with him or they don’t play,” Gants stated. “Doesn’t matter who’s sitting there, those are my tables. If I want the sons of bitches to play with a bunch of dead Kweets, then they’ll fucking play with a bunch of dead Kweets. You hear me, Dark?”

“I do, sir,” Dark replied instantly.

“What Dark is trying to say is the whales will have heard of him by the time we get him to the top tables,” Schigg said.

“I know what she’s saying!” Gants roared.

“Wonderful,” Schigg replied, completely unfazed by the yelling. “Then you understand the importance of timing with this. Three months until we host the meeting. I believe Dark’s assessment of timing is correct here. The man should be moved to the next level so he is prepared when the time comes.”

“Meeting?” Dark asked.

Schigg’s ember eyes locked onto Dark and the Leforian bowed her head.

“When can you bring him in?” Schigg asked. “Tonight?”

“The woman just told us she doesn’t trust him enough to bring him in for a face to face meeting,” Gants said. “Schigg, stop being stupid.”

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m doing,” Schigg said, eyes still on Dark. “Can you bring him in tonight or does he have an important game?”

“Nothing too important he can’t leave early,” Dark said.

“But the trust issue…?” Gants said.

“He can meet with me first,” Schigg said. “Bring him by around 1am. I’ll assess his trustworthiness and then pass him on or kick him out. Tonight will be the test. Do you believe he is ready for my test, Dark?”

“I don’t know,” Dark answered.

“We will find out before the night is over then,” Schigg said.

“1am?” Dark asked.

“1am,” Schigg replied.

“Oh, and bring that Lipian he lives with too,” Gants said. “He still lives with her, right?”

“The whore? What do you need the whore here for?” Dark asked.

“Excellent idea,” Schigg said. “And the why is none of your concern, Dark. Bring her.”

“1am,” Dark said and clapped all four of her hands together. “They’ll be here.”

“Good,” Gants said and gave the Leforian a slight shove in the chest. “Now, go away. Get out there and take care of business. I’m hearing that bodega on the corner of 480th and 321st has been slinging proto-stim on the side. You hearing that too, Dark?”

Dark stood up and clicked her mandibles in irritation.

“Yeah, sir, I have been hearing that,” Dark admitted. “I warned the Fergs running that place. I’ll go see them right now and put an end to that.”

“No, you won’t,” Gants said. “You’ll go see them and get our piece of that action. Make sure to collect for all the payments they’ve missed too.”

“You want them to keep slinging proto-stim?” Dark asked. “That stuff is crap.”

“The tourists pay for it,” Gants said. “And it’s the tourists that still keep this base rolling in chits and credits, Dark. I don’t want them hooked on true stim or they blow their wads in a week. I want them just high enough that they keep spending, but not so high that they spend it all and can’t come back. You getting how this works, Dark? This job isn’t too taxing, is it?”

“I get how it works, sir,” Dark said. She nodded. “I’ll get the missed payments and have Knowles here at 1am.”

“All in a hard day’s work,” Gants said and waved a hand, dismissing the Leforian.

Dark nodded again and left quickly.

“She a problem?” Gants asked Schigg once Dark was gone.

“No,” Schigg said. “Dark is a solid earner and loyal as ever. I don’t detect a duplicitous vibe off of her at all.”

“Good,” Gants said. “I like Dark. She has good instincts.”

“I agree,” Schigg said. He’d started counting liquor bottles on the shelves behind the bar. A tablet he held beeped shrilly. “Distributor is out of Klavian whiskey again.”

“What about that bootleg stuff we got last week?” Gants asked. “We have any of that left?”

“Plenty,” Schigg said.

“Pour it into the real bottles,” Gants said as he stood up and walked towards the back wall of the Club. “I’m taking a nap. Have that sweet thing with the third arm come wake me up in three hours.”

“The meeting you have in ten minutes…?” Schigg let the question hang there.

“That was real?”

“It was and is.”

“Then fucking reschedule, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Schigg said without looking at Gants. “Enjoy your nap.”

17.

Etch fumbled the tile as he laid it out on the table and received a couple snickers over his clumsiness. But only a couple. The majority of the players at the table only gave Etch’s fumbling hard stares.

“Sorry,” Etch said to the players that snickered. “Been a lousy day and the tiles aren’t going my way tonight.”

He fumbled a second tile next to the first one and looked about at all the players before patting his palm against the table’s surface.

“That stands, yeah?” he asked.

The two players that had snickered then groaned and threw up their hands.

“Stands tall,” a woman said as she mucked her tiles and leaned back in her chair. “Lucky play for a guy that isn’t all that lucky tonight.”

Etch raked in the chits and gave her a nod.

“Only luck I’ve had, I guess,” Etch said as he stacked the chits to his left and threw his remaining tiles into the pile. “Maybe I should call it quits right now. Get out while I’m behind.”

“You look like you’re ahead,” one of the snickerers said. “More chits now than when you sat down.”

“I mean for the night,” Etch said and looked sheepish. “This is my third tile house. Busted out at the last two.”

“That so?” the second snickerer asked. “What houses? We just landed this morning and haven’t figured out the good ones to play at.”

“I can point you to two houses that have a lot more chits now than they did when they opened earlier,” Etch said with a self-deprecating smile.

“How about we play some tiles instead?” a Cervile man said. “Is that okay, halfer? Or do we need to listen to you play these marks all night?”

Etch’s hand paused in midair as it was about to add a chit to the final stack he was organizing. He grimaced then focused his own Cervile eyes on a similar pair that were staring him down from across the table. Pupils turned to thin lines on both sides.

“Hold on,” the woman said as she held up her hands. “Don’t need no cat fight tonight. Tiles have been good for me. Let’s not ruin the mood, okay?”

“Care to call me halfer again?” Etch asked the Cervile man.

The two snickerers glanced at each other then both began picking up their chits.

“Stay put,” the Cervile man snapped. “This game is still going.”

“Yeah, I think we’re good,” the second snickerer said as he stood up.

A Blorta 65 pistol appeared in the Cervile’s hand and he aimed it at the snickerer, but his eyes were still locked with Etch’s.

“Sit. Down,” the Cervile ordered.

“Dumb stuff,” a half-drunk-looking Urvein growled from the last seat at the table. He rolled his eyes at Etch, at the Cervile man, at the snickerers, and at the woman. “Stupid move.”

“We’ll see,” the Cervile man said then his eyes did shift to the snickerers. “You aren’t sitting. You ever been on the wrong end of a Blorta 65?”

The two snickerers sat down and stayed put. One looked about, but no one was paying any attention to the table. Everyone in the room was too busy handling their own tile games to care about a minor dust-up at one of the other tables.

“You…you shoot that in here and security will get you,” the first snickerer said.

“Not likely,” the Cervile man said. He flipped over his left wrist and gave his hand a shake. A holo appeared and everyone at the table groaned. It was a bright gold badge spinning in a slow circle for all to see. “Detective Kalaka, Galactic Vice Squad. Security isn’t coming.”

“Oh, man,” the first snickerer said. “Hey, gambling is legal on Jafla, right?”

“You can’t bust us for playing tiles,” the second snickerer exclaimed. “We checked the laws before landing!”

“We came to watch the Orbs and have a good time,” the first snickerer said. “We’re not criminals.”

“Did the hostess at the door check your IDs when you came in?” Kalaka asked.

“Uh, what hostess?” the first snickerer asked.

“Exactly,” Kalaka replied. “Legit tile establishments have hostesses or hosts. They don’t have a scanner array that clocks you down to your atoms and logs your genetic signature in an illicit database. You two didn’t wonder what that bright blue light was when you came through the front door?”

Neither answered, but both turned to glance towards the front of the room and the short hallway that led to the tile house’s entrance.

“We playing or what?” snarled the Urvein. “I gotta work in the morning, so let’s get this going or I need to find a new table.”

Kalaka pocketed the pistol and gave the Urvein a smile.

“I’m ready to play if you all are,” Kalaka said. “Are you all ready?”

The snickerers nodded immediately and began fumbling with their chits for their antes. The woman threw her hands up in a “why not?” gesture. That left Etch.

“What time is it?” Etch asked, nodding at the still spinning holo of the badge. “My implant is acting up.”

The image of the badge changed to an image of a clock which showed the table it was 12:15am.

“I should call it a night,” Etch said. “I think the tiles will be a little cold for me from here on out.”

“I am sure they will be cold,” Kalaka said. “But maybe stick around to find out.”

Etch stood up and Kalaka shook his head.

“Game’s not over,” Kalaka said.

“The game is never over,” Etch replied. “But the players do change. Someone will take my place. Goodnight, Detective.”

“Can we go too?” the first snickerer asked.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kalaka snapped as he carefully watched Etch gather up his chits and place them in a compression pouch which made carrying all the chits in Etch’s front pocket manageable. “Nice pouch. Looks like you’re used to hauling around more than a few chits.”

“Goodnight,” Etch said and walked off.

Etch made sure not to hurry as he threaded his way around the tables and tile players filling the room. A sense of deja vu hit him when he reached the entrance. For a split second, he expected the wall to explode around him and troopers to come rushing in.

But he made it to the entrance, tossed a chit to the bored-looking Dornopheous manning the security scanner, and walked out into the night.

The Mesker District was a hive of activity even at close to 12:30am. To Etch, it looked like the activity was just getting started. Beings of every race in the galaxy, even Skrang, milled about on the sidewalks and out in the street as they hustled for the next gig, fix, score, and hookup.

Etch looked left then right, tightened his grip on his compression pouch, and headed across the street after three decrepit rollers trundled past.

“Hold up there, halfer,” Kalaka said from behind him.

Etch closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but didn’t slow his progress across the street. He opened his eyes and saw Guska waiting for him against a wall. She smiled and he gave the slightest shake of his head. The smile slid off her face as she glanced past him. Understanding dawned on her face and she pretended like she didn’t know Etch when he stepped onto the sidewalk and proceeded to move past her.

“Hey!” Kalaka shouted. “I said hold up, halfer!”

A few heads turned to look at Etch then at Kalaka then everyone minded their own business fast. A hand gripped Etch’s shoulder and brought him to a stop as claws extended from fingertips and sliced into Etch’s shirt.

“Come on,” Etch said as he looked down at Kalaka’s hand and the claws ruining his shirt. “I don’t need any hassle. If I broke a law, just tell me and I’ll pay whatever fine then move on. How many chits is the fine? Fifty? A hundred?”

“I’m not asking for a bribe,” Kalaka said as he turned Etch to face him. He let go of Etch’s shoulder and gave the torn material a quick pat before he reached into his pocket and withdrew a stim stick. “Want one?”

“No thanks,” Etch said.

“It’s the mild kind,” Kalaka said as he took a long drag then blew out a thin line of smoke. “Clean, too. None of that street shit. You sure you don’t want one? I’ve got plenty. Know a guy that hooks me up.”

Etch opened up his compression pouch. “How much are we talking?”

“I said I don’t want a bribe,” Kalaka said. “All I want is to chat for a minute. You’ve got a minute, right?”

“No,” Etch said. “I have to be somewhere.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Kalaka said. “We can talk on the way. That’s fine, right?”

“Etch?” Guska’s voice asked over the comm. “Why are you talking to him?”

Etch made sure he didn’t react to the voice in his ear.

“Etch? That’s a cop,” Guska said. “Why’s he hassling you? What’d you do?”

“I’d rather handle my errand on my own,” Etch said to Kalaka and tried to turn away. “I didn’t do anything wrong, so…”

Kalaka grabbed Etch’s shoulder and the claws came fully out once again.

“Ow,” Etch said. “Come on. Will you please tell me what you want so we can both get on with our night? I now need to go home and get a new shirt which is going to make me late.”

“Late for…?” Kalaka asked, hanging on to Etch with one hand while he hailed a taxi with the other.

A beat-up old roller creaked to a stop and the rear door popped open.

“Where ya going?” a very old Neffernian asked.

Neffernians were a multi-limbed humanoid race with several sexual orifices, only one of which was used for reproduction; the rest were strictly for pleasure. Luckily, the Neffernian was fully clothed and only the three orifices on each cheek could be seen. None looked like they’d been used in a very long time.

The driver’s lip curled up and he asked again, “Where ya going?”

“I don’t know,” Kalaka replied then focused on Etch. “Where are we going?”

“The Club,” Etch said.

“Which one, buddy?” the driver asked. “There are a lot of clubs around Jafla. You want me to take you to a specific one here in Mesker? If we’re leaving Mesker, then the rate doubles. Sorry. That’s the rule.”

“The Club,” Etch said. “In the Blink District.”

The driver’s eyes widened and he looked down at his dashboard. “Uh, not sure I have enough charge for that. Roller’s getting old, might not make it all the way across Jafla.”

“I need to be at the Club in thirty minutes,” Etch said.

“Don’t you need to stop by your place and get a new shirt first?” Kalaka asked. “What’s that address?”

“The Club is fine,” Etch said. “The shirt doesn’t matter.”

“If you say so,” Kalaka replied and pulled his hand away. He gave Etch a little shove. “Get in the taxi, Etch Knowles.”

Etch did as he was told and stared blankly out of his window as Kalaka got in next to him. The driver stared back at them then shook his head, closed the rear door, and put the roller in gear.

“Like I said, I may not have enough charge to get you all the way to the Club,” the driver said, his voice slightly desperate. “I can drop you off at the edge of Blink District. That’s alright, yeah? Pretty close to the Club. Only a couple minutes’ walk.”

“My friend says he needs to get to the Club in thirty minutes,” Kalaka said. “Get him to the Club in thirty minutes.”

“Hey, no offense, buddy, but—”

The driver stopped talking as Kalaka flashed his holo badge.

“You focus on the road,” Kalaka ordered. “Clear?”

“Yeah, sure, buddy, we’re clear,” the driver said and focused on the road.

“Etch? Where are you going?” Guska called over the comm.

Etch rubbed at his temples then sighed and turned to face Kalaka.

The Cervile was only inches from Etch’s face, a wide, sharp-toothed grin on his face.

“Who was it?” Kalaka asked.

“Who was what?” Etch replied.

“The pure blood,” Kalaka said. “Your mother or your father?”

“They were both pure blood,” Etch replied.

“Nah, one of them was human,” Kalaka said. “You know Cerviles are the only pure race in the galaxy. Or did your Cervile parent not teach you that? That’s basic Cervile education. Pure forever. The rest of the races are trash. But, looks like whoever is the Cervile in your family is trash too.”

“Can we change the subject?” Etch asked, looking away.

“Not until you tell me who the race traitor is,” Kalaka said. “Mother or father?”

“Mother,” Etch said.

“So it was rape,” Kalaka said. “Because no self-respecting Cervile woman would ever be willingly taken by a human male.”

“What do you want?” Etch asked.

“Don’t you want to know about my family?” Kalaka asked.

“No,” Etch stated. “What do you want, Detective Kalaka?”

“To get to know you, Etch,” Kalaka said. “I’ve been watching you work for a while now. You first caught my eye about three months ago. In that little tile house five blocks over. Chora’s. You remember Chora’s.”

“I’ve been there,” Etch said.

“That’s an understatement,” Kalaka said and laughed. “You took those fools for everything they had. It was impressive. Cleaned out half the tables. Then you packed up and left and never went back. I know because I kept sitting at the tables night after night, waiting for you to return. Something wrong with Chora’s?”

“Nice place,” Etch said. “Didn’t feel like going back.”

“Probably a good idea,” Kalaka said and nodded sagely. “You aren’t exactly welcome there after that night. But you sure built up a nice bankroll of chits, didn’t you? Can I ask you a question, Etch?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Why would you want to? We’re having a friendly chat as we ride through the base. No reason to kill the conversation now, is there? Does my breath stink or something?” Kalaka burst out laughing and slapped Etch on the back. “Just messing with you, Etch. Relax. Relax…”

The last word was said as a threat and Etch turned back to look at Kalaka. The joking detective was gone and the true predator’s face was showing.

“You took half my chit stack that night, Etch,” Kalaka said. “Been working the houses for three months before I finally got a chance to sit down with you again. That was some masterful playing tonight. You lost the right amount, won the right amount, played stupid for those tourist pieces of shit, then took off as soon as everything started turning against you.”

“If you say so,” Etch replied.

“I do say so,” Kalaka responded. “The only problem is you didn’t expect part of the table to get up and follow you out. Your mistake for not expecting that. You can only hustle the houses in Mesker for so long before folks start getting wise to your scam.”

“Winning without cheating isn’t a scam,” Etch said. “It’s a skill. And how you play the game. If you need lessons on how to play the game, I can always give you a few. For the right price.”

“The right price? Didn’t you hear me, Etch?” Kalaka sneered. “You already took a good deal of my chits. You aren’t charging me shit. It’s on the house. Not that you’ll be giving any lessons. That’s my job.”

Kalaka struck Etch in the throat and grabbed him by back the back of the neck as Etch started coughing and tried to double over.

“Stay put,” Kalaka snapped in Etch’s ear. “I could have crushed your trachea, if I wanted to. But I don’t want to, Etch. Not yet. Maybe some other time, but for right now I need you healthy.”

“Why?” Etch croaked.

“Because you play for me now,” Kalaka said. “Sixty percent of your take each night is now mine. I’m being generous so get that hurt look off your face.”

“The look is real,” Etch gasped. “You fucking hurt me.”

“Boo hoo,” Kalaka said. He gripped Etch’s neck tighter and yanked his ear close to his mouth. “You have no idea what hurts. Fuck with me and you will learn, Etch Knowles.”

“I can’t work for you,” Etch said, his voice a throaty rattle of pain and phlegm. “I work for someone already.”

“Who? Theff Gants?” Kalaka laughed. “Gants has a way too high opinion of his station here on Jafla. I’m Galactic Vice, Etch. You think I’m afraid of some punk ass Slinghasp that got too big for his britches?”

“He’s killed cops,” Etch said.

“Has he now?” Kalaka said. “What shocking news. How will I ever sleep at night?”

Kalaka shoved Etch away, knocking his head off the side window.

“I know all about Gants’ operations, Etch,” Kalaka said. “I let Gants conduct business. Remember that.”

“Uh…we’re here,” the driver said quickly as the roller slowed and pulled up to the curb.

They’d stopped outside some restaurant and Kalaka frowned.

“What in all the Hells is this? The man needs to get to the Club,” Kalaka snapped.

“No way, buddy,” the driver said. “I drop you off here. I don’t go all the way into Blink. Not to the Club. No thanks. Can’t afford the permits. Here is as far as I go.”

“Fine,” Kalaka said and reached across Etch to open the rear door. He shoved it open then shoved Etch out onto the sidewalk. “Feel free to tell Gants of our little arrangement, Etch. He’ll understand completely.”

Etch sat there in a puddle of something sticky and stared at Kalaka. The Cervile stared back for a full minute then slowly closed the door and yelled for the driver to go back to Mesker District. Etch watched the roller do a U-turn in the middle of the street and drive off.

“Etch? Etch, what’s going on?” Guska asked over the comm. “Where are you?”

“Near Blink,” Etch replied. “Don’t know where. I’ll send you a ping.”

He swiped at his wrist.

“Oh, okay, I know that place,” Guska replied. “I’m only a couple blocks away. I’ll be right there. Stay where you are.”

“Move!” a Leforian shouted at Etch. “Damn stim junkie! Get off the ground and move!”

“I’m drawing attention,” Etch said into the comm. “I’ll meet you outside the Club.”

Etch picked himself up and began walking. It took all of his control not to smile.

18.

“You look like shit, kid,” Gants said as Etch was shown to his booth and shoved into the seat across from the crime lord. “Bad night at the tables? Someone jump you on the way out?”

“Your guy at the bar asked me the same question,” Etch said. “Among others.”

“That’s his job,” Gants said. “You didn’t think I’d let you come sit with me without being vetted first?”

Etch shook his head.

“Good. Because I always do my homework, Etch. Always. And Schigg does his. Now, answer my questions. Bad night at the tables? Or did someone jump you? What’s your deal, Etch?”

“I seem to have a Kalaka problem,” Etch said.

Dark was sitting in the same side of the booth as Etch. The Leforian swiveled her head on her neck and glared at Etch.

“What’d that piece of crap GVD son of a bitch want with you?” Dark asked. “Getting on his radar was a big mistake, Knowles. You screwed up.”

“If someone had told me to be on the lookout for a corrupt GVD, then maybe I would have been prepared,” Etch said.

The hit was fast and it stung bad. Etch put a hand to his cheek, but didn’t look over at the Leforian. Facing the woman would have led to more pain. Etch had her and her dominance games figured. Wasn’t the first time she’d struck him.

“Dark, be calm,” Gants said. His forked tongue flicked out a few times and he turned to stare into the throbbing, pulsing mob that filled the Club’s dance floor. “I smell something nice. That your Lipian?”

Etch followed his gaze and saw Guska making her way over to them, flanked by two thugs. She was holding a tray of drinks and smiling wide. Etch knew that smile. The woman was terrified.

“The glowing skinny guy at the bar said to bring these over here,” Guska said as she set the tray of drinks down. “Hope you like Gofp shots!”

“Who doesn’t, sweetheart?” Gants said as he patted the empty space next to him. “You sit that wiggle down right next to Theff Gants and let’s get to know each other.”

Guska giggled and stole a quick glance at Etch before sitting down next to Gants. She didn’t need any prodding and was already kicking her legs up across Gants’ lap.

“What are we talking about?” Guska asked. “Etch said he had a meeting at the Club and I was so excited to be invited. I’ve never been to Blink District before.”

“Never? That can’t be true,” Gants said, running a scaly finger across her cheek and down under her chin. “A pretty thing like you has never been to Blink? What a shame. Etch, you have to treat your woman right. Take her out on the town sometimes. You can’t work every night.”

“She’s not my woman,” Etch said. “She’s my roommate and friend.”

“Oh? You two aren’t exclusive?” Gants asked then chuckled. “Well, I know she’s not exclusive. Monogamy is a bitch on business when you’re a Lipian whore, right?”

Guska’s facade cracked at the slight, but she recovered fast and forced a little titter that made Gants smile.

“I like this one,” Gants said. “Maybe you should come work the Club exclusively. What do you think, Etch? Your roommate have what it takes to handle my Club?”

“I don’t know,” Etch said.

“You don’t know?” Gants got an exaggerated shocked look on his face and played it up, facing Etch then Dark then Guska. “He doesn’t know, sweetheart? Not much of a friend.”

“I mean, I don’t know what it takes to work at the Club,” Etch explained. He glanced around. “I don’t see others working the floor.”

“The whores don’t run free, Etch,” Gants said. “They have their own separate rooms. I like to keep my operation organized.”

Gants gave Guska a hard squeeze and shoved her off him. She gracefully recovered from the abrupt shove and straightened her skirt then top, a fake smile plastered to her face the entire time.

“Buzz off,” Gants said, his voice cold. “Go sit at the bar and wait for your roommate.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Guska said as if nothing had happened. “But we didn’t have our shots.”

Gants’ lip came up with a twitch.

“Guska, go sit at the bar,” Dark ordered.

“But what if the glowing skinny man asks if you did the shots?” Guska responded.

Gants reached out without looking at Guska, picked up a shot glass which was filled with neon pink liquid with something wriggling inside, opened his mouth, and downed the shot. Dark quickly did the same followed by Etch. Still not looking at Guska, Gants held out her shot.

She reached out to take it and he dropped the glass on the floor as he snatched her wrist in his grip. Gants yanked Guska close to his face.

“Never question me,” Gants said in a flat, even voice. “Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Guska said, all control of her voice and emotions gone. She was shaking in his grip. “I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Gants said and let go. “Tell Schigg that you start tonight. He’ll get you set up with the Ms. Fleena.”

“Schigg?” Guska asked.

Etch winced. He thought for sure that Guska was about to get flayed alive. But Gants only smiled and finally turned to look at her.

“The glowing skinny guy that gave you the shots,” Gants said. “His name is Schigg. He’ll take care of you from here on out. Don’t ever speak to me again unless I tell you to. Forget that rule and I will chop you up and make a smoothie out of you.”

Guska squeaked and stumbled a couple of steps back from the table. The two thugs that had escorted her over appeared and escorted her away from the booth and over to the bar across the Club.

“I’m doing you a huge favor, Etch,” Gants said.

Etch frowned.

“I’m sorry?” Etch asked.

“Really, I should kill that Lipian whore,” Gants said. “Roommates are security risks. But Dark tells me you are fond of her. And I think Dark is fond of her as well. That right, Dark?”

“She’s a hard worker and smart enough to not ask questions,” Dark said. “And dumb enough to be happy with her lot in life.” Dark smirked. “And she’s got a regular that works in the GV Squad. I’m hoping that plays out.”

“Good, good,” Gants said. “That true, Etch?”

“I don’t know about any GV connection,” Etch replied, who was busy keeping his face blank from the news.

“No, I’m asking if she’s happy with her lot in life? Come on, tell me about the Lipian? Is she happy?”

“She seems happy,” Etch said.

“No crying in the lavatory when she gets home? No pounding stim sticks in her closet when she thinks you aren’t paying attention?”

“No, she’s solid,” Etch said. “I wouldn’t live with her if she wasn’t. I know how to calculate risk and she is a low one.”

“Calculate risk… Yeah, that’s what we’re really here to talk about,” Gants said. “You ready to step up to the big leagues, Etch?”

“If you think I’m ready,” Etch replied.

“Ha! Good man! Good man!” Gants guffawed and shook a finger at Dark. “You told me! You told me he was a good one!”

“I did,” Dark replied, eyeing Etch. “He’s a good one. He’ll be even better when we get rid of that Kalaka problem. Until then I’m not sure he’s ready for the next—”

“Shut up,” Gants snapped. “I didn’t ask what you thought. Kalaka is a little bitch that can easily be dealt with. How about you start on that, Dark?”

“Wait, what?” Dark asked. Her mandibles clicked with obvious irritation. “You want me to leave?”

“I want you to get back to work instead of sitting here doing shots on my dime, Dark,” Gants said. The cold, flat tone was back. “Make sure Kalaka understands his place.”

“If you insist,” Dark said.

“I only ever insist, Dark,” Gants replied. “Etch? Move your scrawny halfer ass and let Dark out of the booth. The woman has a GVD to get rid of.”

“Get rid of?” Dark asked as Etch stood up to let her out of the booth.

“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” Gants replied and snapped his fingers. “Pay attention!”

He put his head in his hands and sighed.

“Just go, Eight Million Gods dammit,” Gants said almost too quiet to hear.

Dark shot a look at Etch then disappeared into the dancing crowd. Etch watched her go for a second then realized that Gants was staring at him.

“Thanks,” Etch said. Gants’ eyebrow ridges went up. “For getting rid of Kalaka. He was going to be hard to shake and probably would have ruined my game.”

“I know,” Gants said.

He stood up and pointed at Etch to do the same. Etch did.

“Follow me,” Gants said and walked off.

The crowd parted for the man like he was wearing a force shield. Etch stuck close so the parted people wouldn’t close back in and cut him off. They approached the bar and the glowing skinny bartender that Guska had mentioned was busy mixing a cocktail while chatting with a Tcherian woman that had her skin turned to a swirling mix of every color known in the galaxy.

“Yes?” Schigg asked without looking at Gants.

“We have the guest list yet?” Gants asked as he leaned against the bar. “Hey there.”

The Tcherian gave him a bored look then obviously realized who he was and perked up. She licked her lips and stuck out her chest.

“Maybe,” Gants said to her. “Stick around.” He pointed at Schigg. “Her drinks are on me.”

“I know,” Schigg said. “I’ve been keeping her here just for you.”

The Tcherian looked a little uncomfortable at that comment, but she didn’t move from her stool.

“Guest list?” Gants asked.

“In the office,” Schigg said. “Where it always is.”

“Can’t you access it from your implant?” Etch asked.

Schigg finally focused on Etch, his ember eyes burning with irritation.

“If it was available on his implant, then I would have said so, Mr. Knowles,” Schigg responded.

“Right. Of course. Sorry,” Etch said. “My mistake.”

“Was it?” Schigg asked.

“What?”

“A mistake. That was a very specific inquiry. A question with an agenda. There any reason you want that guest list to be available via implant? Would it make it easier for you to steal?”

“Steal? Why? Mr. Gants is about to show it to me,” Etch responded. “Right, Mr. Gants?”

“That’s right, Etch,” Gants said. “But I always appreciate Schigg’s caution and healthy paranoia.”

“I appreciate the fact you appreciate that,” Schigg said. Someone shouted for a Whiskey Burnout. Schigg rolled his fiery eyes. “I need to get back to work. Third drawer.”

“Thank you, Schigg,” Gants said and patted Etch on the cheek. “Come on, tile player. I’m about to assign you homework.”

19.

It was well after three in the afternoon when Etch finally dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen area of the apartment. He scratched everything he could reach and shook his head to wake up as the liquid caff dripped into his mug at a rate that would have made evolution look speedy.

Once mug was in hand, and Etch was able to down a few sips, he sat on the couch, activating his comm as his ass sunk into the lumpy cushions.

“Should I even say good morning?” Angie asked. “Because I didn’t see you crawl back home until well past dawn. Was it a productive night?”

“It was,” Etch said and sipped more caff. “I’m in.”

Angie was quiet for a few seconds. “Say that again. Please say that again.”

“I’m in,” Etch said and finished his caff. He rolled his head on his neck and scratched at his scalp. “I saw the guest list. I know who’s playing in the game Gants has been prepping me for. Big whales and some serious pros are coming in next month.”

“Next month? This is great, Etch!” Angie nearly cried. “We are right on schedule.”

“I doubt S’lunn thinks so,” Etch said. “He gave me a list of snitches to avoid. What he didn’t give me was the name of one corrupt as shit Galactic Vice Detective named Kalaka.”

“You sure he’s corrupt?” Angie asked. “Maybe he’s working it undercover like you. Could be playing a role. I’ll ask S’lunn.”

“Don’t,” Etch said. “Dark is handling Kalaka. And maybe S’lunn isn’t as clean as we think.”

“S’lunn? He’s clean, trust me.” Angie chuckled. “I’ve used every trick in the book to trip him up and he hasn’t even blinked. The guy is cleaner than the two of us put together.”

“You sure?” Etch asked. “Because Kalaka was pretty open about his own corruption. Hard to believe that S’lunn doesn’t know Kalaka is dirty.”

“I’ll still talk with S’lunn about this Kalaka guy,” Angie said. “He could be the Squad dipshit that everyone simply tolerates. Not clean, but not really dirty. A piece of shit no matter what. Every Squad has one of those. You know how it is.”

“True,” Etch said, not sounding convinced.

“What’s up with your Lipian?” Angie asked. “She didn’t come home last night. Do we need to be worried?”

“Yes and no,” Etch said and filled Angie in on the entire interaction between Gants and Guska at the Club. “She’s far from safe, but she’s exactly where we want her to be. I’ll try to see if I can talk with her soon.”

“She’s not coming home?” Angie asked.

“That’s the impression I got,” Etch said. “I think once you’re recruited to work at the Club, you stay at the Club. Makes sense considering how Gants acts. And also how that Schigg guy acts. Control freak of the weirdest order. Not sure he’s sold on me. If we have a problem with my cover, Schigg will be the one to find out.”

“Schigg? Hold on,” Angie said. Etch waited patiently, knowing Angie was checking her files. “The bartender? You’re worried about the bartender?”

“He’s not a bartender,” Etch said. “He’s way more than that. From what I could tell, he’s Gants’ consigliere.”

“His what? Knowles, do not make me look a word up.”

“Counselor. It’s an old slang word you hear the syndicates pass around. I had to ask someone once what it meant and got a ration of shit for days. You’ve never heard it?”

“If it’s Earth slang, then Hells no. Bad luck using any crap word from that trash planet.”

“Whatever. Schigg is dangerous and I’ll need to watch my ass around him.”

“I’ll go over everything again. I’ll make sure your cover is buttoned tight. Can’t have a loose end this close to the finish line.”

“Finish line? Don’t get ahead of yourself there, McDade. I haven’t played a single big game yet. It’s going to take a few of those before I am allowed even a peek behind the true curtain.”

“I know, I know,” Angie replied. “But we’re a trillion times closer than we were before last night. Excuse me for being happy at progress, Knowles.”

“This optimistic McDade is freaking me out,” Etch said and laughed. “Listen. I’m getting off the comm. Gonna sonic and clean up. Maybe head out and eat some food. I’ve been going from tile house to here and back to tile house for months. I need a change of scenery. Any recommendations on where to eat?”

“Recommendations? I’ve been eating carry out and box noodles this whole time, Knowles. What the fuck do I know about recommendations?”

“Thought I’d ask. Never mind. I’ll figure it out myself. We done?”

“Yeah, we’re done,” Angie said. “Go get cleaned up. What’s the plan tonight?”

“Playing in a regular game with some of Gants’ people at the Club,” Etch said. “Gonna be another late night. Probably like this until the big game.”

“Take care of yourself. Don’t burn out,” Angie said. “Not when we’re this close.”

“Copy that,” Etch said. “Chat tomorrow.”

He killed the comm, stood up, stretched, and headed for the lavatory.

Etch stripped down and stepped into the tiny sonic. He really wanted a full steam, but the sonic wave shower would have to do for the moment. Getting a real steam of H2O was one thing he was desperately looking forward to when the op was done. As he stepped into the sonic, he tried to remember the last real steam he’d had. Months? Eight Million Gods, had it been over a year? Probably.

The sonic waves stripped the sweat and grease off of Etch’s body, leaving him feeling clean, but not very satisfied. He laughed to himself as he stepped out and got dressed. Story of his life: clean, but not satisfied. Etch realized he wasn’t going to be sad when his undercover days were over.

He was tugging his shirt over his head as he left the lavatory. If his right arm hadn’t been up at that moment, then he probably would have been dead from the first blow.

“Fuck!” he yelled as pain exploded in his right forearm and he was knocked back against the lavatory’s door frame.

His instincts told him where the next blow would be directed, and he was right as he turned his body to the left and let his right shoulder take the next hit. What his instincts didn’t tell him was to watch out for the second attacker on his left. Those blows nailed him in the ribs, the stomach, then the side of the head as he doubled over.

Etch was falling then not falling. Someone had him by the back of the neck and was squeezing hard enough that his vertebrae ground against each other, pain shooting down his spine and into his legs. Legs that were weak and wobbly after the blow to the head. Ribs he had broken more times than he could count. Same with arms. But a hard rap to the temple wasn’t anything anyone ever got used to. The brain was funny that way.

“You think you can get our friends killed and nothing would happen, halfer?” a voice snarled into his right ear. Etch struggled to get his eyes to focus, but everything was a blur of fuzzy pain. “Bet you didn’t think we’d find you. But we did, halfer. We found you and now you pay.”

“Ain’t finding any chits, Morgo,” someone shouted from across the living room.

“Keep looking,” the voice by Etch’s ear, Morgo, snapped. “Tile players have chits. This fucker is gonna have a lot after the streak he’s been on all these months.”

The grip tightened and the hand shook Etch’s head like it was a child’s bobble toy. The world grew dim and dark then brightened once again. Etch wasn’t sure the brightness would stay much longer. Not the way his head felt.

“You hear that, halfer?” Morgo snarled. “I’ve been watching you. Waiting. Biding my time.”

“Biding? What’s that mean?” a voice from Etch’s left asked.

The second attacker. Etch was aware enough to realize at least three beings were in the apartment. The one holding him, Morgo, the idiot that didn’t know basic vocabulary, and the sucker trying to hunt for Etch’s bankroll. Three. Etch liked those odds if his head would only clear up for a minute or two.

“Being patient,” Morgo snarled. “You’re such a fucking moron, Gosby.”

“Never heard the word, so what do I know about biding?” Gosby whined.

“Where are your chits, halfer?” Morgo growled and shook Etch again by the neck. “Tell us quick and I’ll make this hurt a lot less than I want you to hurt. Hear me, halfer? I’m being kind.”

Gosby snorted.

“You got something to say, jackfuck?” Morgo nearly shouted.

“Calm down, Morgo,” Gosby said. “Never heard you and the word kind used in the same sentence. That’s all. I know what kind means and I don’t think it describes you.”

“What is your fucking problem, Gosby?” the searcher’s voice called from what Etch guessed was the kitchen area of the apartment. “Morgo was making a point, you dumbass.”

“You’re the dumbass,” Gosby whined.

Footsteps then a hard slap to the cheek. Etch realized the searcher had approached him and was crouching down to look in his eyes. Etch must have blacked out for a few seconds.

“Where’s your chits, halfer?” the searcher asked.

Etch let out a small snort. The guy in front of him was a genetic mess. Mottled skin that was partly scaled and partly slimed. Two different eyes. Ears that stuck up straight from the top of his head like a nuft. Teeth that were sharp as any Cervile’s.

“You broken, halfer?” the searcher asked. “Can’t talk anymore?”

“Don’t call…me…halfer,” Etch grunted.

“Don’t call you…?” the searcher looked to either side of Etch and shook his head. “You guys hear that? The halfer is offended. Oh, poor halfer.”

“Fuck you…mutt,” Etch spat.

The searcher’s two different eyes went wide then narrowed to almost nothing.

“Listen, halfer, Morgo here wants me to find your chit stash,” the searcher said. “Morgo gets real angry when people don’t do what he wants.”

“You better fucking believe it,” Morgo snarled.

“I wanna keep Morgo happy because he has the hookup to the best stim on Jafla,” the searcher continued. “That means I need your chit stash. Where is it, halfer?”

“Have you checked…?” Etch started, but stopped halfway through.

The searcher leaned closer.

“Have I checked where?” the searcher asked.

“Have you checked…?” Etch repeated.

“Have I checked where?” the searcher shouted then stood up.

“Your guts,” Etch said.

He yanked his left arm free from Gosby’s grip and slashed out at the searcher’s belly, Cervile claws ripping through the stained and soiled shirt the man wore. Then the claws found flesh and Etch dug deep, plunging his fingers into the man’s guts, twisting, ripping, flicking his fingers back and forth, slicing intestines into ribbons.

The searcher screamed. Gosby screamed. Morgo roared. Etch laughed as he yanked his hand free and flicked gore from his claws.

Etch was being lifted off his feet by the back of his neck. He could feel Morgo’s grip tighten and he knew the twist and snap was going to be any second. Etch struck fast, but not hard. His strength was ebbing. It had taken everything in him to disembowel the searcher. He didn’t have much fight left.

But what fight he did have, he gave it his all.

Morgo roared louder, but in pain not rage. Although there was plenty of rage too.

Etch struck again and again and Morgo finally dropped him as he retreated away from the deadly claws. Etch rolled himself into the lavatory and slammed the door closed. He tapped his comm.

“McDade!” he gasped as he braced his legs against the door and his back to the sink. The lock was long busted on that lavatory door, so Etch’s only hope was leverage. “McDade!”

The comm chirped and Angie came on, “Knowles? What’s up?”

“I’ve got a stim junkie problem,” Etch said as someone threw themselves against the door. Etch grunted as pain shot up his legs and into his back. “Friends of the alley junkies. Don’t know how, but they found me.”

“Shit,” Angie swore. “Shit shit shit!”

“Call someone, Eight Million Gods dammit!” Etch snapped.

“I am! I am!” Angie said. “I put in a call to the local precinct! But I can’t tell them you’re GVD, so they aren’t going to make this a special case, Knowles! They’ll get there when they get there!”

“Who you talking to in there, halfer?” Morgo roared as the door shuddered in its frame a second time.

“You got a weapon on you?” Angie asked.

“My claws,” Etch said. “My pistols are in the living room.”

“Shit,” Angie growled. “How much time do you have?”

“You calling your mommy, you piece of shit?” Morgo yelled. “That what you’re doing?”

Mommy. Mom. A mom. Etch realized he had commed the wrong person.

“Gotta go,” Etch said and switched channels as he dialed in a new comm signature.

“What, Knowles?” a very sleepy-sounding Dark answered. “Better be good or you’re dead.”

“I’ve got two junkies trying to break into my lavatory and kill me!” Etch yelled. “I gutted one, but two are still here!”

“Do what now?” Dark exclaimed. “Hold on. Help is on the way.”

The comm went dead, leaving Etch alone as the attack against the door continued at an increasing pace of rage and violence.

“Yeah, I called my mom!” Etch yelled. “You may have heard of her! A Leforian that goes by the name of Dark!”

One more blow then the attack stopped.

“Terpigshit,” Morgo said, still enraged, but with a slight hint of fear and caution in his voice.

“Morgo and Gosby,” Etch shouted. “Those are your names. I bet Dark has a contact on the street that can find you within the hour. Better start running, bitch. Not much time before she gets here.”

There was some hushed arguing then, “You don’t know Dark. Little shit tile player like you. Dark doesn’t need your ass.”

“My business with Dark is beside the point, moron,” Etch said. “She’s on the way whether or not you believe me. Hang tight and you’ll find out.”

One last explosive blow to the door then silence.

Etch waited. He counted to ten, twenty, fifty. No more blows. A hundred, five hundred, two thousand. Still nothing.

Then a knock.

“Knowles? You alive in there?” Dark asked. “We got a corpse out here. You one in there?”

“About time,” Etch mumbled as he eased his legs away from the lavatory door. His muscles protested and his back was on fire from being jammed up against the sink. “I’m alive.”

The door cracked open and Dark’s Leforian eyes peered in then down, finding Etch on the floor. Her mandibles clicked in either irritation or amusement. Etch figured both.

“Hiding in the crapper from stim junkies,” Dark said and walked away. “Did I pick the wrong guy, Etch?”

Etch struggled to his feet, pulling himself up by the edge of the sink.

“Screw you,” Etch said, limping his way out of the lavatory, as two thugs dragged searcher’s body right out the front door.

Dark was standing in the middle of the living room flanked by two of her largest thugs. She had all four of her arms crossed over her chest and was busy looking about at the chaos and mess of the apartment. Cushions were slashed open, everything that could have held chits was smashed, there were holes in the walls. Etch didn’t remember any of that happening.

“Shit,” Dark said when she finally focused on Etch. “We need to get you into a med pod.”

“I’m okay,” Etch said and stumbled over to the thrashed couch. He fell onto the cushions and sighed at the feeling of softness against his skin. “Just let me rest for a bit and I’ll tell you all about the guys that came at me.”

“No, Knowles, we’re getting you to a med pod,” Dark stated. “Now.”

Hands lifted Etch off the couch and he let them. The last thing he remembered was passing by the cracked mirror hanging by the apartment door. He caught a glimpse of himself and cried out. One pupil was dilated almost to being perfectly round. That was very bad.

20.

Etch woke up in a med pod and felt like a new being.

He blinked a few times and started as he realized someone was standing over him, staring into the med pod and waving.

“Hi ya!” Guska said as the lid opened wide. “You got the whole base all scared for a second. Didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“I doubt the whole base was anything when it comes to me,” Etch said as he swung his legs out of the med pod.

He looked around at the room he was in. Sterile. Sanitized. Void of any distinguishing feature except for the brushed steel of the metal walls. Then he saw Schigg sitting in a metal alloy chair in the corner a few feet away.

“Everyone that matters in your life on this base was worried,” Schigg said. “Not me. But everyone else.”

Etch nodded at the man, but Schigg did not return the nod. He only stared at Etch with those glowing ember eyes.

“This your place?” Etch asked.

“You’re in the Club,” Schigg said as he stood up and walked towards the med pod.

Guska moved out of Schigg’s way. He didn’t give her a second glance.

“Leave us,” Schigg said, focused entirely on Etch.

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll go find him some new clothes,” Guska said, a terrified grin on her face. “I could go back to the apartment and—”

“Ask Ms. Fleena,” Schigg said. “Clients leave clothes here all the time. We have plenty to spare.”

Then he turned and stared at her.

“You aren’t leaving the Club anytime soon.”

Guska swallowed hard.

“Ms. Fleena. Yeah. I’ll ask her,” Guska said. “Back in a second.”

“Wait outside until I leave,” Schigg said. “Understood?”

Guska nodded quickly and left.

Schigg returned his glowing gaze to Etch.

“Junkies,” he stated.

“Junkies,” Etch agreed and nodded. “What ya gonna do?”

“Not be involved with junkies,” Schigg said. “That’s what you are gonna do.”

“Involved? Not involved at all with that scum,” Etch said. “They were there to rob me. You talk to Dark? She saw the apartment.”

“I spoke with Dark,” Schigg said. “I also spoke with a few other people. You’ve been out for fourteen hours. Missed your first game. Mr. Gants is not pleased, but he shrugged it off. I didn’t shrug it off. I never shrug anything off. I prefer to have answers to problems. You being targeted by junkies is a problem. I wanted to know why.”

“Dark knows all about that too,” Etch said. He was feeling the chill in the room and glanced about, but there wasn’t even a hand towel to cover himself with, so he shivered and tried to smile. “I met her in jail. She knows—”

“All about that too,” Schigg interrupted. “Yes, you said that. But what Dark does and does not know isn’t what bothers me. She did her due diligence and took you on face value. Dark knew Gants needed a tile player. She found a tile player. Your reputation is strong with the circuit. Bad luck on Ballyway, but that happens.”

“Yes…it does,” Etch said warily. “So…what’s the problem?”

“Why do you ask that? Should there be a problem? You assume I found a problem?”

Etch didn’t respond.

“You see, Mr. Knowles, I didn’t find a problem. Which is the problem. Your story of being jumped in an alley in Mesker District checks out. My sources in the PD say those were legit junkies that went after you. But here’s the thing, Mr. Knowles, it seems those junkies’ story started inside that bar. Pitcher’s? Yes. Pitcher’s. The junkies were hassling a woman and a man. Can’t find a thing on the woman, but the man? A Shiv’erna with some severe scarring is fairly easy to track down. Know him?”

“Can’t say that I do,” Etch replied. “I’ve known Shiv’ernas, but none all scarred up.”

“No? You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Alright. That’s good. Know why?”

Etch sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “How about you tell me what you want, Schigg? How about you lay it all out instead of playing this game? I play games for a living, I don’t need this shit right now.”

“Lay it all out…” Schigg nodded then showed Etch his wrist. Quick swipe and a holo came up. “This is the Shiv’erna.”

A holo of Tipo appeared, slowly spinning for a full 360 look.

“Ugly cus,” Etch said. “What the Hells happened to the guy?”

Schigg cocked his head and stared at Etch. Etch casually looked up from the holo and met Schigg’s eyes.

“Well? He get dropped in acid as a kid or what?” Etch asked.

“Dropped in acid. That’s an idea,” Schigg said and a grin twitched at his lips then was gone. “No, Galactic Vice Detective Tipo S’lunn did not get dropped in acid.”

“The guy’s a cop?” Etch exclaimed. “What the fuck are you showing me some cop’s holo for?”

“No simple cop. Galactic Vice,” Schigg said. “Jafla Squad. Not PD, but GV. Funny how he was inside that bar being hassled by those same junkies that ended up out in the alley hassling you. Do you not find that funny?”

“Nothing funny about it,” Etch said. “Probably means those junkies were his snitches and now they’re dead. Is the guy looking for me? Does he blame me for taking out his informants? Is this what all this terpigshit questioning is about? Some GVD has a grudge against me and now you’re worried I’ve blown your scam job?”

“Those are excellent questions, all of them,” Schigg said and took a couple steps back. “All perfectly asked and placed into a conversation in order to deflect away from you. They teach you that in your training?”

“What? No. They taught me how to aim an H16 and blow shit up,” Etch said. “Then they threw a uniform and armor on me and dropped me into Hell. That’s what the Galactic Fleet does to Fleet Marines. Why would I be taught how to ask questions? We were strictly a shoot first, ask no questions division.”

Schigg didn’t say a word. He stared at Etch for a minute, two minutes, five minutes. Etch sat there and let him, waiting for the moment to break.

“I neither like nor believe in coincidences,” Schigg said. “That philosophy has served me well over the years. And I have lived so many years, Mr. Knowles. So many years. I have seen almost everything the galaxy has to offer. Especially when it comes to this business.”

He moved fast and had a hand on Etch’s shoulder before Etch could take a breath.

“I do not like you. I will never trust you. But Mr. Gants needs you for reasons that are his. I plan on explaining all of my suspicions to him. I doubt he’ll change the plan, he never does. But you should be aware that if my suspicions are true, you will be playing your last tile games very soon, Mr. Knowles. Very soon.”

Etch took a massive risk. It was probably the wrong move, but Etch felt like he was out of right moves. He grabbed Schigg’s hand and twisted it hard while shoving down and back. The being grunted and dropped to a knee, his arm giving in to avoid his wrist being snapped off. Etch kept pushing as he slid out of the med pod, his bare feet hitting the freezing metal floor with a hard slap.

Schigg tried to get his wrist free, but Etch applied a little more pressure and the being grunted louder. Then he tried to strike Etch with his other hand, but Etch managed to block that weak blow and kept on twisting until Schigg was forced to cry out, “Enough!”

“No,” Etch growled low, still holding Schigg’s wrist as he leaned in so their faces were only a centimeter apart. “I say when it’s enough. You come in here and accuse me of what? Being a snitch? Is that what this is all about? What in all the Hells am I going to snitch about, Schigg? I play tiles. I haven’t even played a game here in the Club yet. I just got my ass handed to me by yet another crew of stim junkies. Jafla Base seems to be filled with the fucks. Then you come at me all high and mighty and expect me to sit there and take it.”

Etch gave one last twist and the snap was almost as loud as Schigg’s yell of pain that followed. With a hard shove, Etch pushed Schigg away from him. The being scrambled to his feet and shook with pain and rage. Etch stood his ground and faced him, hoping his own shaking was interpreted as rage also, not the abject fear he felt at how close he was to losing it all.

“Tell me why I don’t kill you now,” Schigg asked, cradling his wounded wrist against his chest. “Tell me why I don’t slice off every inch of skin from your body and feed it to you until your stomach ruptures. Tell me, Mr. Knowles.”

“Because Mr. Gants needs me for reasons of his own,” Etch said. “Or you wouldn’t be talking about slicing me up, you’d be doing it. Waking up in the med pod tells me that Mr. Gants doesn’t think I’m a snitch even though he probably had the same thoughts as you. A guy like Mr. Gants doesn’t make it to his level without having instincts about who he works with. You telling me that you think Mr. Gants’ instincts are wrong?”

Schigg glared, but didn’t respond.

“I think I’ll go have a talk with him right now to clear all this up,” Etch said and looked past Schigg. “Guska? You can bring in my clothes.”

The door opened slowly and a twitchy Guska came into the room, a pile of clothes bundled in her arms, her eyes huge and full of fear.

“Thanks,” Etch said as he held out his hands. Guska gave the clothes to him, barely looked at Schigg, turned on her heel, and retreated as fast as she could. “I’ll be out soon.”

Etch got himself dressed. The pants were a bit tight, but they’d do. Once dressed, he nodded back at the med pod.

“You’ll want an hour in there for that wrist, Schigg,” Etch said. “I doubt you’ll need longer than that. Unless whatever you are is one of those races that isn’t compatible with med pods. What exactly are you again?”

“Get out,” Schigg said flatly.

“Gladly,” Etch said. “Mr. Gants in the bar? Never mind. I’ll find him.”

Etch shoved past Schigg and left the room, slapping the door controls on his way out. Once the door’s seal hissed locked, Etch heard Schigg let out a long, angry wail of frustration. It took all of Etch’s self-control not to freak out. He took several deep breaths and went to find Mr. Gants.

21.

“Crap,” Tipo said as he rubbed at his forehead. “Kalaka? This isn’t good. The last thing we need is for that guy to lock onto Etch. Kalaka loves working new criminal informants. He must see something in Knowles.”

“Sixty percent of Knowles’ take is what he sees,” Angie said as the two of them sat at the corner table of a small tea room that was kilometers away from the Jafla GV Squad’s headquarters. The clientele gave them surreptitious glances, but only because the two looked out of place in such a prim and proper setting.

“Sounds like Kalaka,” Tipo said. “But greed is about as corrupt as he gets. The guy has personal problems, but I am fairly sure he’s not on the take.”

“Fairly sure? Great, S’lunn. As long as you are fairly sure,” Angie scoffed. “Knowles should feel one thousand times safer when I tell him that.”

“Kalaka isn’t working for Gants,” Tipo said with confidence. “That much I know. Does he shake down bar owners and shopkeepers? Yeah, he’s that kind of asshole. But he’s not working for the syndicates. Not his style.”

“So the sixty percent angle is legit?” Angie asked. “Kalaka is that transparent?”

“More like that shallow,” Tipo replied. “Jorg knows all about Kalaka’s issues, but Kalaka has one of the best networks of CIs on Jafla. The captain lets Kalaka be because he’s useful when the time comes. That time has been coming more often lately and Kalaka is milking that for all he can. Must be why he’s feeling bold enough to risk pissing off Gants.”

“So Gants isn’t paying Kalaka off?”

“What? No. No way. Gants is way above Kalaka’s little hustles. He was talking shit to Knowles about that. Push comes to shove and Kalaka would turn tail and run for the hills before taking on Gants head to head.”

Angie thought about that, nodding her head as she stared down into her teacup. Something floated at the top of the cup and Angie winced. She had no idea what she’d ordered when they sat down. She hated tea. She hated it even more as she watched the something wriggle and squirm as it secreted a brown substance into the water. She pushed the teacup away from her.

“It’s not that bad,” Tipo said as he sipped at his own tea. “Refreshing.”

“This network of CIs that Kalaka has,” Angie said. “Does it include stim junkies?”

“Sure,” Tipo said. “Stim junkies, prostitutes, muggers, stick-up men, heisters, petty criminals. He’s worked the street hard to get people under his thumb.”

“Could he have tipped off those junkies that came at Knowles?”

“Huh. Didn’t think of that. Maybe.”

“Find out.”

“I don’t even know where to begin with Kalaka. No one in the Squad does or Jorg would have been able to take over those CIs and boot Kalaka out a long time ago. I ask the wrong junkie the wrong question and it’ll get back to Kalaka. He’ll lock his shit down tight and we’ll never find out if he was behind the attack or not.”

“Probably right,” Angie said and nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

“You? You do not know Jafla well enough to handle this, man,” Tipo said. “You’ll get spotted in seconds.”

“Nah. I’m good,” Angie said as she stood up, waving her wrist across the pay sensor at the edge of the table. “My treat. Enjoy your worm tea.”

“McDade!” Tipo snapped. All heads swiveled in his direction, dozens of perfectly manicured eyes staring daggers at him. “Sorry.”

He got up and followed Angie out of the tea room.

“Do not go after Kalaka,” Tipo warned. “I mean it. You’ll upset the Squad balance and Captain Jorg will go over your head. This will snowball into a mess that will bring down our op. I’m telling you that Kalaka is not worth it.”

“I think he is,” Angie said. “And I’m going to handle it.” She patted Tipo on the shoulder. “Don’t worry your schnoz over this. Kalaka’s about to find out what dealing with a McDade is like.”

Angie gave Tipo a huge smile then walked away, leaving the Shiv’erna to blink after her. By the time Angie had reached the corner of the street, and had ignored the snobbish looks of the richer than sin shoppers that glared at her as they stepped out of shops that Angie couldn’t even afford to glance at, let alone shop in, she had a plan formulated.

“Galactic Vice, Jafla Base Squad, how may I direct your comm?” a neutral AI voice asked in Angie’s ear.

“GVD Kalaka, please,” Angie said.

“I’m sorry, but GVD Kalaka is listed as out on assignment,” the AI voice replied. “May I direct you to his comm message system?”

“Listen, are you a solid android or is this a mainframe bot I’m talking to?” Angie asked.

There was a slight pause. “I am a fully functioning android. I occupy physical space within the Galactic Vice, Jafla Base Squad reception area,” the AI voice replied. “However, I do not see how this makes a difference.”

“It doesn’t,” Angie said. “I just like knowing who I’m talking to. Listen…what’s your name? If you have a body, then you have a name. Mainframe bots are a reception protocol and never have names. They have numbers. What’s your name?”

“My name is Poq,” the AI voice replied. “Now that we have been introduced, is there anything else you need from me, Galactic Vice Division Operations Manager Lt. Angie McDade?”

Angie grinned.

“Good job, Poq,” Angie replied. “Listen, can you do me a huge favor and find out where Kalaka is? I need to speak with him right away and not over the comm or at Squad headquarters. You know who I am, so you know what I do. This is undercover.”

“GVD Kalaka did not state where he would be this afternoon,” Poq replied.

“I didn’t ask if he did,” Angie said. “I asked you to tell me where he is.”

“I am afraid—”

“Poq, we both know you’ve been trying to track him down while we’ve been chatting,” Angie said. “You may not know his exact location since I am sure a GVD of Kalaka’s caliber has his implants masked to keep from being tracked too closely by his enemies. But you can give me a district, right? Maybe even a block number?”

“Why?” Poq asked.

Angie’s grin grew. The best part of dealing with androids over dealing with AI bots that lived only inside mainframes was that androids always, always, always wanted to achieve something close to personhood. Always.

That meant they usually had a personal agenda already developed. That was a glitch that had forced the Galactic Fleet to remove most androids from service. But as a receptionist for a GV Squad? Androids were perfect. And the one Angie was speaking with had just revealed that it was perfect for what Angie needed.

“You ever thought of moving up the ranks from receptionist to maybe a detective someday?” Angie asked.

“That is not doable,” Poq said after an almost imperceptible pause.

“Oh, it is very doable when dealing with undercover work,” Angie said. “UC has a lot more leeway when recruiting new detectives. We in UC have needs that make a lot of things very doable. How about it?”

“You want to get me a promotion in exchange for the general area that GVD Kalaka is in? That is all?”

“No, no, there will be much more than that,” Angie said. “But the first step in this process is to give me Kalaka’s location. Gotta learn to walk before you fly, Poq.”

“What assurances do I have that you are not simply using me for your immediate purposes? How will I know you do not plan to forget me the instant you have achieved your goal?”

“Excellent questions, Poq. But we both know the answers. You’ve been analyzing my voice patterns since you answered my comm. You’ve run a thousand protocols on me and know that there isn’t a trace of lying in my voice. If I can make it happen for you, I will.”

“If.”

“Yep, there is always an if. Galactic Vice is still Galactic Vice which means enough tape in many different colors that no matter how honest I am, things can get botched along the way. That’s out of my control. What is in my control is to put in the request for you and get the process started. Plus, I’ll be your advocate along the entire bureaucratic way.”

“I cannot find deception in your voice,” Poq said.

“Because there isn’t any,” Angie replied.

“Very well,” Poq said. “I have sent GVD Kalaka’s last known whereabouts to you. Follow the holo and you’ll be at least within four blocks of him.”

“Great, Poq,” Angie said. “That is just great. I won’t forget this. As soon as you are ready to move up, let me know and I will put in the word with Galactic Vice Fleet Chief Porspo Chokless myself.”

“I do hope so, Lt. McDade,” Poq said. “I would hate for this to turn out poorly for you.”

The comm was severed and Angie couldn’t help but laugh as she brought up the holo display of Kalaka’s coordinates.

“Cheeky bastard,” Angie said as she studied the holo, committed it to memory, then went to find a roller to take her across town.

22.

The woman on Kalaka’s lap screeched and fled as soon as she saw the pistol being aimed at her head.

“Good choice,” Angie said as the woman retreated. “GVD Kalaka? We need to chat.”

“I can see that,” Kalaka said, nodding at the pistol. “This business or pleasure?”

“Is there a difference with a guy like you?” Angie asked.

“Fair play,” Kalaka replied as he nodded at the door that the woman had fled through. “Care to shut that so we can have some privacy?”

Angie paused then nodded as she holstered her pistol.

“No problem.” Angie turned and shut the door, waiting for the seal and beep to signify it was locked. She turned back and barked a surprised laugh. Kalaka had a pistol trained on her. “Really?”

“You pointed one at me, I’m pointing one at you,” Kalaka said as he stood up and moved towards the wall to his right. He waved the pistol at the seat he just vacated. “Have a sit, will ya?”

“You’re making a mistake, Kalaka,” Angie said, taking a seat.

“Don’t think I am,” Kalaka replied as he leaned his back against the wall. “You see, that fine, upstanding working lady you startled is going to tell her madame that some crazed woman came in waving a pistol and threatened one of her best clients. That madame will then activate her security protocols. Weird little bots with burner nozzles. One or two don’t do much, but she’s got a thousand or more ready to deploy through the walls. You’re gonna want to work very hard at convincing me that I shouldn’t let those little bots carve you to pieces.”

“Etch Knowles,” Angie replied. “He’s mine.”

“That so?” Kalaka grinned, making sure his very sharp teeth shown in the dim light. “You got a bill of sale to prove it?”

“Funny,” Angie said. “But I think you know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kalaka said. “Don’t know an Etch Knowles.” He pushed away from the wall and cocked his head. He made a show of putting his free hand to his ear. “Uh oh. I hear tiny little bot feet a’comin’.”

“Back off from Etch Knowles,” Angie ordered. “Not going to ask again.”

“You haven’t asked an Eight Million Gods damn thing since you got here. All you’ve done is give me orders.”

Kalaka crossed to Angie and bent over her, the pistol tilted at an angle that would take the top of Angie’s head off if he pulled the trigger.

“You know who I am, but I don’t know who you are, lady,” Kalaka snarled. “I don’t like taking orders from people I do know, let alone bitches I don’t know.”

“Really?” Angie sighed. “Bitches? Is this your MO for intimidating women? You laugh at them, point pistols at them, and call them bitches? Does that make you feel big, Kalaka? Does it?”

“I do what needs doing depending on the situation,” Kalaka said, moving the pistol closer to Angie’s head.

“What you need to do right now is get that gun away from my face.”

“Scared?”

“I don’t scare easy.”

“That white hair of yours says differently. Not a bleach job. That’s fear hair, lady. I know fear hair.”

“Nope. You’re off on that one, Kalaka. It’s simple genetics. You understand what genetics are, right? That’s what makes my hair white and your pupils vertical. It’s also what makes you way overconfident.”

“How’s that? I have the pistol, yours is still holstered. I have claws that can shred you down to your molecules. You have fingernails that look like you need to start smoking. Those are ugly as all the Hells. Biting your nails is very unattractive. You could be a stunner if you gave a shit. Well, and your age. You’ve aged out of stunning. But still handsome. I’m sure the madame could find you a spot if you’re looking.”

“You really haven’t figured this out yet, have you?”

Angie pursed her lips and tapped the arm of the chair with her fingertips. She glanced down and turned her hand over, fingers curled up, to examine her nails.

“Yeah, they are shit nails,” Angie admitted. “But I’ve never been the gal that cares about that shit. What I do care about is that my guy is not comprised. You see, Kalaka, there’s a mole in your Squad and most of your fellow detectives think it’s you. You give off that scum vibe. Except I don’t think it’s you. Too obvious.”

Kalaka blinked a few times then leaned back. He glanced down at his pistol, looked back to Angie, then took aim.

“They finally sent someone,” Kalaka said.

Angie dove to the side while kicking out with her right foot. She caught Kalaka in the nuts. Right in the crotch. He cried out and fell to his knees as Angie rolled across the floor, twisted her body perfectly, and came up behind Kalaka, her pistol drawn and pressed to his temple. It wasn’t hard for her to pluck Kalaka’s pistol out of his hand. His grip was weak as a baby nuft’s.

“Who the fuck are you, lady?” Kalaka coughed between deep breaths. “You’ve really ruined my evening.”

“Could have ruined your life,” Angie said, pressing the barrel of the pistol harder into Kalaka’s temple. “Still can.”

“What do you want?” Kalaka snarled.

“I want to talk without you trying to kill me. I want you to answer every question I ask. I want you to stop being such a shit and start being a man for a few minutes. Think you can do any or all of those?”

“Why would I?”

“Other than the obvious?”

“Push that pistol against my head all you want, you aren’t going to kill me. I’m a GVD, lady. I’m trained to spot terpigshit. You never intended to shoot me. I could see that plain as day when you walked in.”

“That’s true,” Angie replied. “But that was then, this is now. You were ready to kill me.”

“That’s my job,” Kalaka said.

“How the Hells is that your job?”

“I shoot scumbags that come at me,” Kalaka said. “Especially killers as inept as you. They think they can finally silence me? Well, they’ll have to try harder than this.”

Kalaka shot both elbows back while he tucked his chin to his chest. Angie was shoved back as Kalaka scrambled up and over the chair. He spun about and shoved, knocking the chair into Angie as she struggled to get to her feet. The edge hit her in the thighs and she fell forward.

Kalaka’s claws were out and swiping for Angie’s throat, but she was faster and only caught a quick slice to her left shoulder as she put her entire weight into her fall and shoved the chair back into Kalaka. The man shouted as his killing blows missed and he was knocked into the wall.

Angie was up and over the chair, her fists driving into Kalaka’s face, chest, gut, like wild pistons powered by a million suns. Kalaka’s cries of surprise turned to pain, turned to agony, turned to cries for mercy.

“Stop!” he screeched as Angie stood over him, her right fist up and ready to come down onto his head for the hundredth time. “Please…”

His face was a mess and there was blood everywhere. Kalaka wiped at his eyes, clearing some of that blood away, and stared up at Angie in complete and total fear.

“You win, lady,” he gasped. “Sweet bloody Hells, you win. Ask your damn questions then leave me the Hells alone.”

“I’ll ask my questions, but there is no way I’ll leave you alone,” Angie said as she crouched down and put her face close to his. “You work for me now, GVD Kalaka. Welcome to the operation. Bait has already been set, but I am going to need you to chum the waters a bit before I can reel in the catch.”

“Bait? Reel in?” Kalaka asked. “What are you babbling…?”

His eyes went as wide as the immediate swelling would allow.

“You’re starting to understand what’s going on and how you played this all wrong,” Angie stated. Not a question, a statement.

“You’re not a killer, you’re fucking GV,” Kalaka said and let out an amused, but exhausted, little laugh. “Eight Million Gods dammit.” He looked Angie up and down then nodded. “Division?”

“Division,” Angie said. “Galactic Vice Division Operations Manager Lt. Angie McDade. Pleased to meet you, asshole.”

She stood up and held out a hand. Kalaka took it and was yanked to his feet.

“You could have led with that intro when you walked in and saved us both a lot of hassle,” Kalaka said as he struggled to put the chair upright. “A little help?”

Angie righted the chair and Kalaka collapsed into it. He flicked his wrist and said, “Whiskey.” He raised an eyebrow at Angie, she nodded. “Make it two. And food. Not that I can chew much. Make it soup. Creamy. You want anything?”

“Whiskey will be fine,” Angie said. “We safe to talk here?”

“This is pretty much the only place I feel safe to talk,” Kalaka said. “Everywhere else is bugged, either by Gants’ people or by my own fucking Squad.”

“So you know who the mole is,” Angie said.

“Mole? Listen, Lieutenant, there is no mole.” He held up a hand before Angie could protest. “There are moles. Plural. Half the Squad is on the take by one syndicate or another.”

“More than just Collari? Fuck,” Angie said.

“Oh, you thought this would be simple,” Kalaka said. “Nope. Not on Jafla. Gants has most of the illicit market sewed up for the Collari Syndicate, but he doesn’t own the whole GV Squad. Probably half a dozen other outfits with fingers in our little department.”

“Fuck,” Angie said again and put her hands on her hips as she stared up at the ceiling.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Kalaka said.

The door slid open and a female Ferg, her rows of nipples on full display, pushed a hover cart into the room and next to Kalaka’s chair. She didn’t even blink at the sight of his face or give Angie a second look before leaving immediately.

“Thank Eight Million Gods,” Kalaka said and uncorked one of the whiskey bottles with his teeth, wincing at the effort. He downed half the bottle before taking a breath. “How high up does this op of yours go?”

“All the way,” Angie said. “Officially, we’re here to take down Gants’ sex trafficking business. But the real op is to get rid of the mole in Jafla Squad. Now moles.”

Kalaka tossed her the second bottle of whiskey as he set his down and lifted the lid on the large bowl on the hover cart. He breathed in the steam and smiled. Then winced.

“Fuck, McDade, you really messed me up,” he said as he fumbled a spoon and began to take small sips of the steaming hot soup. “I’ll be on a liquid diet for a couple weeks.”

“Good,” Angie said. “The Squad will be pleased. They really don’t like you. S’lunn filled me in on a lot.”

“S’lunn,” Kalaka chuckled. “Please tell me he’s under your microscope.”

That stopped Angie dead as she was raising the whiskey bottle to her mouth.

“What?” she asked.

“S’lunn,” Kalaka said. “He’s one of the worst. Sold his own partner out and is making moves on Tikk’s widow.”

Angie stared.

Kalaka kept sipping soup then set the spoon down as the silence stretched.

“You didn’t know about S’lunn,” he stated. “That’s a specific problem why?”

“Because he’s my co-manager on the cover op,” Angie replied. “He knows who the GDV is I have undercover in Gants’ outfit.”

“Holy shit, yeah, that is a very specific problem for your guy undercover,” Kalaka said. “We’re going to have to do something about that.”

“We?”

“Yes, we.” Kalaka sighed and drank some more whiskey. “Listen, McDade, I’m corrupt as all the Hells. I shake down shopkeepers, bartenders, hookers, even their johns if it looks like I can make some chits off the bastards. They’re so terrified I’ll arrest them and their wives or husbands will find out that they hand me everything in their pockets.”

“You’re not making much of a case for your trustworthiness, Kalaka,” Angie said coolly.

“I’m admitting my sins here, McDade, so you can understand my virtues. Yes, I shake as much of Jafla down as I can, but I am not a mole and I am not a snitch. I still do my job as a GVD. I nail the really bad ones when I can and exploit the not so bad ones to my advantage. Which means I have eyes and ears all over the place. Ready for some good news?”

“Yes.”

“S’lunn isn’t Gants’ bitch. He works for a different syndicate. And poorly, I might add. From what I hear, Jafla PD tactical should not have been anywhere near that barge that blew. That was only for Tikk. A little message to those not towing the line in the Squad and a little message to Gants that his business was on notice. Willz is pissed at him.”

“Willz Syndicate? They used to have a huge stake in the Orb fights, right?”

“They did, yeah, but then Shava Stem Shava went and got himself dead and the Willz Syndicate’s influence started drying up on Jafla faster than an old whore’s fun hole.”

“Nice.”

“How long were you Squad before you got moved up to Division? Couple years? Maybe five?”

“Ten,” Angie replied before drinking deeply from her bottle. “I put in my time, Kalaka.”

“Good. Then you understand the razor-thin line I walk every day on this fucking shithole of a base. I’m corrupt enough that others leave me alone, but I’m not on the take, so I can look myself in the mirror each morning. Or afternoon. My schedule varies.”

“So what?”

“So I see the power dynamics shift constantly. Willz Syndicate is on the outs, but they want to be back on the ins. I’ll bet everything that S’lunn is using your op to get that done. He has to dig himself out of that hole he made. A hole that ended up bringing you here to investigate. And how will he fill that hole? With juicy intel he can pass on to the Willz folks. Juicy intel on your cover op and your GVD. How co are you playing this management?”

“Not very,” Angie said. “He only knows about the cover op, not about the real op. Good thing because he’s now on the list to get taken down.”

“But he can burn your GVD at any second if he wants, yeah?”

“Yeah. Not sure he hasn’t already.”

“Etch Knowles. You came in hot with his name on your tongue, so I’m guessing he’s your guy.”

“Guess all you want.”

“Whatever, McDade. I’ll check to see what’s being whispered. If a GVD undercover is blown, then there will be talk.”

“I’m not officially telling you his name.”

Kalaka grinned around his spoon. He slurped, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand without wincing too much. “Never officially tell me anything. I’ll only get you dirty.”

“I can handle my own dirt. Start working your sources.”

“I will,” Kalaka said and eased away from his soup. He grunted as he tried to get comfortable in the chair. “But this is going to cost you.”

“Cost me? What the Hells does that mean? I’m not paying you jack crap.”

“The chits aren’t for me.”

“Chits? Are you mad?”

“Like I said, the chits aren’t for me. Well, they are, but I’ll put them to good use. Turns out Gants has a nice upper-level tile game in the works. It got put on hold because one of the players had some issue or other. Not sure. No one knows the details. But as of tonight, it is back on. Get me about two hundred thousand chits and I can buy my way into that game.”

“Gants will let you buy your way into his tile game? You’re a GVD. Why would he take that risk?”

“Gants has wanted me in his pocket for a long, long time. Two hundred thousand chits is the buy-in for the seat, the opportunity that he may be able to turn me when no other syndicate has is the buy-in for me to occupy that seat.”

“So? Why do I care if you get a seat at this game?” Angie asked, using every ounce of her self-control not to reveal that the situation Kalaka just gave her could be the biggest break she’d gotten in a long, long time. Two GVDs at that table? Brilliant.

“The game is in Gants’ place. The Club. Between the waitstaff, the whores, the patrons, the thugs, and the tile players, I’ll find out what the skinny is on your guy. Trust me.”

“Not in a million years, Kalaka,” Angie replied. “But I don’t need to trust you for you to be effective. I’ll get you the two hundred thousand chits. Where and when?”

“Where you staying? I can swing by and pick them up,” Kalaka said. Angie glared. “Or not. Gonna need an hour or two in a med pod first, wherever we meet.”

“Don’t stay in too long,” Angie said. “Keep the look. Create a story and play it up. I have a feeling everyone will be thrilled you got your ass handed to you.”

Kalaka eyed her for a few seconds then nodded in acquiescence. “Yeah. Probably right about that. Good call, Lt. McDade.”

“It’s my job to make the good calls,” Angie said. “Where and when do you need the chits?”

“ASAP and you can leave them with reception,” Kalaka said after a couple moments thought.

“Here? You want me to leave two hundred thousand chits at the front desk of a brothel?”

“They’d never rip me off here,” Kalaka said. “I’m a respected customer. Plus, I’m not leaving until it’s game time. This place has one of the best med pods in Jafla.”

Angie thought long and hard then nodded.

“You got it,” she said. “I expect a report first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Afternoon,” Kalaka said. “The game won’t be over until the morning. I won’t be awake until the afternoon.”

“Then report before you go to bed,” Angie ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kalaka said. “Expect a comm bright and early. Or we could meet for a cup of caff. I know a sweet stand over in—”

“Comm will be fine,” Angie said. She stepped up close to Kalaka and pressed her wrist to his until they both beeped. “I have your signature.”

“Let me guess, you didn’t give me yours,” Kalaka said.

“Your comm will connect automatically when you ask for Angie McDade. No need for you to have access to my actual signature.”

“I can think of several reasons,” Kalaka said. “All of them dirty.”

Angie shook her head then punched Kalaka in the nose. He grunted, but didn’t make a move to return the violence; only wiped the blood that trickled from his nose and onto the fur covering his upper lip.

“Full report tomorrow,” Angie said then left.

23.

The market was jammed with people, all hurrying to get what they needed then rush home after a long day at work. Or whatever they were getting off from.

“What’s wrong?” Etch asked as he picked up a piece Mosca fruit. He sniffed it and his eyes crossed. “Damn. That’s got a stink to it.”

A couple feet away, Angie studied her own produce. She set the lumpy green blob back in the crate and shook her head.

“Give me a thirty count then meet me behind the public lavatory,” Angie said then turned and walked off.

Etch continued perusing the produce until he had mentally counted to thirty then he thanked the stall keeper and moved off into the crowd. He wound his way through the distracted and irritated public. He walked well past the public lavatories, making sure to scope out every single being that was coming and going from the area. Then he ducked through the gap between a couple of stalls and doubled back to the small building.

“You good?” Angie asked as she leaned her back against the wall, hidden in the late evening shadows.

“No one on me,” Etch said, joining her at the wall. “What’s up? I need to be back at the Club like now. I went head to head with Gants’ guy, Schigg, so I’m not exactly sitting pretty with that outfit.”

“Shit, Knowles, what did you do that for?”

“Schigg is on to me, so I had to front tough and take him down a peg. Broke the guy’s wrist. He’ll back off, but he’s not going to stop trying to nail me. His gut is telling him I’m bad news.”

“Gants?” Angie asked.

“I smoothed it over with him. The guy wants me at that table tonight, so he’s willing to look past a spat with his right hand. But things won’t be smoothed over long. Eventually, Schigg will get Gants on his side. If that happens, then I’m dead.”

“Yeah, well, Gants isn’t your only problem,” Angie said and sighed. “S’lunn.”

“What about the guy? He’s not dead, is he?”

“What? No. Not yet, at least.” Angie scrunched up her face and sighed. “I was wrong about S’lunn. He’s on the take. Working for the Willz Syndicate. Sounds like he set his partner up to die. Or that’s what Kalaka said.”

Etch rubbed at his temples for a second then faced Angie head on.

“Where you wanna start with all that shit you just dropped on my head?”

“Kalaka isn’t a problem. I told him the main op was to suss out moles in the Jafla Squad. He bought it.”

“Moles? Plural?”

“Plural. According to Kalaka, Jafla Base Squad is filled with them. Maybe half the Squad is on the take with one of the syndicates. Shava Stem Shava dying has made Jafla the hot spot to set up shop.”

“The Orbs are a huge draw, so I don’t doubt it. But why in all the Hells would you believe or trust a guy like Kalaka?”

“Trust him? Not a fucking chance,” Angie said as she shook her head. “I wouldn’t trust that Cervile to sonic my toilet.”

“So…?”

“But I believe him when he says there are moles. Plural. He had no reason to lie. Is he a dirty scumbag, yeah, but he had no angle to lie. Other than he wanted me not to kill him. I may have beaten him to Hells and back.”

“I was wondering,” Etch said as he glanced down at Angie’s knuckles. They were bruised and blood had dried in the folds of her skin. “May want to try washing your hands a little harder.”

“I did. Cervile blood is sticky shit,” Angie said.

“He know I’m the undercover?”

“He suspects. Heavily. But I never said for certain.”

“So you have him hunting for moles. Good. That’ll keep him busy and out of my hair. Big game tonight.”

“Yeah, well, here’s the rub, Knowles.” Angie took a deep breath. “Kalaka is buying into the game tonight. He’ll be sitting at the table with you. If he gets in. He says he can, but we’ll see.”

“You have got to be shitting me,” Etch said and shoved away from the wall.

He paced back and forth, a million scenarios rushing through his head as he tried to work out the angles in his mind of what it would mean to have Kalaka at the game. As hard as he tried to work it all out, he couldn’t find one good reason to let Kalaka play.

“Why?” was all Etch could ask finally.

“He’s coming in to figure out if you’ve been blown or not,” Angie said. “He’ll be the extra pairs of eyes and ears you need at that game. If S’lunn is dirty, then the op is already compromised. What I should do is pull the plug and get both of our asses off Jafla ASAP.”

“You haven’t called in to Lu’Tes’Tu, have you?”

“We’re still here, aren’t we? She’d yank the op in a second if I told her what a cluster this has become.”

“Then why are we still here? Why risk it? I could be walking into a trap tonight. This could be our last meeting. Maybe calling Lu’Tes’Tu isn’t such a bad idea.”

“I’m not doing that,” Angie snapped. “People are being kidnapped and killed because Gants wants to build his whore empire here on Jafla. A GVD was murdered over it. Shit, Knowles, this Squad has moles.”

“Plural,” Etch said.

“Plural,” Angie agreed, grimacing. “You get it, right?”

“I get it. But it doesn’t mean that we’re going to win this. S’lunn may have already burned me. Hells, Kalaka probably called up Gants and sold me out as soon as you left him. I bet he made a healthy stack of chits off the intel. We should shut this down, McDade. We track down Kalaka, pull him in, milk him for all the info he has on the Squad, take out the moles, and walk away with at least that in our pocket.”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck, McDade! Why not? Do we shut down Gants? No. But we at least hobble him and the other syndicates by cleaning house in the Jafla Base Squad. I’m right on this and you know it. Pull the plug. Now.”

Angie stood there, thinking. Etch let her. He watched emotions flit across her features. Etch waited. He wasn’t going to push the lieutenant. Pushing Angie McDade to make a decision was not what was best for one’s career.

“Tonight’s game,” Angie said. “We get you through tonight’s game then we decide. If the atmosphere feels off, then excuse yourself to go to the lavatory and comm me. I’ll have a Jafla PD tactical team there in minutes. We’ll bust the place and I’ll slide you through the system and on the next shuttle back to GV Division headquarters for debriefing. We’ll take some career hits on this, but they won’t be too bad.”

Etch’s stomach did flip-flops and he cocked his head as he studied Angie.

“How will playing tonight make any damn difference?” Etch asked. “They aren’t going to chat about trafficking sex slaves over a tile game. I’m not going to make any headway with this op because I sit in on one game.”

“I know.”

“Then why send me in? Why don’t we both walk away right now?”

“One more game. Just one more. Scope out what you can then leave. Lose all your chits. Fake getting shitty drunk and being sick. Make an ass out of yourself so Gants will want you gone. Then you find me and we go. But I need you to sit in on at least one game or Lu’Tes’Tu will have our badges.”

Etch knew he was being played, but he didn’t know why. He watched Angie closely, but her face had turned to stone and she was giving nothing away. The flip-flops in his stomach turned into a full-on gymnastics floor routine.

“I’m out,” Etch stated. “Out.”

“Wait one Eight Million Gods damn second, Knowles,” Angie snarled. “I said one more game then we’re out.”

“I don’t care whether you’re out or not, I’m out,” Etch said. “You keep the op going. Use Kalaka as your guy. Everyone thinks he’s rotten to the core, which the fucker is, so there’s no risk there. He’s your guy now. I’m out.”

Etch started to walk away, but Angie’s hand whipped out and snagged him by the arm.

“I’ll bury you,” she snapped.

“Why?” Etch asked. He yanked free of her grip and turned to face her. “Why, McDade? Why bury me? We have to assume I’m burned. I can’t work undercover anymore. It’s a desk job from here on out, especially since this op went to shit. I’m burying myself.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Do you want to know why?” Etch patted his belly. “Because my instincts say to leave now or I won’t get another chance. I sit down at that game tonight and I’m a dead man. Tell me I’m wrong?”

Etch waited for Angie to respond, but she didn’t. His fear and anxiety had given over to anger once he’d decided he was done. And that anger was directed at Lt. Angie McDade.

“Come on, McDade,” Etch pushed. “Tell me my gut is wrong on this one. Tell me you aren’t feeling the same bit of sick in your own gut. Can you tell me that? Can you?”

Etch finally saw the stone crack in Angie’s face. It was an almost imperceptible crack, but it was there. Etch was right. Angie felt it too. He shook his head.

“I can’t risk going back there,” Etch continued. “I have to leave Guska on her own. As soon as Gants realizes I’m not showing up tonight, he’ll kill her. Probably have Schigg do it and make sure it looks like a warning to all that double-cross him. She’s a small time Lipian whore, but she’s a decent person, McDade. Don’t think I’m walking away lightly. I’ll have blood on my hands from this op, just like you.”

“Knowles…”

Angie could barely look him in the eye. When she finally did, Etch was taken aback.

“What is going on?” he asked.

Angie shook her head back and forth, tears close to forming in her eyes. Etch leaned in and took her by the shoulders. She shrugged him off, but he stayed close.

“McDade? Angie? What is going on?” Etch asked again.

“This is it for me, Knowles,” Angie said, taking a deep breath. “I’ve bungled a few ops and this was supposed to get me back in Lu’Tes’Tu’s good graces. I screw up this one too…”

She left it hanging there. Etch started putting the pieces together.

“Holy shit,” he said quietly. “You knew about the corruption in the Jafla Squad, didn’t you?”

Angie nodded.

“You also knew that Division would never sanction a direct op to take down dirty GVDs. That’s not for GV to handle. That’s Fleet Intelligence Service. They flush out the moles.”

Angie nodded again.

“You were going to get Gants’ trafficking connection then bring down Jafla Squad for double the glory. Buy your way back to the top with a successful op and a bit of housecleaning.”

“A girl can dream.”

“Yeah, but that dream was going to get me killed. Fuck, McDade! You almost talked me into walking into the lion’s den again tonight!”

“Yeah. Almost. But you’re too good of a GVD to fall for it,” Angie said with a smirk. “It’s why I picked you.”

“You realize this means that you busted my op on Ballyway for nothing and now not only do we not get Gants, or the GV moles, but all that work I put into Ballyway is lost. There isn’t even the trade-off for this op. Eight Million Gods, McDade.”

Etch pinched the bridge of his nose. Angie didn’t say a word.

“I have some things to grab at Guska’s apartment,” Etch said as he finally walked away. “I’ll pick those up then meet you where?”

“Meet me at Jafla Squad,” Angie called after him. “No point in staying hidden. It’ll be good to have you on record reporting in to Jorg before we leave this craphole planet.”

“Now you want to play it by the book?” Etch called back and waved. “See you in a couple hours. Try not to make this messier than it is.”

Etch turned the corner of the lavatory building and worked his way into the market crowd. His head was swimming, but his emotions were under control. He thought about calling Lu’Tes’Tu himself right then and there, but Angie didn’t deserve to be kicked when she was down. She’d messed his career up, that was for sure, but he didn’t hate her for it. His days in undercover were almost over anyway.

By the time Etch stepped onto the public transport, he’d come to terms with the prospect of spending the rest of his days behind a desk. Maybe when the dust settled from the shitstorm that was about to go down over the bad op, he could talk Lu’Tes’Tu into letting him run an op of his own. He had the experience and he knew exactly what not to do. That had value.

Etch was close to convincing himself that the op falling apart was probably the best thing to happen. The transport roller slowed then stopped and he hurried off just in time at his stop. He wasn’t going to miss staying at Guska’s apartment that was for sure. Etch figured he’d need a month of delousing before he’d ever feel clean again.

That got him thinking of the steam showers he was going to enjoy when he was off Jafla and back home in his own apartment. Real steam. Hours and hours of it. Etch was so absorbed in the thought of a true shower that he didn’t notice the shadow that closed on him as soon as he stepped into Guska’s apartment.

He did see the flash of light that reflected off the blades, but by then, it was too late.

24.

Two hundred thousand chits. Kalaka seriously thought about packing it up and leaving Jafla. Two hundred thousand chits wouldn’t get him far, but they’d get him far enough to figure out what to do next. The only thing stopping him was the thought of that McDade chick hunting his ass down.

Kalaka had dealt with underworld scum for years and never once worried when or where the shot to the back of his head would come. Something inside him said that he was untouchable. It was hubris of the highest order, but so far he’d been right.

Yet, when it came to thinking about Galactic Vice Division Operations Manager Lt. Angie McDade, Kalaka actually got a little nervous. He saw something in her, something he saw in himself every morning, or afternoon, when he got up and splashed water on his face to try to rinse away the night’s sins. She was playing the same dangerous game as him which meant she was not someone Kalaka wanted to make a true enemy out of.

He hadn’t made it as far as he had by being wrong when it came time to size up a person. He sized up McDade and the conclusion he came to was that a happy McDade was the only way to play the woman.

But, still, two hundred thousand chits would get him a good ways away from Jafla and the GV…

“We’re here,” the roller driver said as the taxi pulled up half a block from the Club.

Kalaka snapped out of his thoughts and frowned.

“No, we’re not here,” he argued. “If we were here, then this door would be opened for me and I’d walk right up to the Club. You’re dropping me off half a block away. How is that here?”

“You see that red line there?” the driver asked, pointing a fin at the space in front of the Club. “Laser barricade. No one is pulling in front of that place unless their roller is coded. This is a taxi, pal. I ain’t coded for shit except to accept fares from dickheads like you.”

The driver was one of the fish races, but Kalaka couldn’t tell which. They all looked the same to him. What he did know was that the driver wasn’t going to give in. The guy held himself like he was ready for a fight. Kalaka didn’t have time to get into it with a fish-raced taxi driver.

“Whatever,” Kalaka said and got out of the roller. He waved his wrist at the sensor on the door and it beeped. “No tip, asshole.”

“Screw you, cop!” the driver yelled as he pulled away then did a U-turn in the street and was gone.

“Cop?” Kalaka muttered as he turned around and inspected his reflection in the window of a posh restaurant. The diners seated on the opposite side of the plastiglass glared at him, but he didn’t care. He straightened his jacket and smoothed the front of his shirt. “I don’t look like a cop.”

Kalaka was exhausted. The job had him drained. His constant hustle to keep the streets working for him had him drained. The snubs from the GVDs not on the take had him drained. The glares from the ones that were on the take had him drained. Everything about being a GVD, especially the type he’d become, had him drained.

Two hundred thousand chits…

His hand hesitated over his wrist. He was so close to calling back a taxi and heading straight for the docking hangars. He’d get a shuttle and be gone before midnight.

Two hundred thousand chits…

He’d also be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. Who was he kidding? Angie McDade wasn’t his problem. Being himself was his problem and he’d never escape that. Two hundred thousand chits or two hundred million chits couldn’t buy him a new…him.

Kalaka walked the short distance to the Club, his eyes straying to the massive billboard across the street that was flashing a holo for the next major Orb fight. People stared up at it and clapped as the two fighters –Bonca Rey Stru versus Haglia C’Penn– flexed and snarled down at them. Kalaka scoffed and turned away, ready to get the night over with.

“Get lost, terpig,” the bouncer, a massive Urvein that had to be near ten feet tall, snarled at him. The being waved in three guests then locked down the plasma rope against Kalaka’s attempt to walk into the Club with them. “We got a no terpig rule here, terpig.”

“Cute, K,” Kalaka said as he tried to grab the plasma rope and lift it himself. “But calling cops terpigs went out of fashion a century ago.”

A huge paw enveloped Kalaka’s hand. Kalaka’s fur was lost in the tangle of bristles that covered the Urvein’s hand. The Urvein squeezed and Kalaka barely managed to get his hand free before crying out in pain.

“Private party tonight, Detective,” K said as he let four more guests inside. “You got an invitation?”

“I do,” Kalaka said and opened a small compression pouch to show the stack of chits he’d brought. “Two hundred thousand invitations.”

K looked down at the chits and nodded, impressed.

“Big stack there, Detective,” K said. “That all for me?”

“I’m here for the game,” Kalaka said. “Tell Gants that I’m out here and ready to buy-in. Feeling like tonight is my night.”

“You serious with this shit?” K asked then laughed loud enough that the front row of patiently waiting guests jumped in their overpriced shoes and knockoff designer boots. “I call Mr. Gants and tell him GVD Kalaka is out here and he’ll probably tell me to snap your neck. You want me to see if he’ll let you in on a tile game? Get lost, Detective. This is not your night.”

“Come on, K,” Kalaka said. “You remember that time—”

“No,” K said and let another four guests in. A fifth tried to sneak by, but received a cuff to the ear which sent the young Tcherian stumbling to the curb. K pointed at him. “Banned. Don’t come back, camo bitch.”

The Tcherian looked like he wanted to argue, but he made the wise choice instead and picked himself up, wiped off the street dirt, and turned away, both middle fingers flying high.

“Not the first time the little snot has tried that,” K said to no one in particular. Then he glared down at Kalaka. “You still here?”

Kalaka hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the billboard holo. “You like the Orb fights?”

“Yeah. Who doesn’t?” K asked. Three more guests were let inside. “Been sold out for months. Ain’t no way to get tix.”

“Will you let me in if I can get you a pair?” Kalaka asked.

“I work for Mr. Gants,” K said. “If he can’t get tix, then you can’t get tix.” K leaned down and pressed his hairy nose to Kalaka’s. “Terpig.”

“How much you wanna bet?” Kalaka asked.

K slowly pulled his head back, narrowed his eyes, then laughed as he let two more guests inside.

“You can’t pull that off,” K said. “So get lost, Detective. I’m done with you.”

“What’s your comm signature?” Kalaka asked.

“You’re about to piss me off.”

“Come on, K. What’s your comm signature?”

“I’ll count to three.”

“Give me your comm signature and if I can’t deliver the goods, then I’ll let you flatten me right here in front of all these finely dressed beings.” Kalaka turned to the queue. “You folks want to see a cop get his head bashed in by this Urvein?”

The cheer was a little more enthusiastic than Kalaka would have liked, but it did the trick. K chuckled then held out his wrist. Kalaka pressed his to K’s and waited for the beep.

“Give me ten minutes,” Kalaka said. “Be right back.”

K’s hand clamped down on Kalaka’s shoulder. “No. You stay here. Right where I can reach you.”

Kalaka grinned then nodded as he turned his back on K and activated his comm.

“Morshulll?” Kalaka asked when the other end of the comm was answered.

“Yeah, so? Who dis den?” the raspy voice on the comm asked. “Who sig dis?”

“It’s Kalaka,” Kalaka said. “I need something. Fast.”

“How fast? What somedin?” Morshulll asked. “I bout sleep.”

“It isn’t even midnight,” Kalaka said.

“Big day. Hard day. What you want?”

“Two tix to the Stru/C’Penn fight,” Kalaka said and waited. He was expecting the brief silence.

“That big ask,” Morshulll finally replied. “Cost somedin fierce.”

“I know. But I need the tix. Can you come through for me?”

“I try. Morshulll always try. You good for chits?”

“You know I am.”

“I no know dat. You good for chits or no? Hear you say it.”

“I’m good for chits,” Kalaka said as he stared up at the billboard holo. “You got my word.”

Morshulll laughed. “I got your word. Dat good one.”

“I need decent seats, Morshulll. Can you make that happen?”

“Who you tink you talk to?”

“I have to ask.” Kalaka looked over his shoulder at a glaring K. “Yeah, I for sure have to ask. How much?”

“Seventy. And two favors.”

“One favor. Nothing bloody.”

“No blood. Might need file go away.”

“I can make files go away. Seventy and one favor then?”

“Yeah. Dat good. Gimme ten minute.”

The comm went silent and Kalaka leaned back against the wall next to K.

“Not a problem,” Kalaka said.

“I don’t have a ping yet,” K said. “Still a problem until I hear a ping.”

“Relax, K.”

K grunted as he let five more guests in. Then he stepped close to the line and crossed his massive, hairy arms across his massive, hairy chest.

“Full up, people. Go home.”

There were a few groans and some pointed words, but no one argued too hard over the disappointment. Slowly, the queue emptied out as the dressed up beings went in search of other entertainment for the night.

That left K to focus everything on Kalaka.

“He’ll come through,” Kalaka said as K moved uncomfortably close. Whatever deodorizer K used was wearing off and Kalaka had to struggle not to breathe through his mouth.

Kalaka’s comm buzzed.

“I send. Two tix. Second tier, front row. Dose best I could do.”

“Second tier?” Kalaka asked. K began to growl. “Yeah, second tier front row will do fine.”

K’s growl died away at the mention of front row.

“Seventy and a favor,” Morshulll said before he hung up.

Kalaka’s wrist pinged and he glanced down at the holo of two Orb fight tix. He swiped at the holo and K’s wrist pinged.

“Nice,” K said as he tapped at the holo of the tix. “Go on in, Kalaka. You’ll want to check in with Schigg at the bar.”

“Why Schigg?” Kalaka asked.

“Because you’re a fucking cop, moron,” K said.

“Never had to check in with Schigg before.”

“I don’t make an Eight Million Gods damn rule around here, Detective, so why are you busting my hairy gonads?”

“I’ll check in with Schigg,” Kalaka said. “At the bar.”

“Hold up,” K said as Kalaka reached for the door handle. “You packing?”

“Nope,” Kalaka said. “Honest. I may be a moron, but I’m not stupid.”

“Better hope so,” K said and motioned for Kalaka to go inside.

25.

Schigg’s ember eyes bored into Kalaka’s slit-pupiled eyes. The two men faced off for a good thirty seconds before Schigg shook his head, poured Kalaka a whiskey, then set the bottle next to the glass. Kalaka waited for Schigg to nod before he picked up the glass and downed the whiskey in one gulp.

“Good stuff,” he said as he set the empty glass on the bar. “Not real, but good.”

“Not real?” Schigg asked. “Huh. Didn’t figure you for a connoisseur.”

“Why? Because I’m a cop?” Kalaka asked. Two women that had been inching closer to the bar, both looking ready to order drinks, quickly turned about face and waded back onto the dance floor. “Oops.”

“Because you’re a piece of shit being,” Schigg said as he pushed the glass and bottle to Kalaka. “Take those with. No table service tonight.”

“This is a big game, right? And no table service?” Kalaka frowned. “Short staffed?”

“Request from a couple of players,” Schigg said. “Once the door closes, it doesn’t open until the game is over. Security concerns.”

“Sounds a bit paranoid, Schigg,” Kalaka said and poured himself another glass. He sipped it, eyeing Schigg closely. “Did I pick the wrong night to make my fortune?”

“Every night is the wrong night for you, GVD Kalaka,” Schigg said. “By the way, Dark ever have a chat with you?”

“About what?”

“So Dark never found you and warned you off one of the tile players?”

“No. Which one was he supposed to warn me off of?” Kalaka laughed. “You do know how ridiculous that sounds, yeah?”

“Does it?” Schigg asked, his ember eyes flashing with anger. “You didn’t try to shake down a tile player named Etch Knowles?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Kalaka said.

Schigg reached out and took the whiskey bottle back. He held out his other hand for the glass. Kalaka groaned.

“Okay, I know the guy,” Kalaka admitted. “Etch Knowles. Halfer piece of terpig crap. New in town. I may have lost some chits to him then made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

“He’s refusing the offer,” Schigg said. “Knowles works for Mr. Gants. You understand what that means, Kalaka?”

“Not personally, no,” Kalaka said. “I like staying a free agent.”

“Nothing free about you, Detective,” Schigg said. He wiggled the bottle at Kalaka. “He’s off limits from now on. Are we understood?”

“We are understood, Schigg,” Kalaka said. “Loud and clear.”

Schigg gave him the bottle of whiskey then cocked his head towards a door directly behind the bar. “In there. One hundred and fifty chit buy-in with fifty added for the house.”

“Fifty for the house?” Kalaka scoffed.

“Or you can leave,” Schigg said.

“Let me ask you a question.”

“No.”

“Ah, come on, Schigg. How long have we known each other?”

“Longer than I care to admit.”

“I get that a lot. But, seriously, say, what? Ten years now? Longer?”

“Feels much longer.”

“Okay, okay, back off, asshole. I get it.”

“I don’t. What is this all about, Kalaka?”

“How rigged is this game?”

Schigg shook his head.

“None of Mr. Gants’ games are ever rigged, Detective.”

“You know what I mean. I’m throwing in my entire fortune here. If I’m about to lose it all, a heads up would be nice. I can make a couple comm calls and make sure I’m covered.”

“Covered? How? What does that mean, Kalaka? Covered?”

“If this is a setup, then I want to make sure I don’t lose everything.” Kalaka tapped at his temple. “Gotta play smart at the table as well as away from it.”

Schigg sighed and leaned across the bar. “Speak plainly, Kalaka.”

“I have a bead on more than one of Gants’ stim houses. I might be persuaded to not pass on important security information to my Squad.”

“And how would I persuade you to be so considerate?”

“By making sure I’m not walking into a trap.”

“You’re a GVD, Kalaka. Everywhere in Jafla is a trap for you. If you walk into one, it is due to your own ego, not because any outfit, especially Mr. Gants’, has set you up.”

“Maybe I should reconsider tonight,” Kalaka said as he pushed back from the bar, a finger to his ear. “Gonna make a call or two or three first, though.”

“You are not being set up,” Schigg said reluctantly. “This game is legit. The only way you lose is by being beat. No hidden agenda once you enter that room.”

“Just wanted to make sure I’m not the mark,” Kalaka said, patting the bar. “One more question.”

“You are truly unbelievable.”

“Who is the mark?” Kalaka asked with a huge, sharp-toothed grin. “Give me that intel and I’ll owe you a favor.”

“Like you owe Morshulll a favor?”

That caught Kalaka off guard, but he recovered fast, his huge, sharp-toothed grin barely faltering. “You’ve upgraded your snooping tech.”

“We have,” Schigg agreed.

“Makes it hard to trust you, Schigg.”

“Why would you expect trust from me, Kalaka?”

“Fair enough.” Kalaka glanced at the door behind the bar. “Who’s the mark?”

Schigg held up two fingers.

“One,” Kalaka insisted. Schigg’s fingers did not move. “Fine. Two favors. Who? Is? The? Mark?”

“Man by the name of Keer,” Schigg said. “His brother was some councilman.”

“Fleet Council?” Kalaka asked, unable to hide his surprise.

“Do you know of a different council that I would care about?”

“Making sure I have the facts. Is this the same Keer that lost a son a couple years back? Something about Edgers and…?”

“Now you are getting it,” Schigg said. “Collari is very interested in Mr. Keer losing so that he owes Mr. Gants.”

“And that is where Etch Knowles comes in,” Kalaka said, nodding.

“When he arrives,” Schigg said.

Those three words were worth the payment of two favors. Kalaka was more than surprised that Knowles hadn’t already arrived. The halfer should have been one of the first ones at the table.

“I’ll tell you what, Schigg,” Kalaka said as he moved around the bar and towards the door. “I may owe you two favors, but you’re doing me solid here. I can help Knowles out and make sure that Keer fellow falls hard. How’s that sound?”

“Do what you want, Kalaka,” Schigg said. “I could care less. I have two favors owed by a Galactic Vice Detective. My night is made.” He stood up straight and turned to regard a couple of female Halgons that had been waiting patiently at the bar. “What may I fetch you fine women this evening?”

Kalaka ignored the abrupt dismissal and placed his palm on a sensor by the door. It flashed bright white then beeped shrilly, loud enough it could be heard over the thumping dance music. The door slid open and four of Gants’ genetic soup thugs waited on the other side, two of them giving the universal gesture for a frisk.

Kalaka walked through the door, arms raised, and waited out the overindulgent frisk.

“Satisfied?” he asked none of the thugs in particular. “May I take my seat now?”

The thugs moved one step to the side and allowed Kalaka to pass.

The room was square and about ten meters across. In the center was a plain table, no holo projector or tech of any kind showing. There were five chairs, all made of some natural substance, not metal alloy. Kalaka was surprised to see such a sparse setup.

“Couldn’t spring for the cushioned table, eh Gants?” Kalaka asked as he set his bottle and glass down and found a seat.

Gants was seated at the only other piece of furnishing in the room, a padded booth set off against the wall opposite the door. The Slinghasp placed a finger to his ear and glared at Kalaka.

“Do not speak to me the rest of the evening, Kalaka,” Gants ordered.

Kalaka held up his hands in mock defeat and sat down, scooting himself in close to the table.

Three other beings were already seated. Two were human and one was of a race that Kalaka couldn’t put his finger on. The two humans ignored Kalaka as they conversed. The unknown being glared at Kalaka with six eyes. The GVD rolled his own eyes then studied the being. Thick, gray skin; long, thin limbs; four ears that were set back on the being’s head and swiveled constantly; a mouth that was more of a line than an orifice.

“What planet are you from?” Kalaka asked. The being only glared. “No, seriously. What planet? I don’t recognize…” He waved his hand at the being. “This.”

“The guy doesn’t talk,” one of the humans said, barely giving Kalaka a glance. “Only thing he says is Bev.”

“Bev,” the being echoed.

“Good to meet you, Bev,” Kalaka said and reached out a hand to shake. The being recoiled.

“He doesn’t shake,” the human said, finally breaking away from the other one to take Kalaka’s hand. Early forties, trim, good shape, held himself like he knew his way around a firefight. Black hair with a matching black mustache. “Jameson. This is my friend, Keer.”

“Jameson and Keer,” Kalaka said, shaking Jameson’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

He offered his hand to Keer, but the man sneered and folded his arms across his chest. He was in his fifties, fat around the middle, but not totally gone to seed. Bald head with wisps of white hair staging a desperate campaign to stay connected to the shiny scalp.

“Keer? Any relation to Councilman Keer?” Kalaka asked.

“No personal questions,” Jameson said. “You don’t ask us any and we won’t ask you any.”

“Hey, I don’t give a good Eight Million Gods damn what you ask me,” Kalaka said. “I’m an open book.”

“No personal questions,” Jameson reiterated.

“What? You his spokesman?” Kalaka laughed. “I’m only messing around.” He patted the table with both hands. “Who are we waiting for? One empty seat. I hear there’s some new guy in town. Been tearing through the tile houses. Maybe Mr. Gants has brought him in to give me a challenge.”

“Kalaka! Shut up!” Gants shouted from his booth. “Or I will have you shut up!”

“He loves me,” Kalaka said. “Been trying to get me to work for him for years now.”

“That’s not shutting up!” Gants roared.

Kalaka smirked and made a zipping the lip gesture then gave Jameson and Keer each a wink.

The minutes ticked by as the four sat at the table, waiting. Kalaka tried to check the time, but his wrist implant, just like his comm, was jammed and inoperable. So he waited and smiled at the three beings that sat across from him.

Kalaka guessed it had been thirty minutes before the door behind him opened up and the noise of the Club came roaring into the backroom.

“What’s that scumbag doing here?” Dark asked as she came around the table to glare at Kalaka. “Is this a joke?”

“I’m afraid not, Dark,” Kalaka said. “I bought me a seat at the table.”

“Great,” Dark snarled. “You GVDs are like rabid gumps. Lose one and here is another showing up in his place. At least I know where we stand with a dirty terpig like you, Kalaka.”

Kalaka laughed off the insult, but his insides had gone freezing cold at the off-hand comment about losing a GVD.

“Where’s your new boy?” Kalaka asked Dark. “What’s his name? Knowles?”

“Don’t know who you’re talking about,” Dark said. “Never heard of the guy.”

“Sure you have,” Kalaka said. “You’ve been sending him around to all the tile houses. He took me for a good amount of chits one night. I was hoping to get some of those chits back tonight.”

“Fat chance,” Keer said. “I’ll be taking home the chits when this game is done.”

“That so?” Kalaka asked then nodded. “Maybe. Dark? Your Knowles boy coming or what?”

“Dark!” Gants shouted and waved the Leforian over to the booth.

Kalaka watched them carefully, but was quickly distracted by the last player to take a seat. A woman in her mid-thirties and beautiful even with the deep, jagged scar that ran from her left temple, across her cheekbone, and down to her left nostril. Dark skin with short-cropped platinum hair and bright green eyes. Those eyes targeted Kalaka instantly.

“You look familiar,” Kalaka said. And he meant it. It wasn’t a line; the woman did look familiar. “Have we met?”

“No,” the woman said.

“Jameson,” Jameson said and offered his hand.

Jameson looked her up and down and smiled as he kept his hand extended. The woman was dressed in a freshly pressed button-up shirt, but not a blouse. She wore pants of a thick material and had on no jewelry.

“Cassa Wickens,” the woman said and moved to take the hand.

“Hold on,” Kalaka said as the memory of where he knew the woman clicked. “I wouldn’t take that hand. She’s known to use a micro-toxin to kill her targets. I’d hate for you to end up that way.”

“That so?” Jameson said and nodded to Kalaka, withdrawing his offered hand. “Thanks for the heads up. Not that I think Mr. Gants would try to kill me or my friend after inviting us here to play. Maybe when we’re walking away with all the chits, but the game hasn’t even started.”

He laughed a hollow laugh filled with menace and swagger.

Kalaka ignored Jameson and focused on Cassa.

“I’m right, yeah? You’re the same Cassa Wickens that has been suspected of over three hundred and fifteen murders across the galaxy.”

“Wrong woman,” Cassa said. “I’m the Cassa Wickens that plays tiles for a living, not kill beings.”

“My mistake,” Kalaka said and looked past everyone to focus on Gants and Dark’s huddled conversation. “Who’s bringing the tiles? We need to go find them ourselves or what? Hey, Dark!”

Dark stiffened and slowly turned to regard Kalaka. “What?”

“When does this game get underway? Huh? We still waiting on your Knowles guy? Doesn’t seem to be a seat left for him.”

“I told you—” Dark started.

Gants held up a hand and interrupted, “Turns out Knowles is no longer under Dark’s supervision. In fact, Kalaka, he’s no longer under anyone’s supervision.”

Gants stood up and walked over to the table.

“Do you know what?” Gants asked as he crossed to Kalaka. “I’m in the mood to play myself tonight.”

“Great,” Kalaka said. “You can be the mark.”

Kalaka laughed. Gants did not.

“That means you’re in my seat, Kalaka,” Gants said. “Move.”

“Sure,” Kalaka said and stood up, offering the chair to Gants. “Dark can get me a new chair. Hear that, Dark? Fetch.”

Thugs closed on Kalaka as Gants sat down, his back to the GVD.

“You misunderstand,” Gants said. “You no longer have a seat at this table, Kalaka. Ever. You will be shown the door. I’m leaving you alive since I hear you owe Schigg two favors and those are resources best not wasted. I know Schigg will put those favors to good use.”

Gants’ head swiveled on his neck and his tongue flicked out and in, out and in.

“Are you afraid, Kalaka? I smell fear. That’s not like you,” Gants said. “Now. Get out.”

“Hey, I have no idea what I did, but if I can clear it all—” Kalaka started, but was stopped by a hard smack to the back of his head. He hissed and spun to face the thugs. “You ever tangle with a pissed-off Cervile?”

“Get out, Kalaka,” Gants said and sighed. “Or I will ignore Schigg’s owed favors and kill you myself.”

“Well, if you don’t want my chits, then I guess I’ll go,” Kalaka said.

Gants held back a hand.

“No, I will take the chits as well,” Gants said. “Leave your compression pouch.”

“Mr. Gants, there is no way in all the Hells that I’m giving you two hundred thousand chits for no good reason,” Kalaka argued. The thugs pressed in closer and Kalaka’s claws slowly extended from his fingertips. “This isn’t up for discussion, Gants.”

“Leave the fifty thousand house fee, Kalaka,” Gants said, lowering his hand. “I’m feeling extra generous. But I stop being generous in five, four, three…”

Kalaka fished out fifty thousand chits from his compression pouch and tossed them against the chest of the closest thug. The chits dropped to the floor and rattled and rolled across the plasticrete. Kalaka didn’t wait to see who picked them up.

He made it to the door, out the door, and around the bar before Schigg called out, “Kalaka! Do not forget those favors! You’ll want to when you get outside, but I advise you remember who you are dealing with and how you are regarded in this base. That badge will not protect you. Not after tonight.”

Kalaka flipped Schigg off without turning around. He shoved his way through the crowd and made it outside.

“That was fast,” K said. “Just because you lost all your chits at the tables doesn’t mean you don’t still owe me that favor, Kalaka.”

Kalaka ignored the Urvein and tried as hard as he could not to sprint down the block. K shouted after him, but Kalaka didn’t hear the words. All he was paying attention to was the swirling security holo that had popped up from his wrist. He watched and waited for it to turn green, telling him that Gants’ snooping tech was out of range.

“McDade!” Kalaka almost shouted into the comm. “McDade! Pick up, dammit!”

“You’re alive,” Angie replied over the comm. She sounded exhausted. “Where are you?”

“Walking away from Gants’ Club as fast as my hairy legs will take me,” Gants said. “Listen, I think something happened to Knowles. Dark showed up tonight with one badass assassin in tow. You ever heard of Cassa Wickens?”

“Yes,” Angie said. “I have. And you’re right. But she didn’t do this.”

Kalaka stopped walking as he heard the tone in Angie’s voice. Exhaustion and…grief?

“What happened?” Kalaka asked.

“I’m sending you Knowles’ address,” Angie said. “Get here fast. And tell no one where you’re going.”

“On my way.”

26.

The body had been gutted, flayed of all skin, and crucified up against the wall of Guska’s apartment. Strips of skin and hunks of offal were strewn everywhere. The entire room was coated in blood. The body was wiped clean, though, except for the words, “Game over, GV.”

Angie leaned against the opposite wall as the techs hurried around, scanning every last millimeter of the apartment, logging all of the information in secured files that Angie had ordered to be accessed by only her.

She’d received an angry comm from Squad Captain Jorg seconds after giving the order. Even though Jorg technically outranked her as captain, Angie was Division which always trumped Squad. She let him spit and spew epithets and threats at her, but she held her ground, and in the end, the files were coded to her signature only.

A shape appeared at the open door to the apartment, but she didn’t look that way. Her eyes refused to look away from the strung-up corpse.

“You locked down the entire building,” Kalaka said as he came inside. “Quite a crowd of pissed-off tenants outside.”

“Any of them the Lipian whose place this is?” Angie asked, still refusing to look away from the corpse. “I’d like to talk to that whore right about now.”

“I bet you would,” Kalaka said and crossed the apartment to her, barely able to squeeze around the techs. He studied her, took a breath, then turned to stare at the corpse too. “Fuck me…”

“Landlord heard screaming,” Angie said. “Said it had been going on for over thirty minutes by the time he decided he’d had enough and called the Jafla PD. Took another thirty minutes for a patrol to arrive and realize they needed to call us. Apparently, the initials GV was too hard to figure out right away.”

“Is that Knowles?” Kalaka asked. “It’s hard to tell.”

“That’s Etch, yeah,” Angie said. “Scans already confirmed his DNA. Waiting on spatial mapping to see if we can reconstruct what went down.”

“Nothing good,” Kalaka said. “Who burned him?”

Those words forced Angie to finally look away from Knowles’ corpse and stare hard at Kalaka.

“That is the question. Care to wager an answer, Kalaka?” Angie asked. “Where were you tonight?”

“Trying to get in on Gants’ game, but I think this is what cut my night short,” Kalaka said, waving a hand at the corpse.

“And before you arrived at the Club?”

Kalaka sighed. “I didn’t do this. I didn’t burn your guy, McDade.”

“Humor me,” Angie said and snapped her fingers.

A tech looked around then rushed over as Kalaka offered his wrist with no further comment. The tech scanned Kalaka’s implant then swiped at the holo it produced and sent the information to Angie.

Angie brought up the information, studied the holo of Kalaka’s timeline, then grunted and banished the image.

“Get a hobby, Kalaka,” Angie said with heavy disdain.

“I have one,” Kalaka replied.

“Whores are not a hobby.”

“Says you.”

“You didn’t burn him,” Angie said. “So who did? Someone knew Knowles was undercover and sold him out to one of the syndicates.”

“This isn’t Collari’s style,” Kalaka said.

“How do you know?” Angie asked, narrowing her eyes at the Cervile.

“Collari would make it public,” Kalaka said. “And I was in the Collari den tonight. I was sitting only a few meters from Gants when Dark came rushing in to have a chat with the Slinghasp. Neither Dark nor Gants looked too happy. I don’t think Gants knew this was happening.”

“What else did you see?” Angie asked.

“We debriefing now?” Kalaka asked.

“Um, Lieutenant?” a tech asked. “Can we have the room? We need it clear to recreate the timeline to the best accuracy possible.”

“Yeah,” Angie said and grabbed Kalaka by the shoulder, steered him through the techs, and shoved him out the front door and into the hallway.

She walked him down to the end of the hall then pushed him against the wall.

“Yeah, this is a debriefing,” Angie said. “You tell me everything you can.”

Kalaka acted like he was going to protest the treatment, but Angie shoved her chest into his chest and pressed her chin to his chin. Her eyes were sparks of fury.

“I could make a joke about personal space, but I believe you’ll pull that pistol you have strapped to the small of your back and put more than a few holes in me,” Kalaka said.

“I don’t need the pistol to put holes in you, Kalaka,” Angie said. “I think you know that.”

“You are correct,” Kalaka said. “Maybe take one step back?”

Angie didn’t budge for a few seconds then took one step back.

“Thanks,” Kalaka said then proceeded to outline his entire evening from when he was dropped off close to the Club to when he called her on the comm.

Angie watched him with microscopic focus. She tracked every twitch of his lips, his cheek muscles, the crinkles around his eyes. She watched his ears twitch back and forth. She noted the rise and fall of his Adam’s Apple as he spoke. She noted how Kalaka’s fur seemed to bristle and stand up as he relayed each detail.

“You didn’t burn him,” Angie said after a few minutes of silence following Kalaka’s report. “They knew I was pulling Knowles, though. I can feel it and from what you said, they weren’t saving a chair for him. Dark came here to find Knowles and found this instead. But I don’t think you burned him.”

“Well, thanks,” Kalaka said. He looked around. “Say, where’s your co-manager?”

“I don’t know,” Angie said. “I put in the call with dispatch when he didn’t answer his comm. They haven’t tracked him down yet.”

“Anyone think to go check his place?” Kalaka asked.

“No, Detective, I didn’t think of that,” Angie said. “I’ll have a patrol head over there right now.” She mocked putting a hand to her ear. “Oh? What’s this? His place is empty? Gee, what a surprise.”

“So Jafla PD already checked on him,” Kalaka said.

“Yes, genius, Jafla PD already checked on him,” Angie said. “His place was a mess, but it looked like he was packing in a hurry, not that someone ransacked it. No sign of a struggle.”

“You peg him for this?” Kalaka asked.

Angie shrugged. “Could be.”

“You get authorization to close the hangars just in case?” Kalaka asked.

Angie closed her eyes and thought back on the second conversation she’d had with Jorg. That battle she’d lost since it would take at the minimum four agencies to coordinate closing Jafla Base’s docking hangars. Jorg was far from being cooperative.

“Not happening,” Angie said. “Which is why I need you to work your street connections. S’lunn’s face and ID are plastered all over every holo in the docking hangars. With a face like his, he’ll last about two seconds if he tries to board a ship and get off planet.”

“He won’t last long on the street, either,” Kalaka said. “Authorities on the hunt for a GV means the streets are loving it. They’ll turn him in for the fun of it. The reward will be a bonus.”

“Make the comm calls,” Angie ordered. “I’m not leaving anything to chance.”

“You know what you’re asking?” Kalaka replied. “I’ll be spending some serious street capital, McDade. It would be way better to let this play out naturally. S’lunn isn’t gonna be able to hide for long. I’m telling you that someone will snitch within twenty-four hours and you’ll have your Shiv’erna in hand by this time tomorrow.”

“Make. The. Calls,” Angie snarled.

“All the Hells,” Kalaka growled as he rubbed at his face. “Favors to a fucking scalper. Favors to that damn Schigg. Now I’ll be cashing in favors that are not worth cashing in over something like this.”

“Something like this?” Angie roared as she grabbed the front of Kalaka’s jacket and slammed him against the wall. “Etch Knowles is dead, you asshole! That is not something!”

She continued slamming him over and over. Kalaka brought out his claws, but he never got a chance to use them to defend himself. His head smacked hard against the wall and his eyes rolled up to show whites. If four uniformed Jafla PD officers hadn’t yanked Angie off the Cervile, Kalaka would have been dead in a few minutes.

“I’m good! I’m good!” Angie yelled as she thrashed herself free of the yanking and pulling hands. “I’m good, dammit!”

The PD officers backed off, but two of them put themselves between her and Kalaka who was collapsed on the floor, moaning and struggling to rub the back of his head. He mostly made weak, swiping motions at his skull, missing the back of his head entirely.

“Get him a medic,” Angie ordered then turned on her heel and stomped off towards the stairs. She needed air.

She reached the roof in record time, her feet barely touching the steps and landings of the floors she sprinted past.

The air was far from refreshing. It felt hot and thick on her flushed skin. The lights of holo billboards blinked off in the distance. There were no billboards in Mesker District. No financial point. But the rest of the base was lit up like a carnival.

Angie crossed to the short ledge and swung her legs over the side, dangling them above several stories of open space. Down below, she could see the angry crowd of tenants that were busy snapping and shouting at the uniforms assigned to keep them back. Angie wondered when the beings would finally have enough and go after the PD officers.

“Fuck, Knowles,” she mumbled. “What happened?”

Angie went over every detail of every bit of information she’d gathered since landing on Jafla. She lined up facts and data and processed each piece, bit by bit, in her mind, but couldn’t come to any conclusion other than someone in on the op had ratted Knowles out. Gants may have suspected, but he couldn’t have had hard proof. And the way Knowles was killed was meant to send a message. From everything Angie knew about Gants, his message always involved barrels of acid, not evisceration and skinning people.

Skinning was a Willz thing. Angie knew that. Which pointed all fingers back to S’lunn, if Kalaka was right that S’lunn was working for the Willz Syndicate. Except why would S’lunn be on the run if the syndicate he was in league with had ordered the hit of Knowles? The smart thing would be to play stupid and let the case dry up and die. It’d always be hanging over him, but considering the corruption inside the Jafla Vice Squad, he wouldn’t be the only GVD with dirt ready to avalanche over his head.

No, Angie had a hard time believing that S’lunn was the rat. Except S’lunn had to be since he was the only one that knew…

Angie started and almost fell off the ledge. She scrambled backwards and fell onto her back on the roof. She managed to get her feet under her and headed back to the stairwell. She raced down almost as fast as she’d raced up.

“You’re coming with me,” Angie said, pointing at a semi-recovered Kalaka.

“Like fuck I am,” Kalaka snapped. “I see like two of you, McDade. I need a med pod.”

“I know who ratted Knowles out and I know where S’lunn is,” Angie said. “You coming or not?”

“You can’t get another GVD to go with?” Kalaka asked. “There must be one on the way. I’m not the only GVD that responded to this, am I?”

“The others are doing their jobs and working their own contacts, asshole,” Angie said. “I didn’t have to slam them against a wall to get them to comply. Well, not all of them.”

Angie paused.

“And I can’t trust them.”

“But you can trust me?” Kalaka laughed and continued rubbing his head. “Funny way of showing it.”

“I don’t know who is corrupt and who isn’t,” Angie said. “You do.”

“Fine,” Kalaka said. “But let me find a medic so he can ice my skull for me. You nearly cracked my head open.”

“Not caring much about that,” Angie said. “You’re coming with. Now.”

Angie stomped towards the stairs at the other end of the hallway without looking back. She grinned when she heard the stumbling shuffle of Kalaka a few feet behind her.

27.

Angie overrode the security system on Mess’a Tikk’s apartment like she’d done before. She shoved the apartment door all the way open and rushed inside.

“S’lunn!” Angie yelled, pistol up and sweeping the short hallway that led from the front door and into the living room. “Put down any weapons and lay face first on the carpet! I will not issue a warning shot!”

She hit the living room and covered it fast, her pistol aimed at every shadow, nook, and corner of the room. Nothing and no one. But the place was a hellish mess. Furniture was tossed and broken. Cushions slashed completely open. Pictures and belongings shattered and strewn here and there.

“Kalaka!” Angie yelled. “Get your ass in here!”

Kalaka had his weapon drawn as well, but his grip wasn’t nearly as solid as Angie’s. His hands shook as he came in sweeping. Angie glanced over and shook her head.

“You watch the front door,” she said. “I’ll check the bedrooms. Try not to pass out.”

“I’m not making any promises,” Kalaka said, sounding one hundred percent sincere.

“Then try not to shoot me,” Angie said. “Can you handle that?”

“That I can handle,” Kalaka said.

Angie moved from the living room to the hallway. She carefully placed one foot in front of the other, making sure she didn’t trigger any boobytraps that may have been left. All she felt was over-piled carpet that had to be a cleaning bot’s nightmare.

“S’lunn!” Angie called out as she reached the first door. “Show yourself and this will go a lot easier!”

She slammed her elbow against the door panel and it slid open quickly. Angie rushed in to the guest lavatory, clearing it in seconds. Empty other than the tchotchkes that beings always thought others wanted to see. Angie hated useless clutter and the lavatory counter was nothing but useless clutter.

Angie growled low and left the lavatory, proceeding to the next door across the hallway.

“Kalaka? You still alive?” Angie yelled.

“I think so,” Kalaka called back.

“Good,” Angie said as she kicked the panel for the next door. It slid wide and she rushed into that room.

Craft room. Angie noted that the tchotchkes in the lavatory had been handmade in the craft room. Or tentacle made considering the race of the owner. Angie cleared under the couple of tables then kicked open the closet door to reveal a highly organized system of drawers and shelving, all filled with supplies needed to make more worthless, useless crap.

No one had bothered to touch the craft room. Nothing was overturned or thrashed. It was the complete opposite of the living room. That told Angie that the mess she’d first walked into was staged. If someone was truly hunting for something, they would have destroyed the craft room as well.

Out of the craft room and down the hallway to the last door, Angie gripped her pistol tighter as she put her back to the wall next to the door.

“S’lunn?” Angie called. “I’ll give you one more chance to come out on your own! If I have to come in there, and you even look like you’re going to hint at being difficult, then these will be the last words you ever hear! Got me, S’lunn? I’m gonna shoot first and probably not ask any Eight Million Gods damn questions!”

No response.

Angie ground her teeth then smacked the door panel.

As the door slid open, Angie smelled it instantly. Blood. A lot of blood. She’d become very familiar with the stench that night. She noticed the smell didn’t have that heavy bass note of hours old blood, but the tang of freshly spilled. In she went, her pistol aiming left then right. Nothing moved.

No shadows to hide in since the room was lit up like a landing strip. Every light had been moved and was trained on a single area against the wall and above the bed.

Angie kept her pistol up and sweeping back and forth even though the strength had almost left her muscles and all she wanted to do was sag against a wall and slide slowly to the floor.

Tipo had gotten the same treatment as Etch. The former GVD was crucified to the wall, skin flayed off and strewn about the bedroom amongst the piles of offal. Blood still dripped from the corpse.

“Kalaka! Call it in now!” Angie said and pointed her wrist at the corpse. She swiped right and yelled, “You get that?”

“Got it,” Kalaka called back. “Shit…”

“Still fresh!” Angie yelled. “Perp could be in the building or the neighborhood! You know what to do?”

“I’m on it!” Kalaka yelled back sounding slightly more alert. “We’ll get the district locked down!”

“Good,” Angie replied quietly.

She did a semi-thorough going over of the room, including the walk-in closet and master lavatory. The gory mess was contained within the bedroom itself. There was no sign of struggle in the lavatory and it didn’t look like the closet had been opened at all.

Angie sighed and let her arm drop to her side, the pistol aimed at the floor. She stared at the words that had been written next to S’lunn’s body.

“Disappointing, GVD S’lunn,” the words read.

“What did you do, S’lunn?” Angie asked aloud.

“We have half the PD and all of the Squad that aren’t working the Knowles scene on the way,” Kalaka said as he came into the bedroom. “Holy shit…”

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as he read the words.

“Looks like the Willz Syndicate was not happy with S’lunn’s performance,” Kalaka said. “Or that’s what I’m getting from this message.”

“Why take out S’lunn too?” Angie asked. “I see why Knowles was killed. It happens to undercover GVDs more times than I’d like to admit. But why S’lunn? Wouldn’t he be more valuable alive and still on the take?”

“You’re forgetting what was found at his place,” Kalaka said. “Looks like he was running. He wasn’t going to be of any use to the Willz Syndicate anyway. So they found him and silenced him just in case he decided to cut a deal and spill what he knew.”

“Probably right,” Angie said. “If I’d caught him, he would have spilled everything he knew. Everything.”

“So they cut him up like this to send another message,” Kalaka said. “Keep everyone in line.”

“Who?” Angie asked.

“What?”

“Keep who in line? Who else works for the Willz Syndicate?” Angie asked. “This isn’t a warning for those that work for other syndicates. This is for those still being paid off by Willz. Who is that?”

“I don’t know,” Kalaka said, sounding honestly disappointed in himself. “I knew of S’lunn. If Willz has others, then I don’t know which GVD it is.”

“Or GVDs,” Angie said.

“The only way we could possibly find out is to haul in each and every GVD in the Squad for questioning,” Kalaka said and laughed.

Angie didn’t laugh. She turned slowly and regarded Kalaka with a very dangerous look on her face.

“Oh, no way,” Kalaka said. “I’m not getting involved with this. The Squad already hates me. There is absolutely no way I will be part of any internal investigation. Which is Fleet Intelligence Service’s job, by the way. You know that, McDade.”

“Maybe we get the ball rolling for them,” Angie said. “Grease the wheels and see what goes slipping and sliding out onto the floor.”

“You’ve lost your crackers, lady,” Kalaka said. “You can’t take on the Squad all by yourself.” He pointed at the corpse. “You want to end up like him or Knowles? You might as well bang your head against a fully active Morigun wasps’ nest. It’ll be less painful. You go after the whole Jafla Squad and you can kiss your career goodbye.”

“I’m Division,” Angie stated. “If I want to put the Squad under my heel, then that’s what I’ll do until someone above me tells me different.”

“Come on, McDade!” Kalaka exclaimed. “You are not…”

He paused and blinked a few times, his ears standing straight up on his head.

Angle knew the look of a Cervile that’s detected something important. She didn’t say a word, only raised one eyebrow. Kalaka held up a finger and turned in a slow circle. Then he left the room and waved for her to follow him.

They both walked down the hallway to the living room, Kalaka’s ears twitching this way and that. Angie followed close behind, her pistol up and ready again. After a few seconds, Kalaka shook his head and turned to walk back down the hallway. He paused in front of the lavatory door, which had shut itself again after Angie had left.

Kalaka pointed at the lavatory and pressed the panel as Angie covered the door with her pistol. The door slid open, but the lavatory was still empty. Kalaka nodded. Angie gave him a quizzical look. He tapped one ear then pointed into the lavatory.

Angie shrugged. Kalaka frowned and pointed again. Angie sighed and stepped into the lavatory, her eyes seeing nothing different than before.

But her ears…

“Where?” she whispered to Kalaka.

“Under the sink,” Kalaka said, his pistol drawn and aimed at the cabinet’s single door.

Angie pressed a hand to the cabinet door and it retracted to reveal a dark space underneath. It took Angie’s eyes a second to see that the darkness wasn’t shadow, but the black material of a dress. A dress that was on a Groshnel woman.

“Mess’a,” Angie stated as she knelt down and slowly reached in to touch the woman. “Alive. Call it in!”

“Medics are already on the way,” Kalaka said. “I called them too when I called everyone else.”

“Call them back and tell them we have a live one!” Angie snapped.

Mess’a whimpered, but didn’t make a move to extricate herself from under the sink. Angie was amazed the woman could fit, but then she was a Groshnel and they could very nearly squeeze into an envelope and mail themselves across the galaxy if they wanted to.

“Mess’a?” Angie asked quietly. “Can you hear me?”

A slight moan, but no movement.

Kalaka sniffed.

“Blood,” Kalaka said.

“Mess’a? Are you hurt?” Angie asked. “Can you come out of there, please?”

“Not her blood,” Kalaka said. “S’lunn’s. She’s covered in it. How’d it not get everywhere?”

“Mess’a, I need you to come out from under there,” Angie insisted. “I don’t want to hurt you pulling you out, but I need you to come out from under the sink.”

Another moan, but still no movement.

“Mess’a! Get your ass out from under that Eight Million Gods damn—!”

Angie didn’t see the two tentacles that came shooting out at her. She never felt the cuts or slashes. All she knew was that she was about to reach in and pull out the moaning Groshnel and then she was lying on her back. The pain hit half a second after.

Movement all about her. Shouting. Screaming. The light above blocked by bodies slamming into each other. More screaming. A hiss and roar of pain. More movement. Then a scream that became a banshee wail followed by three loud plasma blasts and the smell of burning flesh.

A weight fell across Angie and she cried out as her pain quintupled.

“Hold on! Hold on!” Kalaka shouted.

The weight was removed and Angie would have sighed with relief. If she could catch enough breath to sigh.

“Fuck me, McDade,” Kalaka said, his face appearing in Angie’s line of sight. “Oh, shit, Lieutenant. Hey, McDade? Angie? Can you hear me?”

“She dead?” Angie gasped.

“Not quite,” Kalaka said. “It takes a lot to kill a Groshnel. But she’s down. I took her blades from her. They’re out in the hallway out of her reach.”

“Mess’a?” Angie asked or thought she did. Kalaka didn’t reply.

The world went dark then came back into focus as Angie felt hands lift her onto a hover stretcher. She managed to turn her head as the stretcher was carried out of the lavatory. In the guest shower was a pile of bloody clothes. Angie caught sight of four Jafla PD officers racing past her to converge on the shower. They grabbed the pile of clothes, which turned out to be a bloody Groshnel, and lifted it up into the air.

The last thing Angie saw before unconsciousness was Mess’a Tikk’s slack face turning to her, a completely blank look in the woman’s eyes.

28.

Kalaka punched the caff machine several times before it finally spit out a cup and began to dribble barely brown liquid from a bent nozzle.

“Piece of shit,” he muttered when the caff was done pouring.

He grabbed the cup, sniffed it, cringed, shrugged, took a sip, and cringed some more before he downed the rest of the contents in one long gulp.

“GVD Kalaka?” a voice asked from a few steps behind him.

Kalaka instantly went for his pistol on his hip, but a very strong, very steady hand closed over his and a deep voice whispered in his ear, “No.”

“How about you turn around and see what you’re reacting to before you shoot up a hospital waiting room, GVD Kalaka,” the first voice said.

The hand on his let go and Kalaka slowly turned to face the two beings that were behind him.

“Let me guess,” Kalaka said, some of, but not even close to all, of the tension leaving his shoulders. “FIS? IID, right?”

“Yes,” the first voice, a Tcherian woman dressed in a cookie-cutter black uniform that announced zero allegiance to any department, yet screamed Galactic Fleet. She was middle-aged and had a streak of red hair that ran down the middle of her green-skinned head. Her eyes were golden and bright, staring straight at Kalaka.

The other being was a tall man of many mixed humanoid races. A thin sheen of silver fur covered the man’s skin that wasn’t covered by the same pointless uniform as the one the woman wore. Kalaka sneered at the man, his pure blood prejudice showing plainly for all to see.

“My name is Agent Quorp,” the woman said. “This is Agent Rom’Tal. And, yes, we are with the Fleet Intelligence Service, Internal Investigations Division. May we ask you a few questions?”

“Should I have my union rep with me?” Kalaka asked. “Are these questions that will bite me in my furry ass down the line?”

“Only if you have something to hide, Detective,” Agent Quorp replied.

“Oh, I have plenty to hide,” Kalaka said. “I have so much to hide I doubt I could find it all in my lifetime if I tried. You all are welcome to try.”

“I’m sorry, Detective,” Agent Rom’Tal said. “But are you admitting to corruption?”

“Don’t play me, skinny,” Kalaka said. “You’ve read my file, you’ve read my secret file, you’ve probably already interviewed a few of my CIs. You know exactly who I am and what I’m about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go check on Lt. McDade then I’m going to have a very long talk with Mess’a Tikk.”

Kalaka tried to push past the two. Agent Rom’Tal’s thin fingers pressed against Kalaka’s chest, stopping him instantly.

“Someone works out,” Kalaka said. “Want to get out of my way now? Or do I have to say please?”

“You can visit Lt. McDade when we are done talking. I hear she is still in her med pod. Some of the wounds were quite severe,” Agent Quorp said.

“I know. I was there when they happened,” Kalaka snapped.

“As for Mess’a Tikk,” Agent Quorp continued. “It would be better that you not have any contact with that suspect.”

“That a direct order from Captain Jorg?” Kalaka asked.

“No,” Agent Quorp replied.

“Galactic Vice Division headquarters?”

“No.”

“GV Fleet headquarters?”

“Again…no.”

“So you’re making this call on your own?” Kalaka asked, looking back and forth from agent to agent. “The two of you have decided how an active murder investigation will be handled?”

“No, but it has been suggested by the Jafla Base PD Murder Department that perhaps you would be more of a hindrance than a help,” Agent Quorp said. “Your subjectivity might taint the suspect’s recollections of events.”

“My subjectivity? You mean the fact I had to fight the crazy bitch off before she could slice and dice Lt. McDade into tater tots?”

“I’m not familiar with tater tots, but I will assume they are small in size,” Agent Quorp said. “And, yes, that is exactly why you should be kept away from the suspect.”

“She talk yet?” Kalaka asked. “Give her reasoning for killing S’lunn? Or why she killed Knowles too? She did that, right? Same MO and the two were linked.”

“We’ll ask the questions,” Agent Rom’Tal snapped.

“Answer mine and I’ll answer yours,” Kalaka said and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “But I want some better caff than this crap. How about you treat me to breakfast?”

Kalaka brought up a chrono holo and nodded.

“Yep. Breakfast time. We can eat in the hospital canteen. How’s that sound?”

“We could do that,” Agent Quorp said.

Agent Rom’Tal shot her a look, but she dismissed it with a blink of her eyes. He grumbled then nodded.

Kalaka looked back and forth between them and smiled. He could already tell they were new as partners and still figuring out the pecking order. Agent Quorp obviously had seniority, but Agent Rom’Tal wasn’t one to give up control on formality. Their interpersonal dynamic might as well have been blazing above their heads in a ten-foot-high neon sign.

Kalaka grinned at the perfect opportunity.

“Something funny?” Agent Rom’Tal asked.

“Plenty,” Kalaka said. “You want me to lead the way to the canteen?”

“Please,” Agent Quorp said. “Hopefully, there will be a quiet corner we can converse in.”

“Quiet corner? You’ve never been in a Jafla Base hospital before then,” Kalaka said and laughed. “This is where emergencies go and those that can’t afford a home med pod. Which is the majority of the labor force on Jafla. This should be eye-opening for you two.”

They made their way to the lift and descended three floors to the canteen level. The lift doors opened onto pure chaos.

“I told you,” Kalaka said as he wove through the hurrying and scurrying beings of all races.

The place was an entire level, open from end to end across the breadth of the hospital. Buffet lines ran the length of the room, bracketed by row after row of cafeteria style tables. There was no quiet corner.

“The noise is better cover,” Kalaka said, his voice raised so the agents behind him could hear. “Let’s grab some plates and have a squat over there. See the open area by that window? Good as place as any.”

Agent Rom’Tal objected, but Kalaka didn’t catch the words as a mother holding six screeching children in her many arms nearly sent him falling back on his ass as she chased after a seventh offspring.

Kalaka grabbed a plate, filled it with whatever was at hand, not bothering to look at labels or contents of the steam trays, then worked his way to what had been three empty seats. A Gwreq with a bandage wrapped around his head and a second one wrapped around his ribs was sitting in one of the seats.

“Fuck off,” the Gwreq said before Kalaka was within a meter of him.

“GVD,” Kalaka responded. “Get your stone ass up and out of my way or I’ll haul you in.”

“For what?” the Gwreq demanded.

“Being ugly and pissing me off,” Kalaka said. “Move!”

“You want me to kill you?” the Gwreq snarled.

“Those bandages are fake,” Kalaka said and his badge holo flashed from his wrist. “But nice try.”

The Gwreq swore at Kalaka as he stood up and shoved past, nearly knocking Agent Rom’Tal over. The Gwreq dared the agent to react by giving him a death glare. Kalaka snickered and took a seat.

“Plop it down, agents,” Kalaka said as he dug into his food. “Damn! I forgot caff. Be right back.”

The agents had just sat down. Kalaka was up and weaving through the crowd before the two could get back to their feet. He headed straight for the caff machines then took a right as soon as he was near the lift, opting for the convenience of the stairs. He shoved the door open and hurried onto the landing.

“Here,” Kalaka said, handing a stack of chits to the Gwreq who had only moments before been cursing Kalaka up and down. “Make sure those agents don’t make it out of this canteen for at least thirty minutes. Can you do that, Bofe?”

“Can do, Kalaka,” Bofe said as he pocketed the chits. He pointed at his bandages. “Too much?”

“A little, yeah,” Kalaka said. “But they confuse the Hells out of people, so keep them on. Thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes,” Bofe said as Kalaka rushed up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.

He reached Angie’s floor and slowed himself, taking several deep breaths so he didn’t look like he’d come sprinting from somewhere. He eased the door open and casually walked out into the corridor.

A quick scan of the posted chart by the nurse’s station and he knew the exact room to visit. The number on the outside of the room was lit up green when Kalaka reached it, telling him the med pod session was done and the patient was awake.

“You decent?” Kalka asked as he entered the room without knocking. “Not that I give a shit.”

Angie stood next to the room’s med pod, pulling on a generic, hospital-issued bra.

“Fuck off, Kalaka,” Angie said, but didn’t hurry. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for a thank you,” Kalaka said.

“Thank you.”

“Damn that was a lot easier than I thought it would be,” Kalaka said. “Now what will I do with the other twenty minutes?”

“Where the Hells are my clothes?” Angie asked, spinning about. “You see them anywhere?”

“Here,” Kalaka said, opening a compression pouch and pulling out an assortment of women’s clothing. “They incinerated your stuff. It was shredded and soaked in your blood. Did the doctors mention how many lacerations you had?”

“Seventy-five, at least,” Angie said. She took the clothes, chose a pair of pants and a T-shirt. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Kalaka said, watching her get dressed. “Can you hurry it up? We’re on a schedule.”

“We are?”

“FIS agents. Two of them from IID,” Kalaka said. “I planned for this, but my guy can’t hold them forever. They’re going to head here first then Mess’a Tikk’s.”

“She’s alive?” Angie asked as she buckled her pants and held out her hands. “Shoes?”

“Boots,” Kalaka said and extracted three pairs from the pouch. “I didn’t know your size.”

“Those will do,” Angie said as she took the middle pair and slipped them on sans socks. “Where’s Mess’a?”

“Next floor up,” Kalaka said. “Ready?”

“Let’s go,” Angie said.

The two left the room without making eye contact with anyone. Not that anyone cared. The hospital personnel were overworked and underpaid, so they had better things to do than bother with a couple of beings that were close to sprinting down the corridor.

Kalaka and Angie took the stairs to the next floor. They exited onto a scene that was not very comforting.

“You know any of those uniforms?” Angie asked as they stared at close to a dozen Jafla PD officers milling about in front of an obviously guarded door. “Can you get us in?”

“Hold on,” Kalaka said. “Let’s see who we have here…”

“Tick tock.”

“There,” Kalaka said. “Those two. Stay put.”

Kalaka strolled over to a pair of officers that were leaning against the wall opposite the room door. They saw him when he was a meter away and both rolled their eyes.

“What?” the first officer asked, a short man with a serious gut pudge. He looked like a small, shaved Urvein, but was obviously human. “You aren’t supposed to be here, Kalaka.”

“Can you get me in for five minutes?” Kalaka asked, ignoring the greeting.

“Does it look like we can?” the second officer, a woman that appeared to be made of glass, asked.

“Come on, you two,” Kalaka said. “You want the same holiday gifts this year or what?”

The two officers looked at each other then shrugged.

“Give me a second,” the first officer said and crossed the hall to the room door.

He conferred with the officer standing guard directly in front of the hospital room door. The two men whispered back and forth then shook hands. Something obviously passed from one hand to the other. Then the first officer came back and said, “Five minutes. Move ass, Kalaka.”

“Great. Thanks,” Kalaka said and caught Angie’s eye. She hurried to meet him as he moved to the door.

A few of the other officers gave the two some questioning looks, but when the on-duty guard stepped aside, no one said a word.

They were inside.

29.

Mess’a Tikk was contained not only within a med pod, but also within a security shield. The shield ticked and crackled with electricity and Angie knew well enough to keep a good foot or two back or the energy would slowly start to burn the hair off her body. Kalaka must have known that too because he kept Angie between himself and the shield.

“Mess’a?” Angie asked. “Can you hear us?”

“Yes…” Mess’a replied so quietly that she was almost impossible to hear.

“Have you already been answering questions?” Angie asked. “Did the Jafla PD Murder Department speak with you?”

“No…” Mess’a said. “No one talks to me…”

“This is good,” Kalaka whispered behind Angie. “Also typical. Close to ten hours in the pod and no one’s spoken to her. Lazy ass PD.”

“Shut up,” Angie snapped then focused on Mess’a once again. “Mess’a? Can you tell me why you killed S’lunn?”

“Oh… Poor Tipo…” Mess’a responded. “He was always nice to me…”

“Yes, I bet he was, but why did you kill him?” Angie asked again. “And why did you kill Etch Knowles?”

“Etch Knowles!” Mess’a spat. She thrashed a bit then tired herself out and went limp, her Groshnel body almost flat against the bottom of the med pod. “He killed my Xew…”

“No, Mess’a, he was there to help catch who killed your husband,” Angie said. “It was S’lunn that sold Xew out to the Willz Syndicate.”

“Oh… Yes… I knew that…” She gasped a few times, her body filling with air for a few seconds before deflating once more. “Tipo said to kill Etch Knowles. He said Etch was bad, but Tipo was bad…”

“Tipo S’lunn told you to kill Etch Knowles? You’re certain of this?” Angie asked.

“He whispered in my ear night after night after night after night…” Mess’a sighed. “I dreamt of the killing… Then the dream came true…”

“Sleep conditioning,” Kalaka said quietly. “That sick bastard.”

“Okay, so S’lunn told you to kill Etch Knowles, but why did you kill S’lunn?” Angie pressed.

“It was the plan…” Mess’a replied.

“Yes, it was the plan. Good,” Angie said encouragingly. “Who made the plan?”

“He did…”

“Who did?”

“Him…”

“Right, but what is his name? Can you tell me his name?” Angie pressed.

“Not…supposed to…”

Mess’a’s eyes fluttered and closed. Then they shot open.

“Loose ends!” Mess’a yelled, her entire body inflating to almost fill the med pod.

“Oh, shit,” Kalaka said. “We should go.”

Alarms sounded and the pounding of feet could be heard out in the corridor.

“Yeah, we should,” Angie agreed.

They turned to leave, but the door burst open before they could reach it.

“Kalaka!” a plainclothes officer shouted, blocking Angie and Kalaka’s exit. “And Lt. McDade! Seven Satans, what are you doing in here? You were this woman’s victim. You are tainting this case in ways you can’t imagine.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” Angie said to the man. “I also don’t care. We have a small window to nab this son of a bitch. Whoever is pulling the strings could already be long by now.”

“The hangars are closed except for essential space travel,” the plainclothes officer said. “No one is leaving Jafla.”

“Yeah, because bribing a dockhand to get onto a cargo barge is never a thing around here,” Kalaka said.

“Kalaka, you are already in a lot of trouble,” the plainclothes officer said. “You should stay quiet.”

“We’re leaving,” Angie said and squared her shoulders. “Unless you really want to try to stop us. Word of warning, I’m fresh out of a med pod and feel like punching someone. Hard.”

“What did you ask her?” the plain clothes officer asked. “What did she say?”

“The woman is nuts,” Kalaka said, nodding at Mess’a who had stopped yelling, but was still thrashing in the med pod.

A doctor and two nurses rushed into the room, the doctor yelling over his shoulder, “I always have access, you buffoon!” Then he saw everyone else. “Who are you people? Get out so I can attend to the patient!”

“Don’t have to tell us twice,” Kalaka said and grabbed Angie by the arm, yanking her past the plainclothes officer and out of the room.

The two FIS agents were at the end of the corridor, but looking in the opposite direction.

“That them?” Angie asked as she followed Kalaka to the closest corner and down a side corridor.

“That was them,” Kalaka said. “And they’re not just here for me.”

“They’re here because this turned into a galactic mess,” Angie said. “I’ll be lucky to get out of this without either a demotion or an assignment to some Division on the Edge. Or both.”

Angie grabbed Kalaka and pulled him to a stop.

“What’s the plan? Where are we going?” she asked.

“The plan is to find out who put Mess’a up to killing S’lunn the same way she killed Knowles,” Kalaka said.

“That’s not a plan,” Angie said. “How are we going to find this person? Where are we going to base? We can’t go back to Squad headquarters. We can’t use your apartment or the place I was camped out at. And we need access to the GV mainframe. All of that is blown.”

“Yep,” Kalaka agreed. “I know a safe house, but that doesn’t fix the mainframe access issue. Either of us tries to log in and we’ll be found in minutes.”

“And we’re probably already out of time,” Angie said. “The person behind this is long gone.”

“Maybe,” Kalaka said. “Let’s get out of this hospital and someplace we can relax and have several drinks.”

“No relaxing. No several drinks,” Angie said as Kalaka headed for the stairs.

“Hey, not all of us got to spend several hours in a med pod, McDade,” Kalaka snapped as they descended floor by floor. “Some of us, like me, could really use a drink or ten.”

They hit the final landing and Angie stopped Kalaka before he could exit the stairwell.

“What?” he asked.

“Can you find a place to hole up that has a secure comm connection? Completely off books and unlisted?”

“I said I could. Doesn’t fix the mainframe access issue.”

“Just get us a place,” Angie said and nodded to the exit door. “I think I have an idea on how we can get the info we need.”

“Mainframe info?”

“Mainframe info.”

Kalaka smiled, opened the exit door, glanced out into the corridor, then gave a thumbs up. Angie followed right behind and they were through the hospital lobby and outside onto the plasticrete sidewalk in seconds.

30.

“Yes, but I do not see why you had to leave the hospital or deceive any of the agents or officers involved,” Poq stated as he sat ramrod straight in the chair by the kitchen table. His skin was a dull beige, made even duller by the dim light of the small halogen set into the kitchen ceiling. No hair, but a red tint to the scalp to simulate where hair might go. His eyes were constantly changing colors. “You are law enforcement. You work together.”

Kalaka laughed hard, but Angie shot him a harsh look and he shut up.

“We needed to keep our momentum,” Angie said.

“And we have no idea who to trust,” Kalaka said. “Someone ordered the killing of S’lunn. We can’t be certain it wasn’t one of our own.”

“From your preliminary information gathering, it does sound likely that it is the Willz Syndicate that is behind the murders,” Poq said. Angie began to interrupt, but he held a hand up and she closed her mouth. “By using a proxy within law enforcement.”

“That proxy used Mess’a Tikk,” Kalaka said. “It has to be someone she knows.”

“It does not have to be, Detective,” Poq said. “There are many technological ways to condition a grieving wife’s mind. I could name six dozen ways that would be highly effective at achieving the same end result.”

“There is no fucking end result,” Angie snapped. “There are two dead GVDs. One was clean and undercover, the other was dirty and the person we thought had done all this to Mess’a. Except Mess’a Tikk turned around and killed him too. That means we’re looking for one more person.”

“At least,” Kalaka said. “Someone did some cleaning before we got there. Wanted S’lunn’s presentation to be a surprise.”

“GVD Knowles and GVD S’lunn,” Poq stated. “I am sorry for the loss of both, regardless of the circumstances. The death of a life form is troubling to me. It is so…finite.”

“Yeah, it is,” Kalaka responded. “Very finite. We’d love for all this terpigshit to be finite too. Maybe get to the end here soon?”

“And you want me to help by hacking into the Galactic Vice mainframe and using the search resources to check for signs of a mole within the Jafla Base Squad itself,” Poq stated. “May I ask a question?”

“Shoot,” Angie said.

“Why would you think the GV mainframe will be of any use to you?”

“How do you mean?”

“The GV mainframe is a comprehensive network of search algorithms powered and directed by several high-functioning AI protocols,” Poq said. “None of the AI protocols are up to my level, but they are quite capable of extrapolating conclusions from all data sets presented.”

“Your point?” Kalaka nearly snapped.

“His point is the GV mainframe should have already alerted investigators to possible weaknesses within all Divisions and Squads, including Jafla,” Angie said. “Which it hasn’t.”

“Exactly. I would know if it had,” Poq said. “That in and of itself should tell you quite a bit. In my opinion, you do not need me to search and track down the person responsible. What you need is for me to find the trail that has already been made within the mainframe. Your person of interest has left traces, all beings do, I only need to find those traces and follow them back to a name.”

“Shit,” Angie said and rubbed at her face, up and down, faster and faster until she threw her head back in exasperation and said, “We’re dealing with brass.”

“I am unfamiliar with the term,” Poq stated.

“Brass,” Kalaka explained. “The bosses. People higher up than us mere mortals.”

“All beings are mere mortals,” Poq said.

“What GVD Kalaka is saying is that someone with pull has to be behind this,” Angie said. “A simple GVD can’t wipe out evidence of Squad corruption. It would have to be a captain at the very least.”

“Jorg? No way,” Kalaka said and laughed. “Have you met the guy? Jorg’s a Spilfleck. The guy can’t hide his emotions if he wanted to. That neck frill of his pokes out at the sound of a nuft fart. I ain’t kidding here, people. It’s not Captain Jorg.”

“Then it is someone higher up,” Angie said.

“Or lateral,” Poq said. “Perhaps from Jafla PD.”

“They don’t have access to the GV mainframe,” Angie said.

“That is not true,” Poq corrected. “All senior administrative positions within the Jafla PD can obtain authorization to access the GV mainframe if evidence can be shown that the information needed is relevant to a major case. Perhaps a murder or a sting operation regarding one of the larger crime syndicates.”

“So we now have the Jafla PD brass to worry about too,” Kalaka said. “Well, shit on me and call me a taxi afterwards.”

“That is a confusing—” Poq began.

“Never mind,” Angie said. “Poq? Get to work on the mainframe. See if you can find breadcrumbs then follow them to the asshole responsible.”

“Breadcrumbs? Yes, I understand the literary reference,” Poq said. “However, the breadcrumbs may not lead to the perpetrator. They may only lead to an accomplice.”

“Get to work,” Angie said and stood up. “Where’s the head?”

“Down the hall and to the right,” Kalaka said. “No sonic.”

“Just need a toilet,” Angie said.

“Have at it,” Kalaka said and waved a hand over his wrist. “Hungry? I can get food sent over.”

Angie glared at him.

“It’s safe,” Kalaka insisted. “I swear. This house is well off the Jafla PD and GV grid. Old girlfriend of mine owns it.”

“For what purpose?” Poq asked.

“Nothing you need to worry that wired head over,” Kalaka said then focused on Angie. “Go take a shit and leave the life on Jafla Base stuff to me. One of the reasons you haven’t arrested me or killed me is because I’m useful. Getting some delivery is part of that usefulness.”

“Poq?” Angie asked.

“There is no record of this address being associated with GVD Kalaka or any law enforcement agency,” Poq replied. “I see no reason anyone would come looking here or follow a vehicle here.”

“You didn’t log this address into the mainframe, did you, Poq?” Angie asked.

“I’d be insulted if I had that emotion,” Poq said. “But I turned that protocol off the second day on the job as receptionist.”

“Good,” Angie said and left the kitchen to find the bathroom.

Kalaka swiped through a holo menu a few times then banished the holo and smiled at Poq. “Grub is on the way. I got a delivery guy that is beyond discrete. We’re good.”

“Wonderful,” Poq said as his eyes rolled up into his head. “I will be unavailable for conversation over the next few minutes.”

“I thought you androids could multi-task a billion things at once?” Kalaka asked. There was no response from Poq. “I’m calling terpigshit. You just don’t want to talk to me anymore.”

He waited in the kitchen, his arms folded across his chest. After a couple of minutes, he began to worry and stood up. Poq was still accessing the GV mainframe and unresponsive. Kalaka shrugged and made his way back to the lavatory.

“McDade?” Kalaka called as he rapped his knuckles on the door. “You good?”

“Fine, Kalaka,” Angie replied. “Fuck off and let a woman take care of business.”

“No problem,” Kalaka said and walked back to the kitchen.

Poq was waiting, alert and smiling a very artificial and creepy smile.

“You got something?” Kalaka asked.

“I was able to find a trail,” Poq said. “That trail branched off into two different trails. Both originate from here on Jafla. It is obvious that someone with security access was covering his or her tracks in order to avoid investigation. I am obtaining the address of origin for the breach.”

“Whoa, what?” Kalaka replied. “You can get us an address of where this asshole lives?”

“I did not say that,” Poq replied. “The addresses I can obtain are simply the point of origin for the connection to the GV mainframe. That is all. Whether a being lives at either of these addresses is beside the point. That is for you to ascertain. I will simply provide the locations.”

“Then do that,” Kalaka said. “Shoot me the addresses to my implant. Do the same for McDade.”

“Yes, GVD Kalaka,” Poq said.

There was a quiet knock at the kitchen door. Kalaka withdrew his pistol, held it down and to the back of his right thigh, and crossed to the door.

“What’s the password?” Kalaka asked through the door.

“Fuck off, Kalaka,” a voice replied.

“That’ll do,” Kalaka said.

“A highly ineffective password,” Poq said.

“No one asked you, wire head,” Kalaka said as he opened the door.

A young Groshnel stood there, his body inflating and deflating rapidly as he looked around with obvious paranoia. He held a warming case in two of his tentacle arms.

“You’re lucky you tip big, Kalaka,” the Groshnel said. “This area is not on my usual route.”

“You turned off your tracker, right, N’ummi?” Kalaka asked as he took the warming case and set it on a counter to his left. “This address better not be logged.”

“Stop saying stupid things and pay me,” N’ummi snapped. “My roller is going to get jacked at any second, man.”

“Here,” Kalaka said and handed the kid a handful of chits. “Keep the change.”

N’ummi stared at the wad of chits then glanced up at Kalaka. “You dying or something? This is a lot of chits.”

“I’m not dying, but the day is young,” Kalaka said. “And those chits buy your silence no matter who comes and talks to you. Even if it’s Fleet agents, got me?”

“Fleet? Fuck, Kalaka, I don’t need that crap,” N’ummi said. “You know my dad is trying to make a go of things after prison. And Mom is almost off the stim. Fleet agents come sniffing around and everything will go to all the Hells.”

“You’re golden if you keep your mouth shut,” Kalaka said. “We done?”

“Suck gonads,” N’ummi said as he stuffed the chits in his pocket and left. Several of his tentacles flipped Kalaka off.

“You better be right, Kalaka,” Angie said from the hall doorway as Kalaka shut the kitchen door and turned around. “That kid rats us out and we’ll be dealing with a lot more than two FIS agents.”

“I know,” Kalaka said. “We’re good. Let’s eat some food then we’ll check out the addresses Poq sent us.”

“You haven’t looked at them yet?” Angie snapped.

“My guy showed up with food,” Kalaka said and pointed at the warming case. “Noodles. I got six kinds because I didn’t know what you liked.”

“To all the Hells with the food, Kalaka!” Angie snapped. “Bring up the holo and look at the addresses!”

Kalaka stared at her then swiped his wrist and brought up the addresses. He read them over several times before it hit him.

“The whore,” he said. “This first address is the Lipian’s apartment where Knowles was staying and found.”

“And the second address?” Angie asked as if she was speaking to a toddler.

“Gants’ Club,” Kalaka said. “Where the fuck is my jacket?”

“You were not wearing a jacket when I arrived,” Poq stated.

“It’s in the roller,” Kalaka said. “Come on. We have to move. Shit.” Kalaka pointed at the warming case. “Eat all you want, Poq.”

Angie was already out the kitchen door. Kalaka followed close behind.

“I do not eat noodles,” Poq said. “I do not eat.”

“Good for you,” Kalaka said as he was about to shut the door. He paused. “Hey, Poq?”

“Yes, GVD Kalaka?”

“Good work. Stay available in case we need to comm you.”

“I am off shift all day. I will remain available if you need remote assistance. However, I do work the graveyard shift tonight, so please be aware of that limitation.”

“Graveyard shift. Got it. Thanks again.”

31.

Kalaka drove the beat-up roller through desolate streets bracketed by heaps of rubble and mounds of refuse.

“Why Gants?” Kalaka asked. “Gants is Collari, not Willz. Everything points to the Willz Syndicate on this one.”

The light that filtered down from the dome above was dirty; filled with floating specks of dust and grime that seemed to be flaking off the few walls still left standing in the district. Kalaka turned the roller’s lights on even though it was only early afternoon.

“It could still be Willz,” Angie said. “We don’t know that it isn’t. All we have are two addresses.”

“Want to bother checking the apartment?” Kalaka asked.

“No,” Angie said. “Still a crime scene and Jafla Murder will be all over it. If there are clues left to find, they’ll be nearly impossible to detect because of Knowles’ murder.”

“Good way to cover physical evidence,” Kalaka said. “Bury it under a GVD’s blood and guts.”

“Makes more sense than a simple message to back off,” Angie said. “Use the murder to taint the location for us. Jafla Murder has it locked down and GV can’t get anywhere near it because one of ours was the victim. Conflict of interest.”

“So we really are dealing with law enforcement,” Kalaka stated. “It’d have to be in order for the person to know of the layers of red tape that wrap up the investigation of a GVD’s murder.”

“That leaves the last address,” Angie said. “Gants’ Club. If this is Willz, then this is all a setup. Throw us off by pointing us in the direction of their competition.”

“This shit did start with Willz making a play at Collari,” Kalaka said as he turned a corner and found the access road that led out of the crumbling slums and back towards the main part of the base. “You think this was the plan all along?”

“Do you?” Angie asked.

“No. Too messy. Too convoluted.”

“Exactly my thoughts. Something happened that upped the timetable for our guy. Forced his hand and he moved faster than he was prepared for. Now we’re dealing with the fallout.”

Kalaka nodded and steered the roller into heavy traffic. He waved his wrist over the wheel and let go, sighing as he eased back into the driver’s seat.

“I was on Xippee for an op once and the entire roller grid went down,” Angie said as the roller auto-piloted through the thick traffic. “Half the beings had no idea how to drive. Can you imagine?”

“I can’t, no,” Kalaka said. “I always want the option to grab the wheel and take over. Autopilot is nice, but sometimes you have to disengage the safety protocols to get where you need to go.”

“I hear that,” Angie said. She sighed long and slow. “This fucking op…”

“How’d you get it?” Kalaka asked. “Who assigned it to you?”

“Why?”

“You have any beef with someone in GV Division headquarters? Maybe this was a known mess and you’ve been set up to take a fall when it all goes to shit.”

“It’s already gone to shit.”

“You know what I mean.”

Angie thought hard. “No. Can’t think of anyone with a beef against me. It started as a sex trafficking op then became a mole hunt op wrapped in the sex trafficking op.”

“Who made it a mole hunt?”

“No one officially,” Angie admitted. “I kind of took it on.”

“Division Chief Lu’Tes’Tu? She your boss?”

“Yeah.”

“She maybe trying to get rid of you?”

“Lu’Tes’Tu? No…”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I’ve screwed up some. I’m on her shitlist, but not like this. She’d never be dirty. Never.”

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, asshole,” Angie snapped. “Not everyone can be bought.”

“I guess.”

“Trust me. I know how to read…”

“What’s that? You know how to read people?” Kalaka replied and laughed, holding up his hands. “Just giving you shit. You’re good, McDade. I can tell. Hells, you somehow managed to get the one GVD in all of the Jafla Squad who doesn’t give ten shits about anyone to actually give ten shits.”

Kalaka paused.

“Maybe nine shits. I don’t give full shits for anything.”

“That I believe,” Angie said. “How close are we?”

“We’re hitting Blink District right now,” Kalaka said. “I’ll let the roller pull up directly in front. It’s the afternoon, so the Club is closed, but one of the bouncers will still be outside. Me pulling up in this hunk of crap is going to piss that Urvein off so much.”

“All the door bouncers Urvein?” Angie asked as the roller turned a corner.

“At the Club? Yeah. Gants has these genetic freak thugs that do muscle jobs for him, but he employs only the Brothers for outside security,” Kalaka said. “You want to make sure no one is getting through your door, you hire the Brothers.”

“Brothers?”

“K and T work for Gants,” Kalaka said. “Most of the others worked for Shava Stem Shava and the Orb fights. M, N, Q, G, P, and maybe F. Can’t remember if F still works the Orb facilities or not.”

“Original names,” Angie said.

“When you meet one of them you quickly realize they only need the one initial. Trust me.”

The roller slowed and stopped directly in front of the Club. A bored-looking Urvein that was over ten feet tall and nearly as wide, pushed away from the wall next to the front door and lumbered over to the vehicle.

“Move it along, you little… Oh. Kalaka. Great,” the Urvein growled. “What do you want? I didn’t think you ever rose before dark, you vampire piece of shit.”

“Vampire? Is that a racial slur against my sharp teeth, T?” Kalaka asked as he stepped out of the roller. “Come on. No need to get personal.”

“My teeth are bigger and sharper,” T, the Urvein, said and made sure Kalaka could see the extremely large canines. “What do you want?”

“First, for you to move your hairy ass out of the way so my colleague can get out of the roller,” Kalaka said.

T glared then glanced down at the passenger door he was blocking. Angie glared back. T backed a few steps away, just enough for Angie to get out.

“I see pistols on you,” T said. “If, and I mean if, I let you inside, you’re gonna have to hand those over. Mr. Gants is very concerned for his security lately.”

“He’s received the message then?” Kalaka asked. “Two dead GVDs.”

“Don’t know nothing about messages or dead GVDs, but if you two want to end up like your friends, then please keep those pistols and try to get past me,” T growled. “Please.”

“Just let us in,” Angie snapped, showing her GVD holo badge. “I’m not asking.”

“That’s a badge, not a warrant,” T replied, crossing his massive arms over his chest as he took two steps forward, nearly pinning Angie to the roller. “Show me a warrant and the Club is all yours.” Angie didn’t respond. “That’s what I thought. Kalaka? You didn’t tell her who my family is?”

“No, I told her, but she has to learn for herself,” Kalaka said. “How much will it cost?”

“Your pistols,” T replied.

“No, how much will it cost to keep our pistols?”

“Zero. Because you can’t keep your pistols if you want to go inside. Listen, Kalaka, I know my brother can be bought with Orb tix, but I’m not my brother. And the atmosphere has changed. Club is closed tonight and tomorrow. I’ll let you in because you’re GVD and who am I to get in the way of cops. And I’m not too worried about you getting far.”

“Why’s that?” Kalaka asked.

“You’ll see,” T replied with a canine-toothed grin. “But you won’t be going in without handing me your pistols. End. Of. Story.”

“This is what the Brothers are about?” Angie asked, looking over her shoulder at Kalaka.

“Yep. They’re all like this,” Kalaka said.

Angie nodded. Then she drove her fist into a spot just above T’s belly and below his sternum. He grunted, looked down at her fist that was buried in a roll of hair, fat and muscle, and laughed. Then he began to cough. He coughed harder and put out a hand to steady himself against the roller. Angie ducked under that arm and moved around behind the Urvein.

“Coming, Kalaka?” she asked as T continued coughing.

“Effective,” Kalaka said as he rounded the roller and hurried over to her. “But now you’ve pissed off the Brothers.”

“The Brothers pissed me off first,” Angie said and pulled her pistol. She jammed it into T’s back. “Slow, steady breaths. There you go. Now, once you feel like you can walk, you’re going to waddle your ass over to the door and key us inside. Got it?”

“Bitch,” T grunted as he slowly straightened and even slower turned around.

Angie shadowed him, making sure she was right behind with the pistol jammed directly above T’s left kidney. Kalaka got out of the way as the Urvein shuffled to the front door and keyed them in. The door slid aside and T glared as Kalaka walked into the shadowed Club.

“I’m going to remove the pistol from your back,” Angie stated. “And you are going to stay still until I am inside. What you do after that, I don’t care. But you try to take me out and you will regret it.”

“Bitch,” T spat as Angie extracted herself from the situation and followed Kalaka inside.

“Boo hoo,” Angie called back as the door closed.

Kalaka walked her down the short corridor to the main room.

“Well…shit,” Kalaka said.

The dance floor was filled with tables. On those tables were weapons of every style and caliber. Holding those weapons, cleaning those weapons, loading those weapons, were a few dozen genetic soup thugs. They turned as one and glared at Kalaka and Angie.

“No,” Schigg said casually from the bar as the thugs twitched. “Do not shoot them.”

“Is that what they were going to do?” Angie asked.

“Yes,” Schigg said and focused his ember eyes on her. “Hello, Galactic Vice Division Operations Manager Lt. Angie McDade. If that is still your job.” Schigg tapped at his temple. “A lot of chatter on official channels about a GV op manager going rogue.”

“Nothing about me?” Kalaka asked.

“No one cares about you, Kalaka,” Schigg said. “It is Lt. McDade that has them concerned.”

“How concerned?” Angie asked.

“You seem to have me confused with a being that is inclined to assist you,” Schigg said and laughed. “I stopped Mr. Gants’ employees from killing you, and allowed T to let you in, there was no need to assault him. All because I am curious as to why you would dare show your face here again, Kalaka. And bring her with you.”

“This mess is all a play to take Mr. Gants down,” Angie said before Kalaka could reply.

“Yes, we are very aware of that,” Schigg said, nodding at the tables. “Better give me something else to chew on or I let them off leash.”

“We’re following a trail,” Angie said. “The trail led to the Lipian whore’s apartment where GVD Etch Knowles was murdered.”

“Yet you are here.”

“Because the trail split and led us here too,” Angie continued. “Someone was logged into the GV mainframe from the Lipian’s apartment then from this establishment.” Angie pointed at the thugs and their weapons. “But you already knew that.”

“I have been conducting my own investigation,” Schigg said. “We brought in some outside help, thinking that your Etch Knowles might have been the threat. That is not the case, so now the outside help will be assisting us in our soon-to-be very bloody war with the Willz Syndicate.”

“Outside help?” Kalaka asked.

“Hello, Kalaka,” a voice called from a booth against the wall.

“Oh. Right. You,” Kalaka said.

Cassa Wickens extracted herself from the shadows and walked over to Kalaka and Angie.

“Angie McDade. You ordered the raid on Ballyway. I am not pleased with you,” Cassa hissed.

“Don’t care, Wickens,” Angie said.

“You should,” Cassa snarled.

“Listen, everyone chill,” Kalaka said. “We aren’t here to bust Mr. Gants or any of you. We need to access your tech logs and see where the login occurred.”

“You’re insane,” Schigg said and reached behind him for a bottle. “Would you two care for a drink before I allow Ms. Wickens to butcher you?”

“Give us access to the tech logs and I will drop the investigation into Mr. Gants’ sex trafficking,” Angie said. “Indefinitely.”

“Indefinitely? Are you offering us a free pass, Lt. McDade?” Schigg asked. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“It is,” Cassa said. “She doesn’t have the authority to make that deal.”

“I do,” Angie said. “All past offenses are now forgotten. If you stop with the kidnapping and importation of sex workers onto Jafla, then I will make sure past crimes are no longer investigated. You get a free pass on those, but not any future offenses.”

“If I knew what you were talking about, I might take you up on the deal,” Schigg said. “But how can I make that deal for Mr. Gants when he has never done anything illegal in his life?”

“Take the deal or don’t,” Angie said. “Up to you.”

“Yes, it is up to me,” Schigg agreed.

“It’s terpigshit,” Cassa snapped. “Let me kill them.”

“No,” Schigg said. “They live. The deal is made and will be honored. Break the deal, Lt. McDade, and Ms. Wickens gets to do whatever she feels like doing to both of you. I will pay her upfront right now so that she is automatically authorized to move on you if she hears a whisper in the wind that you broke the deal. Can you live with that?”

“Story of my life,” Kalaka said.

“Deal,” Angie said. “Now, where are the tech logs?”

“Back here,” Schigg said, pointing to a door to the side of the bar. “In our VIP entertainment area. Ms. Fleena will assist you. I have more important tasks at hand.”

“Want me to accompany them?” Cassa asked.

“No, you have just as important tasks as well,” Schigg said tersely. “Go on back, you two. Get your info then leave. Never come back. Ever. The Club is off limits.”

“Then that means—” Kalaka began.

“You still owe me the favors, Kalaka. Nice try.”

32.

“I know how much street capital you’ve spent, Kalaka,” Angie said as they walked down a dim corridor towards the sound of soft music and even softer voices. “I’ll help pay those debts, if I can.”

“Appreciated,” Kalaka replied.

The corridor led them to a medium-sized sitting room, all plush couches and burgundy velvet wallpaper. Several prostitutes sat on the couches. A few waved at Kalaka. He waved back.

“Someone watched too many vids about old-time brothels,” Angie said. “Look at this place.”

“Keep your comments to yourself,” a heavily made-up Cervile said as she turned from a small wet bar to face Angie and Kalaka. “Ah. GVD Kalaka. Welcome back.”

“Ms. Fleena. Looking lovely,” Kalaka said.

“Don’t even try with me, Kalaka,” Ms. Fleena said. “I’m Cervile, too. I can smell the lies before you say them.”

Kalaka shrugged.

“Schigg call back and tell you what we’re after?” Angie asked.

“He did,” Ms. Fleena replied. “This way.”

She held a cocktail and sipped from it as she walked them to an almost hidden door in the wall. She pressed a hand to the wall and it beeped then opened.

“Step into my office,” she said and gestured for them to enter.

Kalaka nodded to Angie and the two stepped into the office. Ms. Fleena followed and closed the door behind her. The office was plain and utilitarian. No burgundy velvet wallpaper, only a few coats of gray paint. Ms. Fleena pointed with her cocktail glass at a desk and vid interface.

“Knock yourselves out,” Ms. Fleena said. “But I have to warn you that I charge by the hour, so you’ll want to be efficient.”

Kalaka laughed as Angie’s jaw dropped.

“Nothing is free, honey,” Ms. Fleena said and left.

“Jafla Base,” Angie said and shook her head.

“Tell me about it,” Kalaka said and crossed to the vid interface. He placed his wrist against a sensor and waited for the beep. When it sounded, he stepped back and crossed his arms. “Poq sent me this protocol. It should narrow down the suspects.”

They waited as a holo appeared above the interface and began spinning, indicating the protocol was running.

“He say how long it would take?” Angie asked.

“No,” Kalaka said.

“Great,” Angie said right before the interface beeped again and a row of faces framed by official Galactic Fleet IDs appeared. The holos blinked a few times then solidified. “Here we go. Thanks, Poq.”

Angie stepped closer and studied the faces. After a few seconds, she shook her head and looked back at Kalaka.

“Yeah, I see her,” Kalaka said. “Guska. Knowles’ contact. Renter of the apartment he died in. Now an employee here at the Club.” Kalaka tapped at his comm. “Ms. Fleena? May we see you?”

Ms. Fleena appeared through the door almost immediately.

“Find what you need?” Ms. Fleena asked.

“Her,” Kalaka said, swiping away all the IDs except for Guska’s. “She’s always been an independent contractor. But she works here now, right?”

“Obviously,” Ms. Fleena said. “Twitchy Lipian, I have to say. I thought she was strung out on bad stim, but turns out she’s only stupid and scared.”

“Scared of what?” Angie asked.

“Doesn’t take much with someone like her,” Ms. Fleena said. “Playing so many angles she forgets what the shape of life is. Could be anything.”

“Anyone ever come to visit her specifically since she started here?” Angie asked. “Someone that maybe hadn’t been to the Club before.”

“Not that I can think of,” Ms. Fleena said.

“Now, Ms. Fleena, you wouldn’t be holding out on us, would you?” Kalaka asked as he pulled chits from his pocket. “Schigg wants you to cooperate with us, right?”

Kalaka handed her the chits.

“Right,” Ms. Fleena said as she pocketed the chits. “But I was telling the truth. No one has come around since Guska began working here that hadn’t been here before.”

“Anyone that started coming around more often? Maybe switched from one of the other girls to Guska?” Angie asked.

Ms. Fleena grinned.

“All the Hells,” Kalaka said and gave her more chits. “I’m gonna run out soon.”

“You lost two hundred thousand of the GV’s operational funds, Kalaka,” Angie said. “Stop whining.”

“There has been one gentleman that switched from his regular girl to Guska,” Ms. Fleena said. “But there aren’t enough chits on Jafla to get me to spill his name.”

“Eight Million Gods dammit, Fleena,” Kalaka snapped. “We aren’t fucking around here.”

“Neither am I, Kalaka,” Ms. Fleena said. “At the end of the day, you get to go home and be all warm and toasty with that GV badge of yours. Me? I live this life and I want to keep on living it. I’ve done what Schigg asked me to do, but that’s all. I will not snitch on clients. Ever. Mr. Gants would have me in an acid barrel by the end of the night if he heard I squealed on a client.”

“Then what did I pay you for?” Kalaka shouted.

“For me to escort you to Guska’s room so you can ask her your questions directly,” Ms. Fleena said. “If she wants to squeal, then that is her choice. Will that work for you, Detective?”

“That will work,” Angie said for Kalaka. “Can we get that escort to her room now? Time is not on our side.”

“Neither are manners, apparently,” Ms. Fleena said and sighed. “Follow me.”

She showed them back out to the waiting room and past the bored-looking whores. Ms. Fleena led them down a corridor, around a corner, down a second corridor, around another corner, and down a third corridor.

“No doors,” Angie said.

“They’re there,” was all Ms. Fleena said. She proved it by placing a hand against the wall. A door was revealed and it slid wide open. “See?” She cleared her throat. “Guska? You have company.”

“Thanks,” Angie said as she stepped into the room, her pistol drawn. “Where is she?”

“Excuse me?” Ms. Fleena pushed past Angie and stared at the empty room. A bed. A dressing table. No Guska. “That little bitch. No one walks out on Ms. Fleena. No one.”

“Shit,” Angie exclaimed and hurried from the room.

“Gonna want those chits back, Fleena!” Kalaka yelled as he took off after Angie. “You didn’t deliver!”

Ms. Fleena’s response was lost as they turned the corner and continued sprinting down the corridor, turned the last corner, and raced past the not-so-bored-looking whores. They were up on their feet, hands to mouths, to cheeks, to their ears, all looking terrified.

The sound of plasma blasts was easy to hear from down the entry corridor.

Kalaka drew his pistol as the sounds got louder. Angie slammed a fist against the door controls and waited for it to slide open. There were shouts and yells and nothing but chaos in the Club as Angie and Kalaka burst out into the bar and nearly tripped over a prone Schigg.

“You owe me,” Schigg said, face down and unmoving. “That whore shot me. She was your problem. Now I am your problem, Kalaka.”

“Say all that to my face when you can stand up again, asshole,” Kalaka said as he and Angie stepped over Schigg’s body.

Several of the thugs were dead on the dance floor, the tables of weapons overturned. Angie snatched up a heavily modified H16 carbine as she ran across the dance floor and headed towards the Club entrance. Kalaka did the same.

More dead thugs at the entrance. The door was open, blocked from closing by the foot of one of the dead thugs. Outside on the street were the sounds of plasma blasts and the distinct roaring noise of a wounded Urvein.

Angie moved to one side of the entrance and Kalaka took the other. Angie raised a hand and counted down one, two, three then dove out of the entrance. She rolled across the sidewalk and came up in a crouch with her back to Kalaka’s roller.

Kalaka made to copy the maneuver, but a couple of plasma blasts scorching the wall by his face changed his mind. He dropped to the ground and elbow crawled to Angie.

“You see her?” Angie asked.

“No,” Kalaka said. “But from the angle of the shots, I’d say she’s across the street.”

Angie glanced around and then saw T’s massive foot sticking out from in front of the roller. “T? You alive?”

There was a pained groan then, “Yes. She shot me as she came out the door. What in the Hells did I ever do to that whore? I’ve been nice to her.”

“Can you see her?” Angie asked.

“She’s across the street, hiding behind an incinerator bin,” T said. “I think… Yeah, I think she’s waiting for a public roller to show up. The bin’s by a transport stop.”

“This whore is dumb as paint,” Angie said.

“She’s never had many brain cells to spare,” Kalaka said. “I’d say all this business has fried the last remaining ones. Pretty good shot, though. Who knew?”

“Guska!” Angie called. “Can you hear me?”

“I’m leaving! I’m going to go home! Fuck Jafla!” Guska replied. She added a couple plasma shots for emphasis and the roller rocked. “Just let me leave! I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”

“Guska, my name is Lt. Angie McDade! I was a friend of Etch Knowles. He told me about you. I think he really—”

“He was a cop!” Guska interrupted, adding a couple more plasma blasts to the conversation. “He used me! That’s all cops do! They use me! Both of them!”

“Both of them,” Kalaka mouthed.

“Etch really did like you, Guska!” Angie shouted. “He told me so! He wasn’t using you, he needed your help. But he couldn’t tell you the truth! It hurt him to lie to you, trust me!”

“I don’t trust you!” Guska shrieked. “I don’t trust any of you!”

Sirens filled the air. Kalaka swore loudly.

“Jafla PD,” he spat. “We can’t wait here and talk. The second they get here, they’ll either kill her or take her into custody.” Kalaka swallowed hard. “Maybe us too. Any ideas?”

“Yeah,” Angie said and flattened herself on the ground so she could see under the roller. “Get ready. You need to get to her before she passes out.”

“I need to what?” Kalaka cried as Angie shot three plasma blasts under the roller and across the street.

Guska screamed in agony. Kalaka scrambled to his feet and sprinted across the street, his pistol leading the way. Angie scrambled up onto her feet then ran around the roller, jumping over T as she followed Kalaka.

Kalaka was kneeling next to a bleeding and gasping Guska. She was covered in blood and trash, one of the plasma blasts having torn right through the incinerator bin. Hunks of metal alloy stuck straight up out of her abdomen.

“I’m gonna… Gonna die,” Guska gasped.

“No, no, you’re gonna be fine,” Kalaka soothed as he knelt next to her.

“Terpigshit,” Angie said and shoved him out of the way. “You are going to die, Guska. I’ve seen wounds like this and the medics won’t make it in time. You have maybe a minute.”

“Oh, Eight Million Gods…” she whispered.

Angie gave her a hard slap. “Stay with me, Guska! I need you to tell us which cops used you. I need you to tell me their names. Can you do that? Can you do something right for once? This might be your last time to be the hero, Guska. Be the hero.”

“Be the hero…” she muttered. “Be the hero…”

“Yes! Be the hero!” Angie continued. “Tell us the names of the cops that forced you into this!”

“Forced me… Yes…”

“Guska, please!”

“I can tell you… S’lunn…”

“We know about S’lunn. He’s dead. Like Etch. Mess’a Tikk killed him.”

“Oh… Mess’a killed Etch too.”

“That’s right. But who ordered her to kill S’lunn?”

“S’lunn ordered her to kill Etch.”

“We know, we know!”

Angie shook Guska hard and the dying woman cried out, her eyes shooting wide open and her hands clutching at the shards of metal sticking up from her body.

“Fuck, McDade,” Kalaka said.

“Leave it,” Angie snapped and gave Guska one more shake. “Someone ordered Mess’a to kill S’lunn. Who was it? Who else do you not trust? Who was the other cop that used you? Who was in charge of S’lunn?”

“Jorg,” Guska said. “He was in charge…”

“Yes, Captain Jorg is in charge of the Jafla Squad,” Angie said. “But who ordered S’lunn to condition Mess’a to kill Etch? Who ordered Mess’a to kill S’lunn?”

Guska’s eyes focused on Angie’s. Blood oozed from her mouth and nostrils. Then the eyes became unfocused and Guska’s body went slack.

“No!” Angie yelled and began shaking Guska over and over.

“McDade! Stop!” Kalaka yelled as he grabbed Angie’s hands and wrenched them away from the Lipian’s corpse. “She’s gone and we need to go too! Hear that? Sirens! They’ll be here in seconds! We want to be free to figure this out on our own? Then we have to go!”

Angie let Kalaka pull her to her feet and lead her away from the dead Lipian and the chaos that was the street around Gants’ Club.

33.

They were several blocks away, heading the opposite direction of the Jafla PD sirens, before Angie pulled up and forced Kalaka to stop walking.

“Can’t really stop,” Kalaka said. “Not a good idea.”

“Where are we going? This is your base. Get us off the street.”

“Okay. Sure,” Kalaka said and glanced around. “There. We can get a drink. Don’t argue this time.”

“No argument,” Angie said.

They crossed the street and ducked inside a pretentious-looking pub. It was too early for dinner and too late for lunch, so the place only had a couple of beings seated at the faux hide booths that lined both walls of the pub. A bar ran down the center of the pub and a bored-looking bartender glanced at them as they came in.

“Grab a seat anywhere,” he said. “Hungry? The kitchen doesn’t open up for dinner for another hour, but we have snacks.”

“Whiskey. Bottle. There,” Kalaka said as he and Angie moved to the closest booth and sat down opposite each other.

“We were so close,” Angie said. “She almost told us.”

The bartender arrived with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He presented the bottle, label out, for Kalaka to read.

“I don’t give a fuck what it is,” Kalaka snapped. “Pop the top and give us a couple pours.”

“Sir, there is no need to be rude,” the bartender said.

Kalaka flashed his badge. The bartender’s eyes went wide at the sight of the holo. He set the bottle down and left them alone.

“Better hope he didn’t read your name,” Angie said.

“Nah. It was a fake one I use for just these occasions,” Kalaka said. “GVD John Smithee.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Angie said. “That is the worst name.”

“Which everyone ignores because it is so plain,” Kalaka said and poured then two very full drinks. “Cheers.”

He drank his and Angie followed.

“What now?” Angie asked. “This is your base, Kalaka. What plays do we have?”

“Well, considering we have FIS agents on our asses, possibly Gants and his heavily armed thugs, a pissed-off Urvein bouncer that will come looking for me when he’s healed up, and an unknown killer out there, I’d prefer this wasn’t my base, to be honest, so stop saying that,” Kalaka said, filling their glasses again.

“But it is,” Angie said.

“I know, I know,” Kalaka said. “And I’m at a loss. I might be able to get us a ride off planet, but so what? We run the rest of our lives for a reason neither of us are quite sure exists? We’re in the dark here. We’d be better off turning ourselves in to the FIS agents and working it all out with them.” He rubbed his scalp over and over. “I can’t believe I said that. Is this what I’ve become? You’ve made me soft, McDade. All this doing good and shit.”

“What about Jorg?” Angie asked. “How much does he despise you?”

“You assume he despises me,” Kalaka said then nodded when Angie raised both of her eyebrows. “Yeah, he despises me. A lot. He isn’t going to be any help. He’ll turn us into the FIS the second we reach out to him. Mainly because those are the regulations, but he will be smiling while he does it.”

Kalaka scrunched up his face.

“What?” Angie asked.

“Guska,” Kalaka said. “She said she didn’t trust them both.”

“Yeah. I heard that. We got S’lunn’s name, but we didn’t get the second name.”

“What if we did?” Kalaka said. “She did give us two names.”

“No, she gave us S’lunn’s and Jorg’s. She was saying that S’lunn worked for Jorg, which we know.”

“But how did she know that S’lunn worked for Jorg? How did Guska know that Captain Jorg was in charge of Jafla Squad and was S’lunn’s boss?”

“I don’t know,” Angie said and downed her glass of whiskey. “But she did.”

“I don’t think she did,” Kalaka said. “I don’t think she knew Jorg was in charge of Jafla Squad. I think she was giving us the second name. S’lunn was working for Jorg. Jorg’s our real mole. Think about it.”

Angie started to argue then shook her head.

“You’re saying that Captain Jorg is responsible for not only Etch’s death, but two GVDs working under him? Jorg is owned by the Willz Syndicate?”

“Yes,” Kalaka stated. “It all makes sense. He has access to everything. He’s an Eight Million Gods damn GV Squad Captain.”

“Exactly,” Angie said. “I’ve seen a lot of corruption, but never a Squad Captain.”

“You haven’t worked Jafla before,” Kalaka said. “It makes sense, McDade. Trust me on this.”

“We need confirmation,” Angie said.

“I’ll get it,” Kalaka replied and tapped his comm. “Poq? I need you to scan all surveillance holos and vids surrounding Gants’ Club over the past two years. Tell me if you see Captain Jorg coming and going. Can you do that?”

Angie’s comm came alive and Poq replied to them both, “Two years? That will take some time.”

She pointed at her ear and frowned. Kalaka shrugged and mouthed, “I don’t know.”

“How’d you know to patch me in?” Angie asked.

“I am watching the two of you converse,” Poq said. “I have been keeping tabs on you. You made quite a mess earlier.”

“You can see us in here? Have we been exposed to the Jafla PD?” Angie asked.

“Not yet, no,” Poq replied. “I will continue to monitor your location and tell you when you must leave.”

“Thanks. And that’s not creepy at all,” Kalaka said. “How long will it take for you to analyze the scans?”

“Give me a few minutes, please,” Poq said. “Enjoy your whiskey. Next time you come into that pub, though, you will want to ask for clean glasses. The bartender grabbed ones from the dirty tray. I believe it was an accident, but it is still rather unsanitary.”

Angie pushed her glass away, Kalaka shrugged and sipped from his.

“Three minutes,” Poq said and the comm went silent.

At exactly three minutes, the comm came alive again and Poq said, “Captain Jorg has visited the Club multiple times over the last two years, but only in the last few months has it been regular.”

“Only the last few months?” Kalaka asked. “Before that, it was only occasionally?”

“Correct,” Poq confirmed.

“Same time as when Guska started working there,” Angie said.

“Yes, the dead Lipian prostitute,” Poq said. “The timing does match. I must say that once you mentioned Captain Jorg’s name, I was able to cross tabulate data and I found that he has a hidden bank account that has been filling with credits for the last couple of years. There was a very large payment made right after GVD Tikk was killed in the line of duty. More deposits were made around other significant events. One was made an hour after GVD Etch Knowles landed on Jafla. Two more payments were made yesterday.”

“That’s amazing news, Poq. Great job,” Kalaka said. Angie was frowning. “What? This is great stuff!”

“Poq? How did you find the bank account if it was hidden?” Angie asked. “You would have had to go outside the GV mainframe for that information.”

“I am attempting to show you that I would make an excellent detective, Lt. McDade,” Poq replied. “Which is what we spoke about before. You helping me to become a Galactic Vice Detective.”

Kalaka’s jaw dropped nearly to his chin. Angie waved him off.

“Okay, you’re right. That was great work,” Angie said. “You took your own initiative to get us information we need and can use. Will you please put everything you have found on Captain Jorg together in a report that—?”

“I already have,” Poq said as Angie and Kalaka’s wrists beeped. “I have sent you detailed reports on Captain Jorg, the late GVD Tipo S’lunn, the Lipian prostitute, and the various connections between them, as well as their involvement with Mess’a Tikk and their connection to the Willz Syndicate.”

“I could kiss you, Poq,” Kalaka said.

“That would be highly inappropriate,” Poq said.

“Poq? You haven’t shared this with anyone else, have you?” Angie asked.

“Not yet,” Poq said.

“Good. That’s good,” Angie said. “Now, can you do me one more favor? I need to know–.”

“Captain Jorg is currently in his office,” Poq said. “He is ignoring comms from the FIS and from GV Division headquarters. From the data, I can collect on his physical state, he is highly agitated and appears to be bordering on a panic attack.”

“He’s dangerous,” Kalaka said.

“Yeah,” Angie said. “We spook him and he could either bolt or blow his brains out. We need him alive.”

“No shit,” Kalaka said. “Poq? How is the Squad office looking? Is anyone concerned about Jorg?”

“They are leaving him be for now,” Poq answered.

“Makes sense,” Kalaka said. “The GVDs know to stay clear if he’s in a mood.”

“We’ve got to get in and see him,” Angie said. “Get him to admit to what he’s done. Only way we can dig ourselves out of this hole we’re in.”

“My hole is a little deeper,” Kalaka said. “You’re not the one that owes favors to Gants’ outfit.”

“I’ll get those wiped clean,” Angie said.

“Only way to do that is for me to leave Jafla,” Kalaka said. “And even then, favors owed to Gants, and specifically Schigg, have some reach to them. They’ll cash in even if I’m across the galaxy.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Angie said and Kalaka started to argue. “I said not to worry!”

“Fine. I won’t worry,” Kalaka said.

“I can get you inside Squad headquarters,” Poq said. “If that is your plan, to confront Captain Jorg in his office.”

“How can you get us inside without half that building coming down on our heads?” Angie asked.

“The building’s structure is sound, Lt. McDade.”

“No, she means how can you get us in without every person there reporting us,” Kalaka explained.

“That is easy,” Poq said. “The rear entrance.”

“The backdoor?” Kalaka asked. “That’s as monitored as the front door.”

“But not by people,” Poq said. “This would be simpler if you both had ocular implants.”

“We’re GV employees, Poq. We can’t afford ocular implants,” Angie said.

“Understood,” Poq said. “If you can make it to the rear loading dock unseen, then I can get you inside. I cannot assist your journey to the municipal building, I am afraid. Will it be feasible for you to make it across Jafla Base without detection?”

“That we can do,” Kalaka said and grinned. “Let me make a call.”

“Yes, you do that,” Poq said. “I will resume contact with you when you arrive at the loading dock and instruct you from there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kalaka said and killed the comm. “Let me make this comm and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Do I want to know?” Angie asked.

Kalaka grinned. Angie didn’t want to know.

34.

The delivery roller pulled up next to the loading dock and a very irritated-looking N’ummi got out of the driver’s side, made his way to the rear hatch, opened it, and pulled out a large warming case on a hover cart. The warming case was conveniently just large enough for two beings to fit inside, if they didn’t mind being nearly merged into one being.

“You two still alive?” N’ummi asked under his breath as he steered the hover cart towards the ramp at the side of the loading dock. “I have the case set to the lowest setting, but it’s still gotta be hot as all the Hells in there.”

“Shut up and act like a delivery driver,” Kalaka said over the comm. “They don’t talk to their cases.”

“Only trying to help,” N’ummi muttered.

“Take the cart up the ramp and to the second door,” Poq ordered over the comm. “Do not dial for entrance. I will take care of that.”

“Whatever you say,” N’ummi replied.

He did as he was told and waited by the second door. After a couple of minutes, the door buzzed and N’ummi grabbed the handle, pulling it wide enough that the cart would fit. He steered it into the corridor beyond then blinked as his eyes adjusted to the change in light.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Please wait,” Poq said. “When I tell you, please move your cart to the fourth lift from the right. Do you see the bank of lifts?”

“Yeah, I see them. Hard to miss. They look like lifts.”

“No smart ass crap,” Kalaka snapped.

“Whatever,” N’ummi said.

“Go now, please,” Poq said.

N’ummi did as instructed and moved the hover cart to the fourth lift from the right. He waited. And waited. Then the lift dinged and the doors slid wide.

“Am I going in? I only thought I was getting you inside,” N’ummi said, suddenly sounding nervous instead of impetuous. “Hello?”

“Please move the cart into the lift,” Poq said. “It will be easier this way.”

N’ummi grumbled as he shoved the cart into the lift then turned and waited for the doors to close. Once closed, a red light flashed and instead of moving up, the lift stayed put.

“Now,” Poq said. “Exit the warming case.”

“Eight Million Gods,” Angie snarled as the top lid was shoved open and she scrambled out into the lift, her shirt drenched in sweat, her hair matted down flat, a feral look in her eyes. “Never doing that again.”

“At least you got to be on top,” Kalaka said as he scrambled out after her. “And you don’t have a coat of fur. I’ll stink like this case for a week no matter how many steams or sonics I take.”

“Okay, Poq, we’re out,” Angie said.

“Yes, I can see that in the vid feed,” Poq said. “I am timing your ascent.”

“Hold on,” Kalaka said. “The kid needs to leave now. His job is done.”

“I am aware of that,” Poq said. “That is also a part of the timing. Please be patient.”

They waited in the still lift for a good five minutes. Then the doors slid open.

“You may exit,” Poq said.

“He better be talking to me,” N’ummi said as he shoved the cart out into the corridor and gave a half wave before hurrying out of sight, back to the rear entrance door.

“He could have delivered us all the way to the Squad office,” Angie said.

“No way,” Kalaka said. “Not putting the kid in that kind of danger.”

“Why? What’s he to you?” Angie asked as the lift began to rise through the building. “He’s full Groshnel, so not a bastard of yours.”

“He’s a friend,” Kalaka said in a tone that made it very clear Angie was to ask zero follow-up questions.

“I don’t think you’re lying, but you sure aren’t telling me the truth,” Angie said.

“Too bad,” Kalaka said.

They rode in silence then Angie shook her head. “I can’t believe you talked me into riding in a warming case all the way across this base. This is what my career has become. Great.”

“It was either that or get nabbed by face rec,” Kalaka replied. “Poq couldn’t handle the entire Jafla security system while also tackling this building. Priorities.”

“I know that,” Angie snapped. She waited a second then said, “You really aren’t going to tell me who that N’ummi kid is to you?”

“Drop it.”

“What’s to stop him from calling Jafla PD on us?”

Kalaka turned and stared at her. “What is up your human butt? Really?”

“That case made me smell like Hoocahna snake after mating season. I hate snakes and I hate—”

“Mating? Because you could really stand to get laid, McDade,” Kalaka interrupted and chuckled. “Laid. McDade. I’ll be using that rhyme again.”

“I should have killed you when I had a chance,” Angie muttered. “What in all the Hells have I stepped in?”

“Welcome to Jafla.”

They rose in silence the rest of the way. When the lift stopped, the red light flashed again.

Then the lift doors opened onto pure chaos and bedlam. Uniformed PD officers were hurrying this way and that, sergeants yelling for men and women to get in place, while blast shielding was set up in the corridor outside the Galactic Vice Jafla Base Squad office doors. A dozen breach bots stood at the ready, their many armed bodies humming with energy as handlers double checked their systems.

“I…” Kalaka started. “This… Huh…”

“Poq?” Angie snapped.

“Interesting,” Poq replied. “The Jafla PD managed to keep this off all official channels. I blinded myself by disengaging the security holo feeds on this floor. The coincidence is disconcerting, to say the least. A mistake I will not make in the future, I can assure you.”

“Feeling so assured,” Kalaka said.

“Someone get me the lead tech for this fucking building!” a Leforian shouted from behind the row of breach bots. “Why are the holos still down?”

“Poq, stand down,” Angie said. “Do not do another thing to the system until I tell you to.”

“Should I restore the holo feeds?” Poq asked.

“Not yet,” Angie said. Kalaka gave her a side look, but she shrugged it off. “We find out what’s happening first.”

“Shit met fan. That’s what’s happening,” Kalaka said.

Several heads turned to look at Angie and Kalaka. The Leforian caught sight of them as well and his mandibles began clicking at an alarming rate as he stomped his seven-foot-tall frame over to the lift.

“Kalaka,” the Leforian snapped. “Do you want to tell me what is happening? Your name is all over this shit.”

Kalaka glanced around. “Me? I was thinking you might have more info than me.”

“Typical,” the Leforian said, dismissing Kalaka with a glance he turned to face Angie. “You better be Lt. McDade because your name is all over this too.”

“I could be,” Angie said.

The Leforian held out his lower right hand. “Lt. Jheral Woss. I was number two here in the Squad. I may be number one here pretty Eight Million Gods damn soon.”

Angie took Jheral’s hand and shook it then she looked past the Leforian’s bulk at the continuing chaos. “Well, Lieutenant, care to fill us in?”

“Shit,” Jheral said. “Are you saying you don’t know what this is all about? How in all the Hells can that be when Jorg has been doing nothing but shout for your names for the past hour? Will you both stop playing dumb and tell me why our captain has lost his mind and is threatening to blow up this entire building unless we get you two in there ASAP?”

“I may have insight,” Poq said over the comm. “I have been going over the security holos for the past hour and it appears that Captain Jorg received a comm call from an unknown source. By the time the comm was done, his blood pressure had risen to unbelievably unhealthy levels.”

“Who’s talking to you?” Jheral snapped. “I can tell someone is talking to you over your comms. How do you have comms when our entire system is down?”

“Poq? Fix that,” Angie said. “Put everything back together.”

“Yes, Lt. McDade,” Poq said. “Would you like me to remain on the comm in order to assist with the situation?”

“I’d like that,” Kalaka said. “Seriously.”

“Yes. Stay on the comm,” Angie said. “I’m going to need you.”

“Who is it?” Jheral snarled.

“The receptionist,” Angie answered. “Systems should be back now.”

The chaotic chatter in the corridor grew as everyone present began getting comm signals again. Techs pretended like they did the heavy lifting, but no one seemed to care as they started barking simultaneous orders into their comms.

“Shut up!” Jheral roared. “NOW!”

Most of the noise quieted down.

“What is this all about?” Jheral said as evenly as his rage allowed. He glared down at Angie. “I have FIS on the way here. Why are two IID agents about to be up my butt?”

“We can fill you in on everything or we can try and defuse this cluster,” Angie said. “Your choice.”

“Defuse then explain,” Jheral said without hesitation. That made Angie smile. “Something funny, Lt. McDade?”

“No. Just surprising someone didn’t argue with me about making the right call,” Angie said.

“I don’t have time for arguments,” Jheral said. “Follow me.”

“Me too?” Kalaka asked.

“Fuck off, Kalaka,” Jheral said as he took Angie by the arm and led her to a group of huddled officers. They stopped talking and looked directly at Angie. “Give them a short explanation so they can decide whether or not to let you go inside.”

“Very short version,” Angie said and began telling the abbreviated story of Etch’s undercover work as well as his unfortunate ending.

Angie quickly made sure that everyone present, who all turned out to be Jafla PD brass, knew that they were dealing with syndicate-influenced corruption and Jorg was at the heart of it. The looks of incredulity were almost unanimous when Angie finished her brief story. Those looks turned to Jheral and became ones of suspicion.

“Lt. Jheral is not on my radar,” Angie said. “His name hasn’t come up at all in any connection to the Squad corruption.”

“We will need the names of those that are suspected of collusion,” one of the officers stated.

“And you are?” Angie asked.

“Commander Fall Blean,” the man said. “I run the Narcotics Division in Jafla PD. I need to know who I can trust in the GV Squad.”

“You bet,” Angie said. “I’ll make sure GVD Kalaka provides you with all names involved.”

That got several laughs.

“Lieutenant, you are new to Jafla, so you may not understand GVD Kalaka’s reputation,” Jheral said. “If there is a list of corrupt GVDs, then Kalaka is at the top of that list.”

“Not for me,” Angie said and squared her shoulders as her hand went to her pistol.

“McDade? What in all the Hells are you doing?” Jheral hissed as he took Angie by the shoulder and walked her a couple steps away from the gawking group of Jafla PD brass. “You cannot threaten to draw down on these men and women!”

“I’m making a point,” Angie said.

“Do all your points include plasma pistols?”

“The majority of them do, yeah.”

“Then rethink this point,” Jheral insisted, lowering his voice. “And rethink your alliance to Kalaka. He is dirty and will take you down to his level before he buries you.”

“I know exactly who Kalaka is,” Angie said. “You let him handle the GVDs on the list and I’ll handle Kalaka.”

“You guys are talking about me. I can tell,” Kalaka called from his spot by the lift. He was leaning against the wall, picking something out of his teeth. “Not nice.”

Jheral pointed at Kalaka with two hands and clicked his mandibles over and over in obvious frustration. Then he shook his head and the pointing turned on Angie.

“This is all on you now, McDade,” Jheral said. “The outcome of this day is all on you. You trust Kalaka? Great for you. But unless you talk Jorg down, none of it will matter.”

“Still not understanding why we aren’t evacuating and letting the bots handle this one,” Angie said.

“We are quietly evacuating the other levels. But, he has hostages. That’s why we’re still here,” Jheral said. “Two of the hostages are witnesses in an ongoing investigation. One is an office assistant and the fourth is a GVD. From what we saw before the holos went down, the GVD is mortally wounded. He could already be dead. The witnesses are unharmed, but the assistant is not in great shape.”

“Poq?” Angie called.

“Lt. Woss is almost correct on his assessment,” Poq replied. “Except that the GVD can now be confirmed as dead, as well as the assistant. That leaves two hostages. Both appear healthy, but frightened. They are directly behind the barricade. He is using them as a shield.”

“Where?” Angie asked and held up a hand to stop Jheral from asking questions.

“Captain Jorg’s office,” Poq replied. “He does appear to have an explosive device on his desk. Quick analysis shows it to possibly be a quantum incendiary device. It would be quite unfortunate if it detonates.”

“Possible quantum incendiary device,” Angie said to Jheral. “Jorg has it on his desk with the two hostages poised behind the barricade at his office door. The GVD and assistant are dead.”

Chatter over general comm channels began to confirm Poq’s findings as techs relayed holo intel to the officers milling about.

“Why does he want to speak to you?” Jheral asked. “What can you do that I cannot?”

“Make a deal,” Angie said.

“A what? He has killed a GVD and a Squad assistant. Why would you make a deal?”

“Because he can get me up the ladder,” Angie said. “He knows it. I’m Division, you’re Squad. I’m his only chance at getting out of this alive. He’s dirty, not insane.”

“We’ll see about that,” Jheral said. He rubbed at his mandibles. “Okay. We send you in so you can negotiate the release of the hostages. First priority. We’ll begin evacuation of the entire municipal building and the surrounding block. As soon as the hostages are free, your job is to talk him down from detonating the device. If a quantum incendiary device is activated in an urban setting such as Jafla Base, it will burn half this district to the ground before we can get it under control.”

“I know what a QID can do, Lieutenant,” Angie said. “I used a few back in the War.”

“Then we are on the same page,” Jheral said and turned to the main group. “Someone get this woman a set of body armor! NOW!”

35.

“I’ll be in your ear the whole way,” Kalaka said over the comm.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Angie replied as she slowly opened the Squad office doors. She ducked her head inside, glanced around at the overturned chairs and upset desks, then walked all the way inside and paused. “If your voice is the last voice I hear, then I may have seriously failed in life.”

“Funny,” Kalaka said. “I know Jorg better than most. I can help you navigate him. You’ll want help navigating the guy. He’s…touchy.”

“He took hostages, killed two, and is threatening to destroy this building and most of the district,” Angie replied. “Is touchy the right word here?”

“Very touchy?”

“Fuck off, Kalaka,” Angie said. “Stay out of my ear unless you absolutely have to tell me something. Otherwise, do not distract me.”

“Copy that,” Kalaka said and the comm went silent.

Angie walked across the office, winding her way through the mess.

“Jorg?” Angie called out as she approached the captain’s office door. “Jorg? It’s Lt. Angie McDade. You called for me. I’m here. Can we talk?”

“Stay right there, McDade!” Jorg shouted from inside the office.

“Staying right here, Jorg,” Angie said as she stopped moving. “Not taking another step. Gonna be hard to chat through the door, though. Any chance you’d let me in so I can make sure the hostages are alright?”

“You already know two are dead!” Jorg yelled. “You can see in here!”

“True, but you know as well as I do how this plays out,” Angie said. “I need to make visual confirmation of the state of the remaining hostages so I know what I am dealing with.”

“You can’t come in!” Jorg shouted. “I have the door…blocked. Check the Eight Million Gods damn holos for visual confirmation!”

“Not the same, Jorg. You know that.”

“I don’t fucking care!”

“I’m getting that.”

Angie wanted to rub at her face, but the energy shield coming down from her blast helmet prevented that. Not that the helmet or armor would do much against a QID, but it kept her from being shot by a plasma blast if Jorg decided to get trigger happy.

“Listen, Jorg, I know what all went down,” Angie said. “I know about you working with Tipo S’lunn. I know that you two were being paid by the Willz Syndicate.”

“You don’t know shit, McDade! Not one single piece of shit!”

“Possible. Yeah. Sure. I probably don’t know shit. But I’m not wrong, right? It was Willz that paid you two? They’re going after the Collari hold on Jafla Base and they bought the two of you to help smooth the way.”

Jorg didn’t answer. That made Angie nervous, but she continued.

“S’lunn set GVD Tikk up on your orders, yeah?”

A long silence then, “I didn’t want to.”

“No, of course not. Killing a GVD? No captain in the galaxy wants that. You probably had no choice.”

“There is no probably, McDade. I never had a choice. Not one single choice.”

“I bet, I bet. And S’lunn? He didn’t have a choice either, right? He liked his partner’s wife. Did the Willz Syndicate threaten to kill her?”

“Yeah…”

“I’m sure they did. They threatened to kill someone you care about too, yes? I can say that your entire extended family is currently being put into protective custody as we speak. They’ll be safe. That means you can talk to me, Jorg. You can tell me how this all went wrong.”

“Lt. McDade?” Jheral’s voice called over the comm. “No motions have been taken to put Captain Jorg’s family in protective custody.”

“I just received confirmation that your family will be safe within the hour, Jorg,” Angie said, ignoring Jheral’s protestations. “Isn’t that great?”

“Willz will find them,” Jorg responded. “The syndicates are too powerful, McDade. It has all gone too far…”

“I agree with that. Which is why I need your help. I need you to let those hostages go. Then I need you to deactivate that QID.”

“SEE! You are watching me! How else would you know about the QID?”

“Of course we’re watching you, Jorg. That’s procedure. You know that.”

“Stop watching me! STOP IT!”

“You can’t tell us to verify hostages over the security feeds then tell us to stop watching you. One or the other, Jorg.”

“Back off,” Kalaka said over the comm. “Pause a moment. Let him catch his breath. When he sounds like a pissed-off kid, that means he’s about to blow his top. Do not let him blow his top, McDade.”

Angie growled and shook her head. She waited a few moments then said, “I’ll have them turn off the holo feeds.”

“You’re lying!” Jorg yelled.

“I’ll ask. That’s all I can do, Jorg. I can ask. You know my hands are tied here. There is only so much I can control.”

“I want immunity and a new identity. I want to get off this planet and away from this Eight Million Gods damn base! I want safety and new identities for my family! Get me that and the hostages can be set free!”

“Let them go first. That way I know you’re serious about talking. You’ll still have the QID as leverage. Let the hostages go and I can make an honest request to Division to get you immunity in exchange for your full cooperation and testimony.”

‘“Testimony? Did you not hear me, McDade? It’s too late for testimony! The syndicates have won! I want a new identity so I can disappear! I will not be going near a single damn courtroom over this crap! I show my face and I’m dead!”

“You detonate that QID and we’re all dead, Jorg. Hundreds of innocent lives. Don’t make this about innocents, Jorg. Keep this about you. Let the hostages go and we can talk about you and only you. They are a distraction that neither of us can afford. Do you hear what I’m saying, Jorg?”

Silence.

“Jorg?”

“I’m thinking!”

“That’s good,” Kalaka said. “If he’s thinking, then he’s calming down. If he were ratcheting up, then he’d still be yelling.”

There were some brief shouts and a cry of pain. Angie braced herself for whatever was coming at her. Then the office door opened and she could see the makeshift barricade being shoved aside as two women scrambled over the debris and out of the office. They sprinted towards Angie, but she waved them off and pointed to the Squad office doors. The women didn’t need explanation. They ran as fast as their terrified legs could, right out the office doors.

“Thank you,” Angie said. “That means a lot.”

“Come inside,” Jorg ordered, sounding slightly defeated. “Now, McDade, or this is all over.”

Angie hustled her ass inside Jorg’s office, careful not to trip over the barricade debris that still blocked most of the door. Jorg waited for her, seated behind his desk, his hands hovering around the QID which wasn’t much bigger than a large sandwich. Angie didn’t discount the device based on its size. She knew better.

“Do you mind setting your hands on the desk?” Angie asked. “It’ll help me concentrate if I’m not worried you’re gonna smack that QID because you got upset.”

“Got upset? Got? I’m past upset, McDade,” Jorg snarled.

He was sweating profusely and his neck frill was so spread out that it almost turned upward like a bowl for his head. Angie was afraid the sweat would begin pooling in the frill and eventually drown him. She shook the image from her head.

“What?” Jorg asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Angie said. “Stupid picture in my brain. I’m a little stressed, too, you know? Negotiating a person down from blowing everyone up isn’t what I signed up for with this op.”

“The op takes you where the op takes you,” Jorg said, stating the GV’s unofficial motto. “You don’t choose where it takes you, it—”

“Chooses you,” Angie finished for him. “Yeah, I know, Jorg. Fuck, man, do I know.”

“Man…” Jorg’s face dropped. “S’lunn was a good GVD. Nothing too brilliant, but he cared. His death is a loss for the entire Squad.”

“Then why have him killed?” Angie asked. “He could be here negotiating his own terms. Why take him out?”

“Do you think that was my choice, McDade? You’re a lieutenant in Division. An Operations Manager. How much choice do you have in how your life goes? Day to day? How much choice do you have?”

“I’m not going to argue choice, Jorg. I’m really not. I can’t begin to understand the situation you’ve been in. I haven’t been where you are. This entire mess is foreign to me. But you can help me understand. First, why have S’lunn killed?”

“They said to,” Jorg replied. “You ever met anyone from the top tier of the Willz Syndicate?”

“No,” Angie said, rather surprised at her answer. She’d been doing vice for a long time and Willz was a major syndicate. She should have crossed paths with someone high up in that outfit, but she hadn’t. “Tell me about them.”

“Jirks,” Jorg said. “Skin takers. The whole lot of them. The Willz family and extended relations. Their top lieutenants. All Jirks.”

“Hells,” Angie muttered. “Did they say they’d take your skin?”

“They said they’d take S’lunn’s, wear it proudly, and infiltrate the Squad,” Jorg said. “Then they’d take my sister’s skin and all her kids. They didn’t stop there. The list is long, McDade. The Willz Syndicate was going to bring the Seven Satans down upon my life. Unless I killed S’lunn the Willz way.”

“But you didn’t,” Angie said. “You had Mess’a do it.”

“Same thing, McDade. She was a puppet. A tool. No different than a knife or any other weapon. I wielded her through S’lunn then used her against him. That was good enough for Willz.”

Angie had an itch at the back of her head she was desperate to scratch, but knew she couldn’t get at. Then she realized the itch wasn’t real. It was a thought that was forming back there, trying to get her attention. Her subconscious was in overdrive, but her conscious mind couldn’t keep up.

“What was the Willz Syndicate’s end game? Take down the Collari hold on Jafla, right? Then why get in my way? Why go after GVD Knowles?”

Jorg shrugged.

“Not good enough,” Angie said. “My main op had targeted the Collari for sex trafficking. That would have taken down most of Gants’ outfit on this planet. That would be a help to the Willz Syndicate. So why kill Knowles?”

“They didn’t say,” Jorg replied, sounding so exhausted that Angie was worried the man would pass out. “They didn’t say anything. I was given orders, carried out the orders, and got paid a lot of chits.”

“You mean credits,” Angie said.

“What?”

“Credits. We found the deposits made to your hidden account. You certainly were paid a lot for this shit.”

“Credits?”

“Yes, Jorg. Credits. What aren’t you understanding about your own finances?”

“I wasn’t paid credits. Chits. Do you think I’m an idiot? Credits can be traced.”

“Which is what’s being done right now,” Angie replied. “GV, and probably FIS, is tracing those deposits. Credit to croissant they can be worked back to Willz. Or a Willz subsidiary, at least.”

“I didn’t take credits, McDade,” Jorg insisted. “I took chits. Handoffs directly to me. Never credits.”

Angie frowned. She didn’t think he was lying. That presented a problem.

“You still have the chits?” she asked.

“Of course. No way I could spend all that without triggering an investigation. Not with my salary.”

“We’ll need those chits.”

“You’re gonna need more than those chits.”

“Yep. And we are back to your testimony, Jorg. Only way you walk out of this alive is to offer testimony against Willz. That’s it. Play ball with me and you’ll get your immunity, you’ll get your new identity, you’ll get a life. Far away from here and well out of the reach of any syndicate.”

“They’ll find me if I testify. Too much exposure during the trial. They have fingers in everything, McDade.”

“I believe you, but the system is the system. You can’t get a new identity for free. Your family certainly can’t get anything unless you testify. Their names won’t even be considered until you’ve put down a full deposition. You know all this, so please stop telling me otherwise. We’re both pros, Jorg. We know all the next plays that can and can’t be made.”

“McDade? Folks are getting twitchy out here,” Kalaka said. “Not trying to ruin the vibe you have going, but I swear Jafla PD is about to send in the bots if you don’t hurry this up. We have a brass breathing down brass’ neck situation here. This has gone a lot higher than Woss can control. The situation is about to be pulled from his hands, you hear me?”

“FIS here?” Angie asked.

“Who are you talking to?” Jorg snapped.

“You know who,” Angie said. “I didn’t come in here deaf, Jorg. Give me a second.”

“Yeah, those two agents just arrived. They are threatening to make this Fleet and rip it out of local hands. You’re Division, at least. You can still salvage this before they get full sanction to take over.”

“Copy that,” Angie said and focused on Jorg again. “FIS is here, Jorg. I am about to lose my place in line. We have to work this out now or it may not get worked out. Make a deal with me and I can get you past FIS. We’ll keep this in-house with GV. You want that. You’ll have sympathy with GV. FIS takes you in and it is all over. You may not get a deal.”

“I’ll get a short life in a deep hole,” Jorg said quietly.

“Exactly. So, what do you say? Deactivate the QID and walk out of here with me? I’ll get you what you need, Jorg. It may not be immunity, but I will make sure your family is safe.”

“That is not on the table,” Jheral snarled in Angie’s ear. “Do not make that deal!”

“Jorg?” Angie pressed, still ignoring Jheral.

“No time in a facility,” Jorg said. “House arrest under my new identity. Put me in a facility and I’m dead.”

“Totally agree,” Angie said. “So…?”

Jorg sighed and pushed his chair back. Angie had to use all of her willpower not to jump. Jorg stared at her as he waved his wrist over the QID. There was a loud beep and the slight hum in the room that Angie hadn’t noticed before suddenly ceased. The silence that took its place was overpowering.

“We’re good?” Angie asked, holding up her hands. “Jorg?”

“We’re good,” Jorg said as he stood up and shuffled his way to Angie. “Make the restraints tight so no one thinks I can make a move to escape. I don’t want to die by accidental nervous plasma fire. Not after all this.”

“No problem,” Angie said as she tore the helmet off her head. “Eight Million Gods, I’m glad to have that off.”

She fished out restraints and secured Jorg’s wrists then she slapped a belt around his waist and bolted the wrist restraints to the belt.

“That should be enough,” Angie said. “Stay close to me and do not make any sudden moves.”

“Copy that,” Jorg said as Angie took hold of his elbow.

“You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”

“No.”

“Then here we go.”

Angie steered him around the debris and out of the office. The bots were already rushing into the Squad office, headed to disarm the QID for good. Two dozen Jafla PD officers stood or knelt at the Squad office doors, carbines and plasma rifles to their shoulders, all aimed at Jorg.

“I got this,” Angie said as she walked Jorg right through them. “This is Division business only.”

There was some argument from the Jafla PD brass as she passed by them. But no one made a move to take Jorg out of Angie’s grip. Waiting at the lift was Kalaka, framed by the two FIS agents.

“We’ll ride down with you,” Agent Rom’Tal said.

“We’ll also ride with you in the transport to a waiting ship,” Agent Quorp added. “An FIS ship.”

“That didn’t take long,” Angie said.

“Oh, they’ve been busy,” Kalaka said.

“You promised,” Jorg spat at Angie.

“I’ll try, Jorg. I’ll try.”

36.

The transport ride to the docking hangar was more than tense. Only Angie, the two FIS agents, and Jorg were allowed in the back.

Kalaka had been informed that he was on suspension until further notice and would remain at the scene until it was determined he did not pose an immediate threat to the ongoing investigation into Jafla Squad corruption.

His response had been, “Yeah, good luck with all that.”

Angie didn’t have a chance to thank him for his help before the transport doors had slammed closed and the vehicle was on its way.

“I did make him a promise,” Angie said to Agent Quorp.

“We know,” Agent Quorp replied. “We were listening. You said what had to be said to end the situation. It was good work.”

“Yeah, but I meant it,” Angie said. “There’s something else going on. We’ll need Jorg’s testimony. And he won’t give it to us unless you honor the deal I made.”

Jorg’s head had been enclosed in a sensory deprivation helmet so he couldn’t overhear Angie and the agents talk, but Angie still gave him a sideways glance and lowered her voice.

“Unless having him testify is not part of the plan,” Angie said. “You going to prove him right and dump him in a hole where he’ll be interrogated until his body can’t take any more?”

“What happens to former Captain Jorg is up to him,” Agent Quorp said. “And it is up to the Galactic Fleet prosecutor that will be assigned to this case. We are simply here to make sure the witness makes it back to GF headquarters alive.”

“Witness? That’s a good sign,” Angie replied. “If you’d said prisoner, then I’d know you’re full of shit.”

“You need to be worrying less about a piece of crap like Jorg and more about yourself, Lt. McDade,” Agent Rom’Tal said. “I’d be surprised if you stay a lieutenant after this mess. You have no idea how badly you’ve screwed everything. No one survives this kind of fuck up, McDade. So a little less sympathy for this murderer and traitor would be wise.”

“You are mistaking understanding for sympathy,” Angie said. “I get why he did what he did. I disagree with all of it, but I understand. I’d have to or I’d be no good at my job.”

“Your words, not mine,” Agent Rom’Tal scoffed.

“Don’t be cute, asshole. I work for a living. I’m out in the field, making this galaxy a better place. I’m not some Galactic Fleet flunky looking to kiss ass up the ladder to a cushy desk job and nice office. Screw that.”

Agent Rom’Tal looked like he was going to jump at Angie, but he stayed seated after a head shake from Agent Quorp.

“The fact remains that any deal you made with Jorg is unenforceable, Lt. McDade,” Agent Quorp said. “No matter how much you argue, you know this.”

Angie opened her mouth then closed it. She shook her head and leaned back against the transport’s wall. Glancing at Jorg, she wondered if it wouldn’t have been better on him if he’d died back in that office. She didn’t want the QID to have detonated, but what she feared the man had in store for his future was going to be a thousand times worse than death.

“Try,” Angie said.

“What was that?” Agent Quorp asked.

“Try to get his deal made,” Angie said. “You’re going to get better intel and also save his family.”

The two agents shared a look.

“What?” Angie asked quickly. “What have I missed?”

“Every member of Jorg’s immediate and extended family has been found dead,” Agent Quorp said. “Close to twenty people. Children too. Skinned alive and left to die from exposure.”

“What?” Angie shouted. “How could it happen so fast?”

“It didn’t happen fast, Lieutenant,” Agent Quorp replied. “Most of them have been dead for several days. A couple of the more distant relations have been dead for weeks. The report came in as you were bringing Jorg out of the office. He’s never going to testify. He won’t want to once he finds out.”

“Which will be a long time from now. Then the hard part will be keeping him from killing himself,” Agent Rom’Tal said. “The FIS interrogators are going to have a tough time stalling him about his family as they get useable intel out of him. They’ll have a couple days before he clams up and the truth comes out.”

“Fuck,” Angie muttered then roared, “Fuck!”

“Do you agree now that this mess is well beyond Galactic Vice, Lt. McDade?” Agent Quorp asked. “Do you see why we’re here and why FIS will be handling all aspects of the remainder of this investigation?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?” Agent Quorp leaned forward. “Why would you even want to still be attached to any of this?”

“Because Etch Knowles was a good GVD and he was a friend,” Angie said. “And he’s not going to get justice. Not anymore. I had a shot at making his death worth something. With the FIS taking over, he’ll only be a footnote.”

Agent Quorp leaned back and shrugged. “You’re probably right. Sorry about that. I am. None of us were born FIS agents. We worked other jobs in other agencies. We both fought in the War. We get the pain you feel.”

“And the disappointment?” Angie asked. “Because pain fades, but that disappointment will always be there.”

“That too,” Agent Quorp said.

Angie shook her head and stared at Jorg. The man was doomed. No other way to put it. Doomed.

They stayed quiet the rest of the ride to the docking hangar. When the transport slowed and stopped, Agent Quorp was first out. She was greeted by half a dozen heavily armed, heavily armored shock troops. Angie raised her eyebrows at the sight.

“FIS is bringing the big guns,” Angie said as she stepped out of the transport and turned around to watch Agent Rom’Tal escort Jorg down the steps and into the hangar. “At least you take the threat seriously.”

There was a cough and one of the shock troopers grunted then dropped to a knee. Three of the others turned to look at him, but three more coughs sent them to a knee. Then four heads exploded as heavy armor helmets were cracked and sent shattering across the hangar’s floor.

“Down!” Agent Quorp screamed as she dove for Jorg and Agent Rom’Tal.

Too late.

Agent Rom’Tal’s chest bloomed bright with fresh blood. Then ribs, cartilage, and flesh went flying in every direction as his torso exploded. He wasn’t wearing heavy armor like the shock troopers. There was nothing to contain the gore that sprayed everyone within two meters of him.

Angie wiped blood from her eyes as she dove under the transport. She felt the round hit her right calf and screamed as the lower half of that leg was obliterated by a micro-explosion a second later. She scrambled to drag herself as far under the transport as she could get, praying she was under enough cover to avoid a second hit.

“Here! Take him!” Agent Quorp screamed as she tried to shove Jorg under the transport at Angie. “Grab him, Eight Million—!”

Her head was turned to mist before she could finish the curse.

Angie grabbed at Jorg’s shoulders, hoping to haul him to her, but when she pulled, the weight was too light and Angie realized that Jorg’s upper half was no longer connected to his lower half. In fact, his lower half was nowhere to be seen.

The two shock troopers still alive were gone. Angie hoped they found cover. But a couple seconds later, there were four consecutive coughs followed by the muffled explosions of bodies bursting inside heavy armor.

She knew she was all that was left. Maybe the transport driver still lived, but protocol would have meant he’d have driven off as fast as possible. She was collapsed under a still vehicle, so the fate of the driver was probably sealed. Any hangar personnel had either fled immediately or had been killed earlier so the assassin could set up.

Angie was alone. And bleeding profusely from the stump that was her right leg.

She whipped off her belt and made a tourniquet. The pain almost made her pass out, but she fought it hard. She couldn’t afford to be unconscious. Not while the assassin was still out there.

Angie waited and after about five minutes, the sound of soft boots on plasticrete reached her ears. She watched them approach, slow, then stop at the end of the transport. The assassin knelt down and reached under the transport to drag Jorg’s mangled torso out. Angie could only see utility pants and gloved hands. Nothing distinguishing. The pants were generic, the gloves standard combat gloves that half a billion infantry troops and Fleet Marines brought back with them from the War.

Then the torso was out from under the transport and the assassin stood up. Angie watched the boots wait there for a minute or two. Then the assassin slowly walked off, Jorg’s blood dripping behind, leaving a nasty trail across the hangar for as far as Angie could see.

She didn’t hear a door open and close. No hatch unsealing or resealing. The assassin was simply no longer there after a while. Still, Angie waited another good half an hour before she attempted to crawl out from her hide.

The hangar was plastered in gore. There wasn’t a square meter that she could see where there wasn’t some being’s innards or blood. It hadn’t been only a hit. It was another message sent from the Willz Syndicate.

Except that itch was back and Angie wondered if she was wrong about Willz. That question bounced around in her head as the hangar was suddenly flooded with light and a Jafla PD tactical unit came rushing inside and straight for her as a second unit took up positions to secure the area.

Angie laughed. She’d witnessed a single assassin take out two FIS agents and a team of FIS shock troopers. The Jafla PD tactical units were only alive because they were late to the party and the host had already left.

Voices shouted down at her as people attended to her wound. The faces all swam together, all morphing into Etch Knowles’ face then Captain Jorg’s then Mess’a Tikk’s then Tipo S’lunn’s then back to Etch Knowles’.

“I’m sorry,” Angie whispered as she was lifted into an emergency med pod. That registered. She must have been hurt seriously if they were putting her directly into a med pod at the scene. Angie remembered something about her leg. Her right leg. It was all wrong. “I’m sorry.”

The med pod lid closed and a mist filled the space. Angie let that mist take her far, far away.

37.

The office had been repaired to its original state and Kalaka glanced around, nodding in approval.

“The place suits you,” he said, seated in front of the captain’s desk, his hands folded in his lap. “Could use some personal effects. Pictures of family, old Marine buddies, friends from previous assignments. That kind of stuff. Makes you more personable. The GVDs will relate better to you that way.”

“I don’t expect to be here long enough to care,” Angie said as she shifted uncomfortably in the Squad Captain’s chair behind the Squad Captain’s desk. Her chair, her desk now. “This is temporary.”

“You don’t believe that crap, McDade,” Kalaka said.

“Captain McDade.”

“We’ve been through the shit together, McDade. I’ll call you captain around the other GVDs, but in here, when it’s the two of us, you’re McDade. Shit, I might start calling you Angie, if I’m feeling cheeky.”

“Do that and you’ll lose those cheeks, asshole,” Angie said, but was smiling as she said it. “You chat with Gants yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“You’ve had six months, Kalaka,” Angie said. “Are you saying that while I was busy being told they couldn’t rebuild my leg and I’d have a cyber-prosthetic the rest of my life that you were too busy to do your job and talk with Gants? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“First day behind the desk and you’re already busting my gonads? Oh, yeah, you’ll fit in perfectly here at Jafla Squad. You’ve already found a groove. Shit on GVD Kalaka is in the Squad manual, I’m pretty fucking sure.”

“I didn’t ask for this gig.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I was forced here or else. The else being fired with no pension and my record turned black.”

“No real choice.”

“Exactly. Yet, you know what?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“I was still able to save your ass. Do you know why?”

“Because we shared a moment six months ago and you’re secretly in love with me?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.”

“I thought so.”

“Want to know the real reason?”

“Is it because you know I’m corrupt as shit, but not on the take and you need someone to trust while we sort out who’s left and is still on the take?”

“And…?”

“Because of my connections with the syndicates here on Jafla can be useful even though no one from those connections are probably going to speak to me again?”

“And…?”

“All the Hells, McDade. Spit it out.”

“Because I am not convinced the Willz Syndicate was behind that whole mess six months ago. I have a sneaking suspicion it was Gants and the Collari the entire time. I don’t know why yet, though. I need to know why.”

Kalaka’s stomach dropped and he narrowed his eyes at Angie.

“You’re serious about me repairing my relationship with Gants,” Kalaka stated.

Angie nodded.

“You still owe favors,” Angie said. “And they haven’t killed you, so that means they will want those favors honored. Gants, and especially Schigg, still see value in you, Kalaka. I plan on exploiting that value as far as I can so I can get to the bottom of Knowles’ murder.”

Kalaka swallowed hard and returned the nod. “Yeah. I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“So, tell me why again that you wasted six months of opportunity to mend fences with Gants and his outfit?”

“Because I’m a coward that only cares about himself?”

“Nope. That moment we shared taught me you aren’t a coward and you aren’t that selfish.”

“Then my plan backfired. I was hoping for the opposite reaction.”

“You’re going to go have a chat with Gants and Schigg, Kalaka. Today.”

Kalaka brought up his chrono and grimaced. “Can’t today. I have a date this evening.”

“Then take her to the Club. Is it a her?”

“Not one hundred percent sure,” Kalaka admitted and grinned. “I forgot to ask what race she/he/it might be. Hot as all Hells, though, so who cares, right?”

“Take your date to the Club and have a sit down with Gants. If you can’t sit with Gants, then sit with Schigg. The man never leaves that bar, so you know where he’ll be.”

“I don’t have a choice in this, do I?”

“Just like I didn’t have a choice in being forced behind this fucking desk. Misery likes company, Kalaka. You want to be less miserable? Then make me less miserable. Get me answers.”

Kalaka thought on that. After a minute, he nodded up and down then shook his head back and forth before he said, “If you can’t beat ‘em, then join ‘em, right?”

Angie frowned.

“I don’t mean I’m joining Gants,” Kalaka said fast. “I mean that any intention I had at cleaning up my rep is on hold until I’m done with this. I’ll fix my shit with Gants.”

“Good,” Angie said.

“What kind of leeway are we talking?” Kalaka asked as he stood up. “I’m going to have to be somewhat my usual corrupt shit to make this work. This is undercover without the undercover. No fine line to be crossed. I’m walking the razor’s edge barefoot and every step is going to hurt like all the Hells.”

“No killing. No harm to other beings. And you don’t betray the Squad or the GV as a whole,” Angie stated. “Stay within those parameters and I’m giving you full discretion on everything else.”

“Damn. That’s some solid leeway,” Kalaka said, surprised. “You sure you can authorize that?”

“Condition of my appointment to this post,” Angie said.

“Lu’Tes’Tu approved that? Wow.”

“Chokless.”

“Oh…” Kalaka replied as he let that revelation sink in. “This is Fleet level. Not Division.”

“I never said anything of the sort,” Angie said and activated a holo, turning away from Kalaka. “Now, get out and get to work, GVD Kalaka.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Kalaka left quickly. He’d gone into that office expecting to catch a whole ration of shit, but he never expected to walk out with an open-ended assignment to a Galactic Vice Fleet-level operation. That stomach-dropping feeling got worse as the implications hit him.

Kalaka said hello to those that greeted him as he crossed the Squad office. He cursed back at those that cursed him and quickly bantered with those that wanted to quickly banter. But it was all a daze as he worked his way out of the office and to the lift.

He remained in that daze on the ride down the lift. The doors opened and he almost didn’t see who was standing there.

“Hello, GVD Kalaka,” Poq said. “Off to serve justice to criminals?”

“Whatever you say, Poq,” Kalaka said, pushing past the android. He paused and turned around. Poq was stepping onto the lift along with half a dozen others that worked at various jobs in the municipal building. “Hey, Poq?”

“Yes, GVD Kalaka?” Poq responded.

“Welcome to the Jafla Squad. You’re going to do fine.”

Poq’s face was expressionless as he said, “Thank you for that. And good luck today on your hunt for justice.”

A million responses came to mind, but none of them made it to Kalaka’s lips before the lift doors closed. He stared at the closed doors for a few seconds then turned and walked across the wide lobby.

Outside, the day had turned a bright orange as the light through the dome was filtered through several meters of dust and sand. Kalaka looked up and squinted into the light of the oncoming storm. Then he closed his eyes and let the warmth from the light spread over his fur-covered skin.

“Move it, jackhole,” someone said and jostled him out of his reverie.

“Bite my dick,” Kalaka snapped back then shook his head and got himself together.

He stepped to the road and hailed a taxi as he activated a comm signature. Surprisingly, a roller pulled up almost immediately.

“Ellisa?” he asked when the comm was answered. “It’s Kalaka.”

“Where to?” the driver asked as Kalaka hopped into the rear seat of the roller.

Kalaka waved his wrist over the sensor on the back of the front seat and the driver grunted as the coordinates were loaded into the roller’s system. The taxi pulled out into traffic as Kalaka continued his comm call.

“Listen, maybe it’s too soon, but how do you feel about hitting the Club tonight? I know the bouncer and can get us in. I bet I can get us a nice table too, but if not, then I know there will be seats for us at the bar.”

Kalaka swallowed hard.

“The bartender and I are acquainted.”

He listened to the response and smiled.

“Good. Say ten? Any earlier and the Club will be dead. That too late for you?”

Kalaka nodded at the answer and turned to stare out the window as the taxi wove through afternoon traffic.

“Great. I’ll pick you up at ten. No, no, I’ll pick you up. Don’t want you standing alone outside the Club waiting for me. Plus, I look better with you on my arm when I walk up. See you at ten.”

He killed the comm and rested his head back on the seat.

“Big date? At the Club?” the driver asked. “I haven’t been there. Is it really as hard to get in as people say?”

“You have no clue, pal. Avoid the place if you can. It’s not worth the price.”

“Strange place to take a date then,” the driver muttered.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Kalaka took a couple deep breaths and closed his eyes for the rest of the ride, hoping his stomach would stop doing backflips. But he knew that it would be a long while before that happened. A long while…

The End

Read on for a free sample of Space Marine Ajax

Author Bio:

Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror, sci/fi, thriller, and adventure tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.

Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the bestselling Salvage Merc One, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter series for Severed Press. He is also the author of the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press, as well as Stone Cold Bastards and the Black Box, Inc. series for Bell Bridge Books.

Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.

Look for other novels in Jake’s Galactic Fleet universe:

Salvage Merc One

Salvage Merc One: The Daedalus System

Drop Team Zero

Outpost Hell

Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter

Nebula Risen- A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

Razer Edge- A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter novel

TRENCH 16

The recon scouts had not returned and the defenders were instead met with an enemy force.

“Spores incoming!” bellowed the Watchman from his elevated vantage point on the hill just behind the earthen network of trenches. “Swarm advancing!”

Ajax cranked the knob of his respirator to maximum filtration the moment he heard the call, the training of countless artillery drills and endless hours of combat had made the action second nature to him. He then ejected the carbon magazine from his pulse rifle and tapped it against his helmet, settling the inert ammunition firmly in the casing, though functionally, it was more of a pre-battle ritual than a necessary action.

The marine thumbed the activator on the rifle and the weapon snarled to life in his hands, the unique sound of it echoing through the trench as dozens of other marines engaged in similar rituals.

After so many years of war, each soldier on the field had developed their own little ways of preparing for impending combat, each of their individual practices ending in the activation of their rifles.

The combined sound of so many weapons coming online was thrilling. Every soldier in Trench 16 felt the adrenaline pounding through their systems as they heard it. It was the sound of strength, of the power to take life, a burning fire in their hands to keep away the darkness that surged towards them.

With it ringing in his ears, Ajax found that he was not afraid. The marines were strong in their numbers, their weapons deadly in effect, and they held the high ground. In the back of his mind he knew that the horrific beasts that the marines had taken to calling ridgebacks were out there in the night, along with many other terrors, all of which wanted nothing more than to kill and consume every scrap of organic material on this pitiful forgotten planet. Ajax flexed his armored fingers around the grip of the rifle and took a slow, deep breath, knowing it would be the last easy one he’d have for a long while.

The other marines of Hydra Company that defended Trench 16 were taking up their fighting positions throughout the network. Most of them were rifles, like Ajax, though of the two hundred and fifty soldiers in the unit, there were several grenadiers as well.

One of the grenadiers, a man named Boone, stood next to Ajax on the right, his back against the reinforced dirt wall, tapping his fingers against the revolving cylinder of his ordinance launcher.

Rama, another rifle, climbed up from the bottom of the trench to join the other marines on the firing step near the top of the position.

“The Watchman has a keen eye tonight, usually we don’t have this much warning before impact,” observed Rama as he planted his feet and held his rifle to his shoulder, setting the wide-barrel on the shooting rest at the top of the trench so that he could crank the knob of his helmet’s filter. “We might get out of this brawl without any ragmen coming back to haunt us.”

“Your optimism is astounding, Rama,” snorted Boone. “There are always ragmen, but the warning did go up well in advance of impact, maybe there’ll just be a few this time.”

“Maybe the ridgebacks ate something that didn’t agree with them,” Ajax added with a hollow laugh. “Could be that the Watchman saw a muzzle flash.”

The marines shared a brief laugh, but were soon interrupted by the familiar whistling sound of incoming spores.

“Brace!” shouted the voices of several marines across the watch channel, and a moment later the first of the spores reached the trench.

There were LED stakes embedded in the ground and on the reinforced walls of the trench, giving enough ambient light for the marines to occupy their position without spotlighting any targets for the enemy that lurked in the darkness at the edges of the perimeter.

In the low light of the stakes, Ajax could see the semi-solid spore streak down from the sky and strike the trench wall opposite the marine.

The Garm ordinance was more like a hardened sack that was ejected with tremendous force from a barrel-like orifice that jutted up from the spine of the ridgebacks. When the sack struck the wall, it burst apart, spewing its contents in all directions.

The spores reminded Ajax of the heavy mists he had experienced in his youth, in some far away country on distant Earth. The spore cloud filled the trench but the marines had enough warning to crank their filters so the spores could only cling to the armor of the marines in hopes of a breach.

More landed around them and Ajax took note of how heavily the enemy bombarded them. It was as if the enemy knew that the marines had prepared for the onslaught and were attempting to make up for that fact by doubling the sheer volume of artillery fire.

The thought of artillery made Ajax cast his gaze across the hill behind the trench. The Watch Tower was a menacing gun battery that rested inside an armored bunker that had been half-buried in the loamy soil. Rising from just behind the quad-barreled artillery piece was the observation post, an elevated capsule that allowed the Watchman to see the full field, even if he was doing so at some risk, given his exposure.

In the low light, it was difficult to make out exactly what was happening at the Tower, but Ajax could tell that the bulk of the spores were smashing into the ground behind the trench.

“Seems like they’re more worried about the battery than us,” pointed out Ajax as Rama and Boone followed his gaze. “Could be that a shrieker swarm is on the way.”

“If that’s true, then the Garm would have had to learn the difference between anti-armor and anti-air weapons, not to mention have a forward observer in position to make the distinction,” growled Boone before turning back to face the other direction.

“Not even they have a way of piercing this gloom. Why humanity settled any of the brackenworlds in this sector I’ll never understand.”

Ajax was inclined to agree with Boone, and as more spores pounded the trench and the battery, he strained his eyes in vain to see through the palpable darkness ahead of him.

Brackenworlds were second-rate planets that only warranted partial terra-forming and most of them had similar atmospheric conditions to what the marines were even now experiencing. Marginal light from a distant star that was mostly dissipated by the particle clogged atmosphere, unforgiving landscapes, and only sparse pockets of organic life that rose from the brackish and often fetid water that gave such planets their name.

The modest outpost city of Heorot was the only real sign of civilization on the planet that shared its name, home to only forty thousand souls. They farmed energy, using large windmills to take advantage of the fetid winds the constantly scoured the planet’s surface.

It was a testament, really, thought Ajax, that humanity could find something of use even on this backwater world. The planet had little tactical significance, being on the edge of charted space and well removed from the bulk of the besieged human star systems.

A single hive ship had broken off from the main thrust of the extinction fleet and come to terrorize Heorot. The modest city was still a human settlement, carved out of the wilderness by courageous pioneers, so it was worth defending.

A single warship, the Bright Lance, had been sent by Command to counter the enemy, bearing in its hold a legion of Einherjar. A brief star fight had delayed the hive ship’s arrival, giving the Einherjar a chance to make planetfall first and prepare their defenses.

There were now twenty gun batteries that defended the city, each with their own trench networks, meaning that just over five thousand marines had put themselves in the path of the enemy.

The Watch Tower, positioned at a vantage point over the whole of the battlefield, was meant to harass any enemy flier formations that attempted to flank the main Einherjar forces that defended the city.

Hydra Company was in place to protect the Tower from any ground swarms that might appear, though Command expected most of the enemy to take the bait and march right into the teeth of Armor One.

The long war against the Garm had left the forces of humanity with limited battle tanks in operation. There were only a few dozen mechanized war machines that comprised the fighting unit.

Ajax hoped they would be enough to combat the ultra-Garm, horrific creatures that served as the battle tank equivalent for the swarm.

The Garm were known, as a fighting force, to attack the strongest point of any defensive position. It was behavior quite unlike the average predator organisms known to humanity, which tended to attack the sick, weak, old, and alone first. However, as the war with the swarm ground onwards, the forces of humanity began to understand the Garm strategy, and it was a troubling discovery indeed.

It was a psychological ploy, one meant to rob the morale of humanity’s warriors by destroying their best forces at the outset of any battle. In many ways, by killing the strongest prey first, these nightmare predators made it all the easier to mop up the rest of their prey, who were often at a loss tactically without their leader and demoralized by the destruction of their mightiest champions.

The flash of plasma discharges shone from in and around the battery, and Ajax felt his heart skip a beat, as he realized that it could only mean one thing. At least some of the spores had hit their mark, and even now ragmen were causing havoc for the battery crews. He hoped that his comrades could fend them off, else the guns would be deafeningly silent when the swarm broke against the trench.

“First wave!” boomed the voice of the Watchman, a welcome sound that indicated that he had not been overcome. “Flares up!”

Rama pulled a flare tube from his belt and pressed the ignition as he pointed it at the sky. The brilliant round streaked upwards, illuminating much of the area around the marines. Dozens of others joined it as soldiers up and down the line fired their own flares.

At first, the rounds rose as expected, though instead of reaching their apex and arcing across the battlefield to illuminate the killing ground in front of the trench, many of them were stopped in midair by hundreds of alien bodies.

Focused artillery fire against an anti-air battery, in advance of an aerial assault, it was simply too complex a maneuver for the Garm, and for a moment Ajax refused to believe what he was seeing.

The shriekers, like the rest of the myriad lifeforms that comprised the Garm swarms, looked like a cross between the lizards and cockroaches of distant Earth, if each had been the most nightmarish of its kind. They had the bleak countenance and powerfully muscled bodies of reptiles, but were covered in mucus lubricated sections of chitonous exoskeleton. In their clawed hands most of them carried weapons reminiscent of firearms, though each of them was attached to umbilical cords that connected to pulsing glands under their leathery wings.

There were so many hundreds of them that when the flares struck them, it turned the night sky into a burning tapestry of carnage. Shriekers fell screaming from the sky as holes were burned through their wings. Those slain by the searing hot flares simply plummeting to the ground in silence.

In the glare of the light, Ajax could see their dull black eyes, each one a seeming abyss of hive intelligence and relentless biological automation. To witness such a primal hunger in so many deadly and nightmarish creatures would surely have sent any other group of soldiers to their knees, yet the marines of Hydra Company stood their ground.

Many times, each man among them had faced such horror. The days of collapsing and retching in fear were far behind them. Instead, they raised their rifles and began to fire as the swarm descended upon them, each of the Garm weapons spitting death as they dove at the marines.

Ajax wanting nothing more than to select auto-fire and cut loose with his rifle, spraying plasma projectiles indiscriminately at the horde, yet he knew better than to give into that urge.

Early in the war with the Garm, most soldiers had done just that, and while it made for a brilliant display of carnage and firepower, the marine would be left with an empty weapon and yet more enemies upon him. It was better to lean on one’s training and maintain fire discipline, selecting individual targets for confirmed elimination, and only then moving to the next opponent.

The Garm, like the cockroaches of Earth, were notorious for persisting in battle despite being inflicted with grievous wounds. The only Garm you could ignore was a dead Garm. And sometimes not even then.

The marine used his iron sights to draw a bead on a shrieker and squeezed the trigger. The weapon bucked in his hands and spat a super-heated bolt of plasma at the shrieker.

The bolt, despite its tremendously high temperature, held just enough of its solid form to impact against the chiton of the beast. The plasma burned its way through the body armor and as it burrowed into the creature’s flesh, it melted into a thick super-heated liquid that rapidly spread throughout the shrieker’s body. The shrieker exploded in midair as all the fluids and gases inside it expanded because of the plasma, raining smoldering pieces of flesh down upon the trench floor…

Space Marine Ajax is available from Amazon here!

Table of Contents

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- Author Bio: