Priest and Pariahs

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  “Thanks. I just got lucky.” Priest made his polite thanks and gradually worked his way back into the main bar. The losing players were being good sports for the most part, but none of them had stellar reputations in the first place. Staying in the back room with the grumpy owner who he’d just fleeced a lot of money from might not be wise.

  It was after 23:00 hours and the pub was filled to near capacity. The light panel’s amber glow gave off a sultry mood, a reflection of the music weaving between the various conversations. Men and women, young and old, were in every semi-dark corner: eating, drinking, and making merry. Just the way he liked it.

  Priest was elated and parched. He’d avoided drinks during the game to prevent any chance of making a mistake. The last thing he wanted, after all the work he went through to choreograph this outing, was for Chuck to start loading him up with booze or to be drugged by the opposition. With a new batch of currency in his accounts, there was no reason not to quench his thirst. With a little luck, the money could buy him a companion for the evening as well. Maybe two.

  This was going to be a nice shore leave.

  Sitting at the corner of the bar, he spied a young couple, dating or possibly married, enjoying each other’s company. Priest watched from a nearby table for a few minutes. They seemed happy enough, but the guy was a bit pushy and overbearing. A clear sign of insecurity—perfect. The bartender served some florescent-green femme beverage in a stemmed glass to the woman and a clear drink on the rocks, in a short glass, to the man. As soon as the drinks were served, the man excused himself and headed toward the restroom.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Priest made a slow count to ten, then sidled up to the woman and leaned on the bar. He gave her a sleazy smile and adopted the smarmiest accent he could muster.

  “How you doin’?”

  The florescent-green drink poised at her lips, she paused in disbelief with just a touch of horror. Before she could gather her wits, he continued.

  “You’re smoking, girl. Let’s go find somewhere we can be private.” His blatant gaze traveled up and down her body, stopping at the key zones from the neck down.

  Her tone went from shocked to offended. “Excuse me, I’m here with someone.”

  “Not right now you’re not, sugar.” He lowered his voice so only she could hear as he leaned forward. “How could he leave such a fine piece alone—”

  A solid hand clamped onto Priest’s shoulder, spinning him until he faced the boyfriend. He looked a lot bigger up close.

  Insecurity often equaled quick to anger, and this man fit the description. “This seat’s taken. Get the fuck away from her.”

  All sleaziness disappeared, and Priest flipped into the pinnacle of penitent men. He raised both hands in apology. “Dude, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were together. I never would have…” Priest turned to the woman. “Why did you call me over here?”

  The man’s eyes went wide in disbelief as he turned on his date. “What the fuck, Shell? Again?”

  As the couple argued, Priest shifted back, merging into the crowd of patrons. That went a lot easier than he expected. Slipping between people until he reached the other side of the establishment, he snickered as he took a sip of the man’s clear drink on the rocks in the short glass. Collecting a free drink was rarely so entertaining. Luxorian vodka—the man had decent taste. Who knew? Too bad he was a total bruiser and liked women.

  Now that he had a drink, Priest scanned the bar, looking for an appropriate playmate. A great number of men were attached to others. The kind that weren’t looking for a third. It would be too much work to make any of those encounters happen. Bar-goers in a space station were usually travelers, so he was used to finding single men in abundance while on leave. From what he could see in this thick crowd, he was going to have to look a little harder.

  The drink in his hand was already half empty when he spotted the man at the bar. He was lithe and pretty with rich, dark hair. It fell in a gentle wave, barely brushing past his shoulder line. The decorative tattoo running along his right cheek did nothing to stall his youthful appearance, but his confident gestures told the story of someone much older.

  The bar was crowded, but he sat alone, biding his time and enjoying his drink. He paid no attention to the people around him. Aloof and uninterested, he presented an irresistible challenge.

  With luck on his side this evening, Priest could be patient and wait for the blond sitting next to the beautiful man to vacate his position. Winning the poker game and collecting his drink without incident left him feeling invulnerable. The nameless blond paid his tab, and before anyone else could close the gap, Priest swooped in.

  “Is anyone sitting here?”

  The pretty man turned to Priest, giving off the slightest hint of a smile before shaking his head. As Priest mounted the stool, he noticed how the young-looking man’s gaze roamed over him, and he turned back to his near-empty glass.

  A bit of small talk would start off Priest's nighttime negotiations. “Are you traveling or arriving?”

  “I suppose that in a space station this size it would have to be one or the other, wouldn’t it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “A bit of both, really. Just arrived, but I’m heading out again soon.”

  Priest flagged the bartender, ordering another round for both of them. “Where ya hoping to land?”

  “I’m booked to leave tomorrow morning to settle on Omoikane.”

  “Really? We end up in port there, but have a stop on Gamma Centauri first.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “I’m the head pilot for the cargo vessel, the Santa Claus. We have contracts with about half the planets in the cluster, but Omoikane is a new one. What’s so special about it?”

  “Oh, they have the most amazing technology. Light-years ahead of everybody else, they have the first prototypes for anything worthwhile. The data-coding techniques they use there are nothing short of revolutionary. They’re building new memory caches that make the current ones look obsolete as soon as they’re perfected. I even read about the first lifelike android, complete with synth-flesh and artificial intelligence capacity that rivals human beings.” The pretty man paused, his posture suddenly awkward. “Sorry, the subject excites me, but I know that it can be painfully dull to others.”

  It was adorable how his cheeks colored as he averted his eyes. With a nervous hand, he tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. Priest couldn’t help but notice how he turned in his seat, opening his body a little more toward him.

  “Not a worry in the least. I’m Priest, by the way.”

  “Priest? I’m willing to guess that’s a nickname. Why would you be called Priest? You’re hardly dressed like one.”

  He leaned in closer, taking in the smaller man’s fresh scent. “It’s like a big guy named Tiny. He’s nothing of the sort.”

  A graceful snort turned his smile up a notch. “Well, that I can believe. My name is Costa. It’s nice to meet you, Priest. I wanted to thank you for the drink.”

  Oh yes. All the signs were there and Priest was feeling good. This was a guaranteed bet. Why stand on ceremony when he could get the party started and make it last longer?

  “Tell you what, Costa. We’re both on borrowed time here, so let’s just skip forward and find a place to smash your back doors in.”

  Costa’s drink was in Priest’s face almost as fast as his expression flashed its outrage. The alcohol stung his eyes much like the slap to his face, which nearly knocked him off his stool.

  “What the fuck’d you do that for?” Priest wiped his face with his hands, pissed off at his soaking shirt.

  “You pompous ass! I knew you were gearing up for some arsehole move.”

  “You were into it.”

  “With that cheap pickup? Are you congenitally deficient? What did you think you were going to do? Screw me like some cheap tart and drop twenty credits on the nightstand on your way out?”

  “Well, not twenty—”
>
  Costa’s snarl was nearly out of control. “You bloody bastard!”

  Priest had to grasp both of Costa’s wrists to keep from being slapped again. The little guy was furious and starting to kick at him. It was all escalating way out of proportion. What the fuck? All he wanted was to get laid on vacation. If Costa didn’t calm down quick, he was going to have to smack him one to get him under wraps. He was tempted to do it anyways, to pay him back for the first one.

  Before he could make up his mind, a pair of meaty bouncers descended on the pair, snatching them out of their seats.

  Priest resisted the hands crushing his arms. “Ow, shit! Wait a second, you fuckers! I didn’t do nothing wrong, dammit!”

  The owner, Chuck, pushed his way through the crowd and gave them a dirty stare. He nodded to the big men holding them as Costa snarled at being restrained.

  “Get them both the fuck out of here. I don’t want either one of them in here again. Make sure they understand.”

  The bouncer slammed Priest into a table and punched him in the stomach, side, and face, making Chuck’s point. The world spun as he was hoisted off the ground and bent over a shoulder of solid muscle, then crashed on the sidewalk outside the bar with a painful grunt.

  Face throbbing in time with his racing heartbeat, he looked up to find Costa sprawled on the ground beside him. The little shit was groaning, but they probably didn’t have to rough him up as bad. He was so little. Priest’s left eye was becoming harder to see through. It would probably be swollen shut before he knew it.

  A shadow fell over them, and with his good eye, Priest found himself looking at a pair of Station Authority Officers in standard body armor, wielding riot batons. Neither one looked thrilled to see them.

  “Fucking wonderful.”

  ARBOR'S BREATHING WAS a shade away from becoming labored. It was a small miracle his rapid footsteps weren’t beating the Santa Claus’s walkways like a metal drum as he struggled to keep pace with Mac. His shorter legs were working hard to match the head tech’s longer stride. If Mac noticed, he made no acknowledgement, and Arbor preferred it. The last thing he wanted was people making special concessions for him. He strived to be as normal as his condition allowed.

  Mac was giving him the grand tour before the rest of the crew came back for the launch in two days. This was the typical routine apparently—for new members to get acquainted with the ship in advance before the whole crew descended. Mac told him that usually Captain Danverse or the Security Chief, Liam Jacks, performed the duty, but Danverse had business on the station and Jacks was taking a leave of absence. His partner apparently wanted to research his family history on Alpha Centauri. Arbor didn’t understand why they had to leave the ship. Anything they needed could be found on the Link, but Mac said Hadrian Jamison wasn’t tech savvy and wanted to do his visits personally. It made no sense to Arbor at all.

  For an enclosed environment, the ship seemed enormous and out of scale for Arbor’s size—like every other type of architecture he ever encountered. According to his historical research, special considerations used to be made to accommodate people with disabilities and conditions. However, with medical science nearly eradicating such occurrences, such provisions had all but vanished.

  “After I show you around the rest of Beta deck, we’ll tour the engineering areas. You can access the coding remotely through the system anywhere in the ship, but it’s good to be familiar with the direct access ports in case anything ever goes wrong.” Mac continued to speak as Arbor kept pace. “These are the restroom and locker areas. All the quarters on Beta deck run a circle around it. The gym is accessed that way and the shower room is in this direction.”

  At the end of the rows of lockers an open doorway led into the wide-open space with shower heads lining the perimeter of the wall. The tile surfaces shined, showing off the surprising cleanliness, but not a single partition in sight. Arbor’s gaze rounded the room as he muttered aloud.

  “Group shower room, gym, and lockers all connected. I think I’ve seen this porno-vid before.”

  Mac snorted. “On occasion, these rooms have been that porno-vid.”

  The idea of the entire crew using the facilities made Arbor a bit queasy. His breath quickened in a way that had nothing to do with his walking pace. “No private showers?”

  “Sorry, Arbor. Only the captain’s suite has a private shower.” Mac caught Arbor’s tense expression. “You’ll find out modesty can be a little sparse sometimes on board. You’ll get used to various levels of clothing and non-clothing during off hours. And don’t worry. No matter what you may walk in on around here, no one will try to make you do anything you don’t want to.”

  Arbor’s brow nearly winged to his hairline. “Does that happen often?”

  “Walk in on someone bumping body parts?” Mac shrugged. “It happens. Try not to be fazed by it. There’re a few who’re exclusive, but the crew plays around with each other a lot. What else is there to do on a ship for weeks at a time? The shower seems popular from what I hear. I’m not allowed to use the public shower. Cap’n likes to keep me to himself.”

  “He does seem a little dominant. If you don’t mind me saying.”

  Mac grinned as his eyes glazed over as he drifted into some kind of daydream. “Yeah…he is.”

  Arbor stood looking up at the smitten tech. His mind wandering, Mac chewed his bottom lip with a dirty grin, reliving something of which Arbor probably didn’t want the details. Even so, his orientation was far from finished and he needed Mac. On the tips of his toes, his hand barely reached up to Mac’s chin as he snapped his stubby fingers out loud.

  “I’m still right here, Mac.”

  Mac started as he came back to the present. “Oh, sorry. My mind drifted off to last night when… You don’t need to hear about that.”

  Arbor chuckled. “Probably not.”

  “So what do you think?”

  Arbor shrugged. “I’m still a little skeptical, but I’m getting over it.” A shirtless man with a broad, hairy chest walked toward the shower room with a towel draped over his shoulder. Arbor turned around, his gaze following the rugged stranger. The man nodded to them both as he passed through the doorway. “Yeah…definitely getting over it.”

  With a chuckle and a pat on the shoulder, Mac ushered Arbor back onto the tour. “You know, I’m really geeked you came on. I have a number of guys who can help with the mechanical stuff, but no one I trust with keeping Mrs. Claus running smooth. I really needed help with the mainframe maintenance and upgrading.”

  “It’ll be an adjustment, but meeting you guys showed me that this is my best option to get my life back in order. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “By the way, Arbor, I wanted to apologize for that ‘under Mac but not under Mac’ comment the cap’n made at your interview.” It was cute the way Mac’s face scrunched up in embarrassment.

  “It’s all right. I understood he was marking his territory. It was a little more possessive than I expected. That doesn’t bother you?”

  Mac shook his head with a smirk. “Nope. I’m just as bad. If I thought you were eyeing him up I’d have drop kicked your little ass out the door long before we got to your court history. Marc’s a little domineering and harsh at times, but he’s perfect for me.”

  “Sounds like you two were made for each other then.”

  “I think so. It wasn’t easy. We both fucked up enough that it almost didn’t happen. I don’t even like to think about that. Sometimes I think we’re both worried that the other will move on, so we both go overboard, but I think we both know that’s not going to happen. Even on this ship, with all these healthy males, we don’t have eyes for anyone else.”

  “That sounds strangely nice.” Arbor tried not to sound wistful, but failed. It was a shame Mac was so attached to the captain. He was easy on the eyes, intelligent with a background in tech, and given the captain’s clear dominant streak, had to be a bottom. It would have made him perfect for Arbor. Too bad he was so perma
nently attached. In spite of that, Mac would make a good friend on the ship—hopefully the first of many.

  Hopefully.

  Mac gave Arbor’s shoulder a friendly nudge. “You have just as much chance as anyone. There’s a guy out there somewhere for you. I know it. A hot stud who will want you so bad, he’d be willing to kill someone for you. In the meantime, you can test drive some of the crew. They like the new guys.”

  Arbor shook his head. He couldn’t picture the crew wanting a man like him in that way even if he was fresh meat. And he certainly couldn’t picture anyone needing him the way the captain and Mac found one another. Their intensity was a little scary and more than a little enticing.

  “Do you think the captain would do that for you?”

  “Do what?”

  “Kill someone.”

  Mac reflected for a moment. “Let’s hope we never have to find out.”

  IT HAD BEEN over six hours and Priest hated this holding cell. It wasn’t his first experience. He’d been inside a few on various ports. Some were nicer than others. Drunken brawls in seedy bars had a tendency to magically spawn around him. He knew it couldn’t always have been his fault.

  This cell was relatively clean, if a tad confined. The neutral gray walls were cushioned to keep detainees from hurting themselves if they threw a tantrum. A vast open doorway facing the hallway was covered in fifteen-centimeter-thick, transparent plastic-hybrid glass. If it was exposed to the public, it would be like being in an aquarium. He lay on one of the four narrow beds mounted into the walls like shelving—two on each side, with the lavatory niched into the corner.

  The swelling over his eye had gone down enough to know he wouldn’t be blinded, and his side ached from the bouncer’s handling. He didn’t have to look to know he was sporting a number of spectacular bruises. Since there were no serious injuries, the station dumped them in the cell with marginal medical treatment.

  He was still fuming from the night magistrate’s decree right after being brought over from the bar. The court wouldn’t even let him defend himself or listen to any explanation. It was made perfectly clear the station authorities didn’t tolerate any disruption. The smug bastard wasted no time assessing fines for disorderly and drunken behavior. It completely wiped out all his winnings from the poker game and then some.