Q’vyx tallied his credits one more time and frowned. Yes, there was definitely some money missing.

“All these criminals on this station!” he muttered. “I miss back when I was the only one.”

Well, might as well take this to Chief of Security Godot. Although the guy clearly had it out for him. Well, when he wasn’t busy submerging himself in a tub of Garulian diethanol.

He hoisted himself to his feet from the stool behind the bar and trudged past the rollo tables and out into the station’s corridors. Godot’s office was right around the corner–he was half convinced it had been moved just to keep a closer eye on him–so he was there in practically no time.

“My door is always open,” a sign on the door read in several different languages and scripts. The door was closed. Typical station management. Q’vyx sighed and waved his hand in front of the sensor. The door dilated open… and he gasped at the sight it revealed.

Chief Godot was in the middle of heavy petting with the Xorgan ambassador, Attaché Xhinda!a. The two stopped in their tracks and turned at the soft whoosh of the turbodoor, Godot’s mouth open and Xhinda!a’s tentacles splayed wide in alarm.

Q’vyx raised his two pairs of eyebrows. There was only one thing to say. “Interesting use of Subspace Station Code QECv.2.01a. Commonly known as the interfederative fraternization policy. You looking to cause a diplomatic incident, Godot?”

“That’s Chief Godot to you, civilian,” Godot said sternly, trying to take back charge of a situation that was clearly spinning out of control. “What do you want, Q’vyx?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about credits missing from the till. But now I think I’ve found something a little more interesting.”

“Sorry, Xhinda!a. We’ll have to talk about the exact terms of that trade embargo later.” 

Xhinda!a could clearly read the room, despite not having any eyes, and rapidly slithered out of there.

Q’vyx kept grinning at Godot, displaying his fang-like teeth. 

Godot sighed deeply and reached for his infopad. “How much is it gonna be to keep you quiet?” he asked, glancing at Q’vyx.

“Oh, you wound me, my friend. No, this is worth so much more than credits to me. Having one over the great station security chief… that’s priceless. All your big talk about morality and the rule of law applying universally–all an act, huh?”

“It is not an act,” Godot snapped. “I… briefly erred in my actions. A slip in self-discipline.” He started scrolling and tapping on his infopad. “There. I’ve reported myself to the appropriate authorities.”

“W-what?” Q’vyx said, before starting to laugh uproariously. “Godot, you truly are the world’s greatest narc. Article 5, Subsection 3 of the Interplanetary Alliance of Free Societies clearly states a suspect cannot be compelled to incriminate themself. Also, you realize this will be the end of your career? You know as well as I do that Subspace Authority takes allegations of abuse of power and sexual misconduct very seriously. Even if they clear you of the charges, the trial will probably drag out at least three galactic mean years and you’ll be barred from serving for that whole time.”

“I’m certainly aware of that,” Godot said. “That’s why I transferred my position as Chief of Security to Lieutenant Zhuk prior to engaging in, ahem, diplomatic relations.” He tapped his ridged forehead. “I’m afraid you won’t put one over me quite that easily, friend.”

“Fascinating, fascinating,” Q’vyx said. “Somehow, I suspect you failed to tell Zhuk exactly why you made her temporary chief. So, well, the real question: Do you happen to feel a sudden urge to make a donation to a good cause?”

“Bribery is a crime!” Godot said

“Whoa, whoa, who said anything about bribery?” Q’vyx said, raising his four-fingered hands in a placating gesture. “I just happened to wonder if you felt like donating to the First Church of the Holy Profit. We have tax exempt status!”

“The Alliance needs to patch those tax loopholes,” Godot grumbled. “Religious freedom my ass. Fine. Will fifty credits do?”

“Only fifty?” Q’vyx asked. “I’m afraid that might not be enough for Gj’vork to smile upon you. Ah, that’s the Qr’var deity of merchants, metals, artisans, and economies, as your under-educated skull likely didn’t know.”

“Gj’vork can kiss my… forehead!” Godot said, suddenly pivoting his speech. Q’vyx glanced back to see that Lieutenant Zhuk had just entered the room.

“Ah, my favorite miscreant,” she said upon entering the room. “What are you in for this time? Diluting the vodka again? Back in Russia, that’d get you–”

“Zhuk! Just the woman I wanted to see,” Godot said, interrupting her sentence. “I have decided that the Office of Station Security will be making a charitable donation to the, ahem, what was the church’s name?”

“Church of the Holy Profit, ef-eye-tee.” Q’vyx supplied helpfully.

“Yes, yes. Can you see to that, Zhuk? Oh, and I will be resuming command.”

“Already, sir?” Zhuk asked. “I’ve only been Acting Chief for an hour. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Lieutenant,” Godot said. “Now, can you escort Mr. Q’vyx back to his establishment? I believe his religious solicitation is done here.”

“On it, sir!” Zhuk said. “Come on, Q’vyx.”

As they walked the short walk back to Q’vyx bar, Zhuk gave Q’vyx some side-eye. As they reached the bar’s elaborately engraved entrance archway, she finally spoke.

“So what do you have on him?”

“I have no idea what you mean by that,” Q’vyx said primly.

“We both know the last thing he’d do is contribute to a Qr’var church of profit. And don’t think I don’t keep an eye on your public tax records. The “church” has a registered address that, by strange coincidence, is the exact same as that of this bar.”

“It’s a multi-use event space,” Q’vyx said. “We hold daily worship events after closing hours.”

“You mean counting your credits,” Zhuk said.

“Call it what you will,” Q’vyx said, shrugging. “Now if you will, I must get back to my prayer.”

“Fine,” Zhuk said. “But I’m keeping my eye on you.”