Priest and Pariahs

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  Trying to maintain a sense of dignity, Arbor walked up to the service line as the sound of another crewman caught his attention, making him turn around. Collecting his eating effects was a handsome male with light brown hair and brown eyes. Handsome but not too pretty, he wore a shirt that showed off his muscled, but not too muscled, torso. Average in height, he bore a pleasant smile as he stepped up behind Arbor.

  The man called out across the buffet line. “Hey, Erron! Got anything good today?”

  The door behind the service zone swung open and a young man shuffled through, carrying a tray of food. Arbor wasn’t thrilled to see the jade green locks held back by the cook’s cap. Didn’t they have any standards of decency?

  Erron struggled to settle the tray in its resting place. “You haven’t started complaining yet, have you, Priest?”

  “Oh, hell no. Not if you keep feeding us the way you do.” A broad grin erupted on Priest’s face as he shifted closer to Arbor.

  Realizing he was holding up traffic, Arbor tore his sight away from the new arrival, a new warmth quickening his breath. The giddiness starting to form dissolved as he caught sight of the height of the food line. With a sigh, he set his tray on the shelf—nearly level with his chin—and reached into his bag for his expandable steps. He hated using it, but there was little choice.

  The flat panel hadn’t cleared his satchel before a pair of arms reached around his chest from behind and hefted him off the ground.

  “Here you go, little buddy,” Priest said.

  Shock and rage boiled over as Arbor swung the collapsed stool behind him. He struck Priest with a bang, causing him to yelp, and the pair crashed to the floor in a heap. Scrambling to stand, Arbor took another shot at the stunned crew member, slamming him in the shoulder with a snarling grunt.

  “Ow! What the fuck?” Priest ducked, holding his arms up as he curled in a ball to protect himself.

  Arbor was livid. “Don’t ever fucking do that again!”

  His chest heaved as he struggled to contain the shame and anger warring inside him. The idea of being seen as helpless was something he couldn’t accept. Years of peoples’ repeated doubts crashed into his memories. Not even on board one day and he couldn’t go without being reminded of his limitations. Would that ever change?

  Priest stayed down in defense, as Arbor brandished his weapon, faltering only when he noticed the absolute silence in the room. If everyone was curious about him before, now they were staring with a look of unerring disbelief. Scanning the crowd, his spun his vision to each man, all mirroring a twisted expression of shock, with a hint of revulsion. Arbor understood the look all too well. Being different was one thing, being a freak was something else altogether.

  With a deep breath, Arbor turned away from Priest as he expanded the panel into its step-stool configuration. Trying to center himself, he did his best to smooth his clothing.

  “Sorry.” Unable to meet Priest’s eyes, Arbor’s voice was meek as he tried to restore the meager threads of his dignity. “I didn’t need any help.”

  Climbing the stool allowed Arbor a normal vantage point of all the breakfast offerings while Priest picked himself up off the ground. He didn’t look over at him, he felt angry and humiliated enough for one day and it was only starting.

  “You’re Arbor, the new data tech, right? I’m Erron.” The green-haired cook’s smile was warm and unassuming.

  Arbor barely nodded.

  “What can I get for you?” Erron pointed with a ladle at the tray of scrambled eggs. The handle was abnormally thick and Arbor couldn’t miss the unsteady tremor of the cook’s hand holding the spoon. When Arbor didn’t respond, he shuffled to the left, his foot dragging as he moved sideways, and pointed at the tray of hotcakes.

  Afraid to speak and do something else wrong, Arbor only nodded again. He couldn’t stop watching as Erron switched utensils to another wide-handled spatula and added a proper serving of hotcakes to a plate with much difficulty. The cook chewed his lower lip as he focused intently on his awkward movements, but ultimately was successful.

  With another stressed effort, Erron added a few sausages to his plate as well. “Take these too.”

  Arbor accepted the plate as Erron handed it across the buffet to him, a relieved smile gracing his face. Placing his breakfast on the tray, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the idea of eating the food, given the cook’s peculiar condition.

  “Don’t let Priest get to you. He doesn’t mean anything by it, but forgets that not everyone wants help. He should know better.” Erron’s brow flattened, shooting a pointed look behind Arbor, but Arbor didn’t follow its direction.

  “Thank you.” Arbor climbed down his step stool with a quiet nod. He folded it down, stashed it away, and moved his breakfast down the line. After grabbing a fruit juice, he walked along the outer edge of the room and selected a table with a wide berth from the rest of the diners. He kept his head down so he wouldn’t have to look at their incredulous stares.

  Excellent work. In one day on board you’ve alienated yourself and the ship hasn’t launched yet. What shall I do for an encore? Carefully climbing into his chair, he tried to tamp down the anxious burn in his chest. He held his head high, even though he didn’t feel the confidence he tried to portray.

  Sipping at his bottle of juice, he studied his breakfast. While a little untidy due to Erron’s shaking, everything looked cooked to perfection, and the scent strived to override the destruction of his appetite. Even so, he couldn’t make himself do more than nudge things around as he stared at his plate with distaste.

  “You can’t catch what he’s got.”

  Arbor was startled to find Priest standing next to his table, carrying his own breakfast. “What?”

  “He doesn’t have a disease.” Pulling out a chair, Priest sat down across from Arbor, who was having a hard time muffling his surprise. “I saw you watching how his hands shook. You were a little put off by it.”

  “I was not.”

  Priest’s brow rose as his head bounced. “Yeah, well, you might want to not not stare so hard next time. People around here are pretty protective of him, his partner especially.”

  “He’s partnered?”

  “Um…yeah. You’re surprised by that?” The words were almost lost as he shoveled a large forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

  “No…no, of course not. What happened to him?”

  “Erron had a stroke last year. It was pretty bad, happened right here in the Mess Hall. Doc Bosch fixed him up, but I guess his motor skills are a little toasted.”

  Watching Priest’s enthusiasm over his food made Arbor think twice about his own. Taking off a small wedge of hotcake with his fork, he regarded the pleasing color and texture. The bite was tentative, but even his reluctance couldn’t deny the quality.

  “This is really good.” The second bite went down even faster.

  Priest smiled. “Yeah it is. Erron’s one of the best food slingers this place ever had.”

  “What did he mean by the comment that you should know better?”

  “I picked up a box out of his hands he was having trouble with a while back. He chewed me out so bad I wished Doc hadn’t fixed his speech. Sometimes I don’t think first. I was just trying to help. Same back then as now. Erron said I better come over and apologize.”

  Arbor shook his head. “It’s all right. I’m a little touchy about being independent. Comes with being looked at like an infant your whole life just because you’re small.”

  “I can see that. Tell you what, it won’t happen again. Promise.”

  Priest reached out his hand to shake Arbor’s. It was a gesture of respect and kindness Arbor hadn’t seen often and it helped quell the morning's complications.

  “Thanks.” Arbor couldn’t help noticing a fading bruise ringing Priest’s eye. “Did I do that to you?”

  “What? The shiner?” The man’s laugh was hearty and charming. “No, a bouncer roughed me up the other night. Captain made sure
I’d be safe to fly the ship, but had Doc Bosch stop short to teach me a lesson.”

  A new kind of blush surfaced on Arbor’s face. Had he really been so enraptured by Priest’s arrival he glossed over such an obvious mark? It wasn’t subtle in the least. What was next? Hiding a giggle behind his hand like a tittering schoolgirl? What an awful thought.

  “That’s good. I’d hate to think I was responsible for that.”

  “I’ll get razzed enough that the little dude beat my ass on the chow line.”

  “You picked me up like a toddler to see over the counter.” Arbor couldn’t control the dark scowl as he enunciated each syllable.

  Priest winced. “Okay, when you say it like that, it makes a lot more sense. Tell you what, let me make it up to you.”

  “Go on.”

  “You play poker?”

  “I’ve played some. Why?”

  “I’m planning a game the night after we launch and get under way. I’m just getting the table filled. Fifty credits gets you in.”

  Arbor’s head tilted as he contemplated the offer. “That sounds like fun.”

  “Just a heads-up. This game is strictly for adults.”

  It was impossible to ignore the way Priest peered up at him through his lashes, chewing his lower lip as it curled in a lecherous smirk. The heat in his voice underscored every gesture. It didn’t take Arbor more than a millisecond to calculate what the man was really saying.

  “Strip poker? Seriously?”

  “It gets to be a little bit more than that.” Priest’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “What else is there to do on a boat full of non-heteros? Come on and play with us, Arbor. It’ll give you a chance to get to know some of the guys. Maybe even better than you expected.”

  A predatory gleam in Priest’s eye and the way he unconsciously licked his lips as he waited for an answer gave Arbor pause. The plotting grin told Arbor he should run—not walk—away. It sounded like this game had all the hallmarks of a night you wished to forget. An “adult” round of poker with a group of strangers—what could possibly go wrong?

  Nude vids of yourself showing up on the Link kind of wrong. That’s what.

  It did sound like fun though. And Arbor had resolved himself to finding a way to fit in on the Santa Claus. He couldn’t stay living like an outcast for the rest of his life. The small community on board had a better chance of assimilating him than the rest of the planetary cluster. Word would likely spread over the scene with Priest earlier and it was doubtful it would be favor him. Getting to know a few others might not be a bad idea.

  It had been a long time since he’d found himself in any kind of social setting. Since before he ended up in prison, in fact. Is that what was making this so hard?

  A new kind of anxious heat flushed his chest. He knew he was probably being hustled for fifty credits and should ignore the seductive grin Priest threw his way. But he was so many things Arbor liked in a man. There was nothing about him that was extreme or overdone. Priest’s eyes were such a rich shade of brown. Would he still notice them if the cocky man was undressed? There was only one good way to be sure.

  “All right, Priest. Count me in.”

  EVEN THOUGH HE wasn’t allowed off the ship for the rest of the leave, Priest couldn’t be happier to be on board. The Santa Claus was a safe place for him and he doubted if he’d ever leave it for more than a few days in port at a time. It was where he belonged.

  The metal hull was solid, and Mrs. Claus was always available to answer questions. His meals were covered, he had a place to bunk, and a group of men to play with when the voyages got lonely. What more did he really need?

  Content and pleased with himself, the tap of his footsteps down the hall was a welcome sound. His new poker game was nearly arranged. Only one last person was needed to fill the table and he knew right where he’d go next.

  “Mrs. Claus, is passenger Costa McQuillen in his room?”

  The matronly voice was pleasant as always. “Yes, Corporal Jones. Mr. McQuillen has been assigned to Beta Deck, Room 236.”

  “Excellent.” Costa should be feeling guilty enough over the whole bar-to-jail debacle that maneuvering him into playing shouldn’t be too difficult.

  Priest could use the extra credits to make up for his losses on the station, but a chance to get to know the elusive beauty more intimately was worth the effort. Even if it was simply due to winning the game, bedding Costa would be quite a prize.

  The real trick would be getting him to play along.

  The electronic chime for Room 236 rang out as Priest thumbed the access pad on the wall. Hands locked behind his back, he rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited for a response. Coming through the speaker, Costa’s rich, accented voice bolstered his resolve.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Priest.”

  “Come in.”

  The door slid open and Priest stepped inside, only to be stopped short as Costa worked to pull a long-sleeved tunic over his lean, bare torso. There was something oddly exotic about the slender gentleman. Priest’s mouth went dry at the sight of his tender, smooth flesh, making him wet his lips to fight the effect.

  Costa was a stark contrast to the majority of the men on board. Most came from military or working-class backgrounds. Rough hands and lusty appetites were not uncommon. Being poised and borderline aristocratic were not typical traits among the crew.

  Nimble, tight muscles disappeared under the snug, dark fabric as Costa straightened the hem, facing away. His dark hair was damp, and the thought of him in the shower brought an inappropriately soapy image to Priest’s mind. Costa reached up with his elegant hands and released his hair from the tight collar, exposing a circular-shaped scar below the base of his skull, only to be hidden a moment later.

  The unusual size and location of the mark drew Priest’s curiosity. It was only a brief glimpse, but unmistakable. He wanted to ask about it, but decided to hold back. Given Costa’s lack of interest in talking about his past, Priest worried he might only piss him off and then who would he get to finish his poker game? He was running out of viable options.

  “Just get back from the shower?” Priest knew the question was obvious, but it kept him from making a comment that would likely get him thrown out.

  “Yes, and you can keep those horrid little thoughts running through your head to yourself.”

  Priest snorted. “So now you’re a mind reader?”

  “I wouldn’t need that skill. It’s not that difficult a read.” Now that his clothing was intact, Costa busied himself with collecting his shower effects and carefully returning them all to the wall storage.

  Priest deadpanned at the insult. “Thanks. Missed you at breakfast. You okay?”

  “Everything is fine. I simply needed some extra sleep after that whole incident in the bar. I’ll make up for it at lunch.”

  “Well, you can’t stay in your room for the whole trip. That would be a waste. I was wondering if you wanted to join me and a few of the guys for a poker game after launch.”

  Costa turned with a cocked brow. “Why do I feel that any game you’re organizing has some insidious fine print attached to it?”

  “Well, it is an adult version of the game.”

  Costa huffed in annoyance. “Why am I not surprised? I turned down your first offer to—how did you so kindly put it—‘smash in my back doors.’ Why would you think I would subject myself to an opportunity for you to try again?”

  “Aw, come on. Come play with us. You’re the one who said you’re not frigid. Now’s the time to prove it.”

  “You must be joking.” Arms crossing his chest, Costa held his ground.

  Priest shrugged with a cheeky grin. “What else are you gonna do for the next seven weeks?”

  “I could enjoy the rapture of eating shards of glass or driving metal spikes under my fingernails. If that fails, there are plenty of entertainment vids to watch. The monitors here are actually far better than I would have expected—”
>
  Both men were shocked into quiet as the monitor mounted to the wall roared to life, pages of data scrolling and shifting around the screen. Crew member images and personnel files vanished in a pile as one window layered over another. Deafening noise from all the information being accessed spilled through the room.

  The panel illuminating the room flickered and a kaleidoscope of flashes reflected across the walls as Mrs. Claus began speaking. “Mr. McQuillen Danverse personnel files thank you very much travel to Omoikane Access Denied without valid authorization…” Her matronly voice rambled on without pause or an end in sight. Something was very wrong.

  Priest was motionless in the cacophony of light and noise. Costa’s brow furrowed as his cheeks flushed. His stance grew rigid and his mouth drew tight. The crease above the bridge of his nose deepened as the monitor went dead and Mrs. Claus went silent. Everything was back exactly as it was before.

  “What the fuck was that?” Stunned and wide-eyed, Priest twisted his finger in his ear to restore his hearing. “Mrs. Claus, are you okay?”

  Her reply was as sweet as usual. “Diagnostic protocols show my systems are functioning within normal parameters, Corporal Jones.”

  Creases formed around Costa’s eyes as they narrowed in discomfort. “It’s clearly some sort of error. It’s not the first time since I came on board.”

  “Really? We should get ahold of Mac and let him know. He doesn’t like it when things go screwy. Especially if it’s Mrs. Claus.”

  “Feel free.”

  “Now about the poker game…” Priest’s enthusiasm deflated when he recognized the pain in Costa’s face. It matched his experience in the jail cell. “Are you okay?”

  Costa snarled in condescension. “I’ll be perfectly fine, Priest. It’s simply a sudden migraine. Could you please sod off now? I’d like to take my medication and have a lie down.”