Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Walking through the breezeway of his apartment complex, Sin heard a child's laugh. He dodged the young boy, the kid's sister close on his heels, but she stopped when she saw the priest.
"Shoot anyone today, Brother Sin?" she asked excitedly.
"Not today," he told her with a laugh.
She sighed dramatically in the way only children could, and he tousled her hair as he walked past. Smiling at the other neighbors, and greeted cheerfully by all of them, he pressed his bare left hand to the security panel beside his address.
A light flicked green and the thick metal door slid open.
He stepped through, hung his helmet at the side, and began shedding layers before the door finished closing, glad to be back where he belonged.
The material of his armor was thick but pliable and formed to his skin.
It also had a tendency to stick. Sin had a love-hate relationship with his gear.
He loved his guns; he hated the armor. It hadn't saved his spine, and it definitely hadn't done much for his arm, but it had stopped a few bullets.
He peeled away the last section and tossed the entire thing in the cleaning unit.
His clothes came next, then he walked across the room, naked, pulling the elastic from his hair to let it fall to his shoulders again.
Putting on a clean pair of pants and a thin shirt, he glanced in the mirror. The ridges of his scar could be seen through the light fabric, and he pulled his God's-eye necklace outside the cloth. Satisfied that he still looked like a priest, he left again.
The sun had set and rain had begun to fall gently, the digital glare of every sign reflecting in the puddles.
Jogging across the street in hopes of staying somewhat dry, he aimed for the pink glowing sign over what served as his kitchen most nights, but everyone else called a bar.
Nodding at the bouncer, he entered the Fallen Angel.
They knew him here, and it was an easier way to find a decent meal than trying to cook it himself.
"Hey, Sin," the waitress said. "Usual?"
"Yeah, hun. That would be great." He made his way to the bar, sliding into an empty chair.
"You're in early," Tanya, the bartender, said.
"Looks like I'm on days for the next month or so," he said with a shrug. "How about a Coke?"
"Am I gonna convince you to spike it yet?" she teased.
Sin passed his hand through a small holographic sign sitting beside him, amused at how the light played on his skin. "Nope. Fifth precept. I'm still ordained."
She sighed and patted his arm—the good one. "You'd be a cute drunk."
"He's cute without the drunk," Miesa agreed, dropping a basket with a cheeseburger and fries before him. "I'm off at ten."
"Early morning for me," he told her with false regret, glancing over her body. She was modified, but minimally, and most of it was cosmetic. "Not gonna happen tonight, hun."
"Lemme guess, another precept?"
"A tired body," he told her. "I'm getting old."
The two women laughed, and Tanya reached across the counter to poke at his chest. "And still rock-hard. That's seriously all-natural?"
"Right from God. That's why you two like it."
Miesa rolled her eyes and patted his shoulder before walking away, leaving him alone with Tanya and some man at the other end of the bar. Tanya smiled, then leaned close.
"You really not allowed to do anything fun?"
Sin shook his head. "It's not like that. All of our rules are for a reason. You should know this by now."
"What I thought was they removed the restriction on you priests and sex," she countered.
He shrugged. "To a point. Pleasure of the flesh, though? Still frowned upon. Relationship bonding is tolerated, but marriage is still preferred, and it's only acceptable for certain positions in the Legion."
"But not yours," she guessed.
He shook his head. "Not mine."
There was no way he was going to mention that any relationship, let alone a sexual one, was the easiest way to be stripped of his position.
Legates weren't allowed to become intimate.
It would be too easy to use that against them.
Too easy for him to slip and say something confidential to a person he trusted.
Even a chaste girlfriend would most likely see him moved to the confessionals at best. Removed from the church at worst. It was the price he'd accepted to become the hand of God. One of many.
Tanya rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Sin? No one gets married anymore. The tax penalties are insane, and the benefits? What? Naming your kid?"
He just lifted his hands. "God doesn't agree."
"And has God been that good to you, for you to give up so much for him?"
He pressed his lips together and shrugged, looking at the two dark fingers on his hand.
"He hasn't been too bad to me. I'm also not some damned Ingénue to know His plan.
" He sucked back the last of his Coke, gesturing for Tanya to top him up again.
"How's your dad been doing?" he asked, changing the subject to something safer.
She refilled the soda and shrugged. "Insurance declined his request, so not too good. You gonna say a prayer for him?"
"If that's what you want," he offered. "Workers' comp won't cover it?"
"No," she sighed. "They say he was using the implants for more than just his job, so not their responsibility. Not really a shock that they managed to weasel out of it, though."
"Damn," Sin said, patting her arm. "He gonna be able to walk again?"
"Nope. Doctors say he needs everything rewired, but his body won't handle it without five times the rejection meds he's on now." She lifted her hand, trying to shrug it off. "We can barely afford what he's currently on."
"I'll spread it around the church. You mind if I ask how much you need for his meds?"
She chuckled. "Isn't the Legion against modification?"
Sin raised his arm and wiggled the last two fingers. "Optional enhancement isn't really encouraged, but feeding your family does take a little priority. The Praetor says God gave us brains and expects us to use them."
She reached over and grabbed his half-human hand. "Thanks, Sin. I mean it. It's gonna cost like a thousand a week to keep him from getting the shakes."
He nodded in understanding. "And how much to get the use of his legs again?"
"Five grand." She sighed and shook her head. "Seriously, I'm not above taking a handout if it means Dad can go back to work, but I don't expect anything like that."
"You never know, God does work in mysterious ways. You might try coming to a service, too. I don't think we're quite like you think."
She laughed. "No, I'm pretty sure of it if you're a damned priest, but I'm not into the whole God thing."
"Doesn't mean it goes both ways." He smiled, unwilling to push. "You see Trent in here anymore?"
"Yeah. He was in just last night. Usually shows up an hour after sundown or so."
He smiled flirtatiously at her. "Willing to pass a message for me, sweetheart?"
"Always," she replied, leaning closer. "Whatcha need?"
"Tell him to stop by my place?"
She laughed. "Sure. When you gonna let one of us ladies call on you?"
"Maybe tomorrow." He grinned. They all knew he wasn't serious, but it had become a routine. They flirted, he put them off, and it fed both of their egos. "Ring me up, and I'll get out of your hair."
He slid across a strip of plastic, and she inserted it in the machine, billing him for the meal. She passed it back with a small pad, and he pressed his index finger to it before making his way home.
He returned to his tiny room and sighed.
In the Middle Ages of Earth history, friars had prided themselves on their lack of material possessions.
He tried to do the same, but it wasn't a religious commandment that made him have so little; it was poverty.
The weekly stipend he received from the church barely covered more than his own Stabiltrol.
The worst part was he was doing pretty well compared to most people in the complex.
Sin threw himself into a deep chair and flicked on the holoscreen.
Flipping through channels, he hoped to find something to occupy his mind, but he wasn't having much luck.
He mashed the remote again, then again, taking his frustration out on it.
It didn't take too long before someone rapped at his door.
Shave and a haircut was the pattern, so it had to be Trent. Not many people knew of the ancient rhythm. "Come in," he yelled.
"Too fucking trusting," Trent said as the door slid closed behind him.
Sin just lifted the gun at his side. "Not really, Brother. Got a bit?"
"Got a stiff drink?" Trent asked in return.
"In the fridge."
Trent was a short, strong man. His head was shaved completely bald, and a pistol hung from each hip, but it was the scar across his neck that caught the eye first. Trent had taken the wound five years ago, saving a kid from a mob.
When he turned to come back, Sin saw the steel chain dangling against his shirt, a match to his own.
"Got the ambassador sent back to Andromeda last week," Sin said, breaking the ice.
Trent passed him a Coke and tossed himself in the only other chair in the room. "And I bet you weren't upset to see that prick leave. Arrogant bastard. You started the new job already, right?
"Yeah," he admitted. "Kinda why I wanted to talk to you."
"Must be bad if you didn't even make it a week before needing a confession," Trent said, trying to hide his amusement.
Sin just shook his head, deciding to test the waters. "Not even a day off, and I'm on another corporate assignment. Whatever happened to protecting those in need? Why aren't we trying to do something about the millions of people just trying to keep their heads above water?"
"I dunno, Brother. What I do know is who you're babysitting."
"Ok?"
Trent nodded. "Yep. She's the little prima donna of the bunch. Bet that little bitch ends up busting your balls."