Galactic Vice: A Jafla Base Vice Squad Novel

by Jake Bible

  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 on
ly; 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 atte
ntion 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.