Priest and Pariahs

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  The ship hit the atmosphere without so much as a shudder. It was an effort to stay focused, but Priest had no real difficulty in bringing the ship safely to the ground. It was so uneventful, he hardly remembered the landing sequence after the fact.

  Taking off his goggles, Priest went through the routine of shutting down the engines and other non-essential systems with the rest of the bridge crew.

  “That was quite an easy landing, Priest. It’s never been that smooth.” Danverse’s arched brow framed an accusing stare. Priest took a look at the inertial dampeners. They were up on full. He’d been so dazed he forgot to bring them up gradually to stage a rougher landing like he always did in the past to guarantee his position. Shit.

  “Yeah. I guess we hit it just right this time. Probably won’t happen again.”

  “Mmhmm,” was all the captain said in return.

  Once the ship was secure and powered down, Priest avoided the bridge crew’s questioning stares and headed for his quarters.

  The hallways were eerily quiet. Most of the crew must have already disembarked. One of the downsides of being the head pilot: you were always one of the last people off once you came into port. The lift was loud without the white noise of the engines he took for granted. The absence of crew on Beta Deck was no better.

  “Mrs. Claus, are Costa McQuillen and Arbor Kittering still on board?”

  “Costa McQuillen and Arbor Kittering are no longer on board the Santa Claus.”

  Huffing at the response, he stalked down to his own quarters. Priest wasn’t sure why having Arbor gone bothered him so much. Maybe he would have liked to say goodbye, even if it was only for the next forty-eight hours.

  Inside his room, he pulled his overnight bag out of storage and checked to make sure it had all the required gear for an off-ship excursion. There were a few changes of clothes, his deck of cards and remote, his personal datapad, toiletries, lubricant, and a few prophylactics in case he came across someone so dubious he needed coverage against any infections he and the crew weren’t already inoculated against. Although, it wasn’t likely. You had to love Dr. Bosch’s thoroughness.

  Snapping the bag closed, Priest found himself wondering if Costa would be all right.

  The man was an addict, but given what the drug was for and what happened without it, Priest couldn’t say no. He was no innocent, but setting up a meet with his chemist buddy brought a wave of disquiet he was having trouble shaking. Litmus made as many unsanctioned meds for people who couldn’t afford it as illicit concoctions with no medical purpose. If currency was involved, he held no prejudice over the reasons.

  Priest had told Costa to wait for him, but Costa must not have felt he needed Priest to complete his deal. The site of the meet was private. Priest hadn’t been involved. He only got them connected. Now he wished he hadn’t.

  Mr. McQuillen was all grown up and could make his own decisions. Costa was using him. He had some agenda he wasn’t sharing on this trip. It was no secret to Priest that the sex with Costa was fueled by the Calm side effects. He knew that, but he couldn’t deny he wanted it either. His attraction to Costa was a mystery. Maybe he was hoping Costa might see him as a proper suitor instead of the convenient oaf.

  Hopefully, everything would be fine. Although, he wasn’t exactly sure why he was feeling so protective.

  Checking his com one last time, he found the mail from Arbor at the top of the list. Why did Arbor have to send over all that data he snatched from the Earth Global Security files? Priest hadn’t even had the chance to read the files, but he knew it was all about Costa. It didn’t matter. The files would all have to wait until they were on their way to Omoikane.

  Priest rubbed his face in frustration. What was he supposed to do about Arbor?

  He liked the guy—a lot. But why did they have to argue? The sex between them was fucking amazing. The things Arbor’s cock made him beg for, he’d never admit to another living soul. Priest wished he could get Arbor to switch roles and let him fuck for a change, but considering his prison experience, it wasn’t likely. Under the circumstances, he could forgive the imbalance in their nights together. Maybe someday he could help Arbor work through that. It would be worth it.

  Assuming Arbor would ever speak to him again, let alone get naked.

  Arbor’s volatile temper was a challenge, and his attitude toward Costa was outrageous. Priest wasn’t sorry he threw his bigotry in his face. He had no right to say those things. If only Arbor saw what Priest did. No doubt a self-esteem boost would make Arbor’s outlook on the less conservative a little more realistic.

  The trick would be getting there, because otherwise the unrealistic fantasy of getting them both in bed at once was completely off the table. Priest snorted. As if that was possible.

  Priest growled as he slung his pack over his shoulder and locked his door behind him. It shouldn’t be this hard to manage his relationships with friends and crew members. He should have been strutting like a peacock for having both men in his stable, so to speak. They were all in this for a good time. Weren’t they? They wanted close friends that screwed each other stupid until they couldn’t see straight, right?

  All the air left his lungs in a defeated gust. Maybe he should just get a hooker to make himself feel better tonight.

  THE TRANSPORT DROVE away, leaving Costa at a residential tenement near the edge of the market district. Each set of buildings was a high stack of units fit tightly together for maximum volume of tenants. The structure was relatively solid, but flaws in the details screamed low-income housing. On closer inspection, the area was dirty, and the sad attempt at landscaping was amateur at best.

  Costa frowned and began muttering to himself. “What a charming area. I don’t know how people aren’t falling over themselves to live here.”

  Checking his information, he made careful steps along the cracked walkways until he found the apartment section he was looking for. The fractured Plexiglas in the outer doors was dodgy, but Costa had to remind himself of some of the hostels he’d been forced to hide in before he could migrate off Earth. Being an illegal on a planet filled with spying, paranoid bigots didn’t afford him many opportunities for luxury.

  “I suppose that finding a dealer in any self-respecting posh resort would be a little much to ask for.”

  The sound of metal grinding against metal assaulted his ears as the double doors wrenched open. He cringed so hard it made his shoulders ache. Unless the walls were thick, which he highly doubted, there was no way he hadn’t announced his arrival.

  He took the stairs to the third level, because he had no intention of setting foot inside the lift. The stench of urine was too strong. No one was visible, but faint voices could be heard through the walls of various apartments. The strips of light panels on the ceiling were dull and out in sections, throwing off a cascade of faded shadows along the filthy walls.

  If his need weren’t so urgent, he wouldn’t endure the anxious needles pricking his spine. Costa would only be too happy to conduct his business and leave as quickly as possible.

  After checking his details one more time, he found the correct door. The chime controls were equipped with mechanical buttons rather than a touch panel, and the wall beneath it bore a grimy streak. Many unwashed hands had been at this location.

  This had to be the right place.

  Costa didn’t wait long after pressing the call button before a tinny voice crackled into the hallway. “Who is it?”

  “I’m a friend of Priest’s. Litmus is expecting me.”

  “You’re late.”

  Uneasy in the hall, Costa grew impatient. “I’m afraid that transports are hardly racing to get to this ruddy little corner of the world. Let me in already.”

  “All right, all right. Turn off your rockets, champ. I’m comin’.”

  The door ground open to a younger man with pale skin and short, spiky black hair, tipped in vermillion. A pair of scratched safety goggles hung around his neck and he wore a tattered, sleevel
ess undershirt and striped pajama bottoms.

  “You must be Litmus.”

  The young man zeroed in on Costa’s facial tattoos. “And you’re obviously Priest’s buddy. Get in here already.”

  As Costa stepped inside, Litmus leaned out, scanned the hallway in both directions, and closed the door. The apartment was claustrophobic and horribly cluttered. It appeared to be basically one space for the kitchen and living area, with adjacent doors he hoped led to a lavatory and bedroom.

  “Well, Priest did say you were pretty.”

  “While it’s wonderful to be appreciated, that’s not what I’m here for.”

  “No worries, princess. I like my men bigger than you. My boyfriend’s a bouncer at Zippo’s in the Market District. Give me a second. I’ll get your stuff.”

  Litmus vanished through one of the extra doors, leaving Costa standing alone in the squalor. Gently, he reached out his thoughts. Very gently. He’d only rationed himself a single dose to hold the migraine at bay and stave off arousal flashes. A little self-control was warranted today. Finding no incoming or outgoing transmissions, he was satisfied there weren’t any surprises waiting for him. Thankfully, the dull ache behind his eyes decided to stay still for a change.

  Smiling, Litmus returned to the main room. “I do like that you transferred the currency to my account in advance.”

  A small object was placed in Costa’s hand. “For some of us, it’s like making money appear out of nothing.” He examined the cylinder to refill his dispenser. “This is less than half of what I ordered. Where is the rest?”

  “That’s all I can make right now. I’ll have the rest in five days.”

  The panic in Costa’s chest was instant. “Five days? We’ll be shipping out in two! What do you suppose I do then?”

  Litmus hissed, motioning with his hands to lower the volume. “There’s nothing I can do. I can’t get my hands on enough raw mats to make more until then.”

  This couldn’t be worse. The voyage to Omoikane was six weeks long, plus whatever time it would take to complete his task. How would he manage to stretch out this supply the way he was consuming it? This new batch was supposed to be more potent, and hopefully he wouldn’t need as much, but it wasn’t what he asked for when this transaction began.

  “If I find out you’re swindling me—”

  “Calm isn’t something I deal in. There’s no street value in it. No one uses that shit. There are cheaper ways to get the same high.”

  “What about more expensive methods?”

  Litmus arched a brow. “Does it look like I live on the wealthy side of town? Plus, I don’t have the kind of equipment to synthesize stuff that complex. The authorities keep a tight watch on that stuff. You have to have an approved medical license just to look at them.”

  Costa huffed, the anxiety making him unsteady. “The high is not what I’m after. How can I get more?”

  “Fucked if I know. I had to hack the chemistry database to fabricate it. That’s some serious designer shit there. I don’t know anyone else who could get you more before you planet hop and keep things quiet.” Litmus sat down on the weathered sofa and pulled a metal box from beneath it. Shoving a stack of random items to the floor, he opened it on the cluttered table before him. “I can set you up with something else if that’ll help. I have some kick-ass hallucinogenics.”

  “Nothing else will be even remotely sufficient. Do you not understand what Calm is made for?”

  “Yeah I do, but those problems didn’t really migrate to this end of the galaxy.”

  “I should take my funds back.”

  Litmus sighed as he closed his little metal box. “Look, you’re a friend of Priest’s. Otherwise, I wouldn’t do this in the first place. Making that shit could get me a lifetime’s worth of hard time. Anyone else around here heard about this and they’d snitch about an unlicensed pariah running around, hoping for some kind of reward. It may not be illegal in these parts, but you can bet the authorities would crawl up your ass wanting all your life details if they found out. Now, I’m doing the best I can, but you didn’t give me enough time.”

  “You could have let me know.”

  “I didn’t know until a few hours ago. It was too late, and it’s not like you have any other options.”

  The dealer was correct. Costa didn’t have a plan if this one didn't succeed. He was lucky to have gotten this far. His own research had come up empty and Priest only knew of one person he could trust for the task.

  Costa squeezed the cylinder in his hand like it was a lifeline. “I’m still planning on refunding myself for the product you didn’t provide me.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.”

  Turning around, Costa took the two steps to the outer door, cringing at the loud scraping as it opened. Standing in the doorway, he turned back to face Litmus, pointing the cylinder at him.

  “You can count on the fact that I’ll know if this is real before we’re off planet.”

  The dealer simply grinned. “Fabulous! Then you won’t be knocking on my door bitching about it.”

  SAMPLING A GLASS of good bootleg bourbon usually made Priest happy. Tonight, it lacked the same effect. Costa had commed him earlier and told him he’d see him back on the ship before launch but didn’t give him any details on how things went with Litmus. He’d known Litmus for a number of years, and in most cases, he was a good guy, but like most dealers and other disreputable types, he’d likely sell out his sources rather than risk going to prison.

  He hated sending Costa to the seedy side of the miniature city making up this space station, but there was no choice. Someone with Costa’s refinement should never set foot in such a place. But, he couldn’t go without the Calm, and Priest didn’t know of any other way to provide it.

  He knew Costa was hardly a fragile flower. From what he knew of para-human history, Costa had to have been exposed to many disturbing things in his lifetime. It didn’t keep Priest from feeling somehow responsible for him. If their first meeting at the bar hadn’t gone so off-kilter, Costa would have made his trip and not run out of supplies before he arrived.

  Helping Costa take the dose in his quarters yesterday was awful. Every piece of tech went insane at once, and he felt the airflow stop during the chaos. It was going to be dangerous to get him to Omoikane without an incident, but it was the least he could do.

  Costa needed him, and he’d take what he could get in return.

  It wasn’t as if he expected the two of them to walk off into the sunshine together. He knew once Costa’s business on Omoikane was complete, so was his need of Priest. Costa was not about to become a permanent member of the crew and be his partner, nor did he want him to be. So why did he find him so compelling?

  Was it that he found Costa so exotic? His accent, his beauty, the roguish tattoos across his cheek, all coalesced into something Priest found overly enticing. It added up to something one would never find in a farming community on Alpha Centauri. Was the reason so simple? What an awfully shallow motivation. If Priest were a deeper man, he might be concerned.

  He took a deep swig of his drink to clear his head. This was a forty-eight-hour leave to enjoy himself, and he intended to make good on the promise.

  Avers Inn was a little quiet, but it was off-peak hours. The waitress set a plate of prime rib with all the fixin’s in front of him. He wasn’t positive if it was real beef or from a similar native animal, but it looked and smelled right, so he was going with it.

  The knife went through the meat the way it was supposed to and there was the correct kind of juices pooling on his plate. The piece he cut had just the right amount of pink and the taste made him give off a decadent groan. This was not synthetic. Only Gamin and Erron could cook synthetic rations properly when forced. Off ship, Priest was not about to be subjected to anything less.

  This tavern might have been a little rough and the patrons not all members of the pinnacle of society, but he liked the place. It wasn’t central to the station, so it
thrived on word of mouth. If you hadn’t heard about it, you’d probably never set foot in the place.

  Priest knew the owner, Rushman Avers, was a shrewd businessman and hard worker with a reputation for rule-bending. The inn was everything to Rushman and he wanted it to flourish no matter what. If he had to replace top-shelf liquor occasionally with cheap knockoffs to keep from running out, so be it. His other main flaw was his inflexibility. The inn could benefit from better marketing, but the man was too bull-headed to change his long-running strategy. Rather than work behind the scenes promoting the business, he spent far too much time with the customers, micromanaging the whole affair.

  On top of it all, Rushman’s personality switched moods like binary code: from one to zero in an instant. He could be joking it up with patrons one moment and have them barred the next. His temper was explosive. Priest had no difficulty believing the man had three divorces and two annulments in his history. Why any woman would stay with the fat, balding ass for any length of time was beyond him.

  Rushman’s famous temper was why the nice waitress catered to Priest—wasn’t Jenna her name?—who sat at a table instead of the bar where Rushman was bartending this evening. After all the stress with Arbor, he didn’t want to test his luck with the owner’s combustible persona.

  What was he going to do about Arbor?

  It would be so much easier if he could wash his hands of the guy and keep it casual, but he liked him way more than he should. If only it was easier. Arbor was too caught up in trying to create some kind of fiction called normal. He had a lot of self-loathing built up and had to admit it if he was going to ever find a little joy in his life. It was too easy to make it all crash around him.

  Priest still felt awful about the whole sock monkey thing. There was no telling whose hand the toy was in now, and if the prank didn’t run its course, it would tarnish Arbor’s standing with the crew in an unrecoverable way. Right now, it continued because Arbor couldn’t find any humor in it. Yes, it was childish, but that’s how the guys entertained themselves at times.