“GO FUCK YOURSELF AND THE SHITTY SPACESHIP YOU FLEW IN ON”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I’M TAKING MY SPLIT AND EXTRA AND LEAVING THIS GODDAMN RUSTBUCKET. GOOD LUCK FINDING ANYONE WITH MY FUCKING

QUALIFICATIONS!”

 

“Thanks! Good luck getting home!”

 

“WAIT WHAT?! YOU’RE JUST GOING TO LEAVE ME ON THIS DUMB FUCKING PLANET TO ME?”

 

“What do I look like to you, a priest?”

Captain Garret showed his former employee to the door with his foot.

 

 

***

 

Captain Garret of the space trader Unfortunate Predicament II knew the following to be true: whiskey and cigarettes are compliments, and it is a necessity in smuggling to interview potential hires. While the big interplanetary cartels relied on nepotism and favoritism in deciding who got what split, Captain Garret believed it good business practice to hire people based on their merit. The business of The Industry needed to be conducted more like business than actual business.

 

Unlike when you work in finance and can afford to do all of the cocaine you want to on the weekends when you aren’t working (and some when you are); The Industry requires 24/7 professionalism is expected in order to keep the illusion of legitimacy. If there is a crack in the façade you can guarantee that you’ll be arrested, stabbed, tazed, and then thrown into a prison asteroid for the rest of your life. And even with his tattered flannel, thick overall for the snows, and a haircut that was borderline-bird’s nest, at his heart Captain Garret was ultimately a businessman of The Industry, and his interviewee to replace his last cook was a few minutes late.

 

 

The door of the pub opened gently, a hint of the winter storm leaked through the vacuity created by the entrance of a man in a white windbreaker embroidered with a cross and “Intergalactic Protestant leAgue” (IPA) written in black on the back of the jacket. His face was mostly covered except for his eyes, which on them rested large round glasses. Removing his scarf from the front of his face he walked up to the counter.

 

“Excuse me is captain Garret here?”

 

The bartender pointed to Garret without looking fully up.“Thank you.” The man gave a nod of appreciation, walked directly to Captain Garret whose legs were set up on the table, and spoke.

 

“Nice alcohol you got there friend! I’m Father Gilmore, nice to meet yah”

 

Garret slowly moved to shake Father Gilmore’s hand.

 

 

“Are you sure you have the right place?”

 

“Oh yes I’m certain. Your message said ‘can you meet me at The Broken Axle at eight P.M. Tuesday, August eighth?”

 

Situations like this are ones that people like Garret tried their damndest to avoid. In smuggling the weirder the situation, the more likely to fail. In fact, in his 15 years of smuggling, Garret could only recall two situations that he considered to be weird. However, being bored on what amounted to a giant space ice cube with ten hours to kill, the captain decided that it would be worth his time to entertain what was most definitely going to be a sting for the hell of it, and then slip out the back.

 

Of course what The Captain didn’t know was that he was completely wrong about the matter of the situation. Father Terrence was by all means genuine in his venture to join the Unfortunate Predicament II.

 

“So, why do you want to work for me?”

 

“Because God told me to”

 

The Captain’s eyes lurked around the father’s face, scouring pores for any tells of insanity and untruth. This left an uncomfortably long pause in the conversation, that Terrence Gilmore broke by asking the only question he could think of in return.

 

“You do believe in God, yes?”

 

This left a longer, more uncomfortable silence that is said to be still sitting around a few of the remaining tables in The Broken Axle.

 

There are very few things more uncomfortable in life than telling a priest that you’re an atheist. In fact, only two phrases Garret had ever spoken rated more uncomfortable: “sorry I don’t like the music your garage band does even though I am married to you” and “the dog died while you were gone because it choked on your father’s ashes.”

 

Garret stared at the glass of whiskey, stirring the rim with his ring finger. He wasn’t going to hire this man before for obvious reason such as: looking like he belonged in a tucked-in polo, khakis, and standing behind a white picket fence with 2.5 kids and a wife-bot 2000, and the whole “this is definitely a sting” vibe he got. However, now Garret couldn’t duck out of this conversation without looking like he was escaping a sting and thus providing enough evidence to convict him.

 

“So when you say God told you to, what do you mean exactly?”

 

“I know this is going to sound a bit odd, but I had a very vivid dream the other night. The Lord spoke to me, said a quite a few words. I wrote down what I could remember and now I’m here.”

 

“And what did he say?”

 

“Thou Shalt Find Thyself Near an Unfortunate Predicament/An Interviewer Ponders Abandonment/When he sips of his glass of Rye after tactful silence/Tackle him, make the lead avoid his eye”

 

“Lead avoid my ey-?”

 

The priest interrupted by jumping over the table with the full force of a questionably able-bodied fresh sextegenerian as gun fire began to shatter the windows, littering The Broken Axel with shards of tempered glass and splintering most of the tables in the pub.

 

Garret could barely hear out some of the gunmen talking in Sadalsuudian.

 

The Priest, right next to the captain’s ears continued to whisper, gesturing to the conveniently large chandelier angling precariously above..

“When the uncouth individuals bellow, look up to head below”

 

Possibly at quite the right angle to shoot. No time to think it through, only time to shoot.

 

Garret shot from prone at the rather convenient ornamental chandelier, releasing it from the ceiling. Pain shot through his side as hundreds of pounds of timber and Father Gilmore fell on top of him in the basement.

 

“I’m so sorry I didn't mean to land on you! -And a green light will guide you to a less unfortunate predicament”

 

The priest lent his hand to the captain, helping him up from the broken timbers, and towards the green “exit” sign.

 

“What in God’s name is happening?! This isn’t a sting?!”

 

"AHEM!"

 

The priest gasped upon hearing the first part of Garret’s sentence, while pulling the captain through the exit door into the icy night.

 

“When the chariots pull into the place the helmsman rests/Put in front of him your bullet-proof vest’

 

The sound of bullets whizzing in the alley as the father shielded the Captain with his body.

 

“And the poetry! What the fuck is-”

 

“Hey! No swearing!”

 

“What the fu-heck is happening?”

 

“As I said earlier, God told me to help you. If you want a better explanation follow me, recalling the verses word-by-word is going to take too much time.”

 

Another bullet narrowly missed Father Gilmore’s head.

 

They ran and ducked through the sidestreets of downtown, before finally stopping to catch their breath in a particularly dark and musty alley.

“And you shall repose several fractions of a league away/to answer his asked questions of this day.”

 

Garret, still catching himself on his knees looked up at the priest.

“I appreciate the help, but you don’t need to narrate your actions after they happen...And forgive me father for what I’m about to say: your poetry is bad.”

 

“The Lord’s poetry works in mysterious ways.”

 

Garret sighed.

 

“Honestly I best be going, do you think you’ll be fine by yourself?”

 

“The Lord said I was to go with you, I believe it best for your safety that I come with you.”

 

“You’ve already caused me enough trouble today, sorry. No weird things on my ship.”

 

“But-”

 

“You are a priest. You walked into a bar, and then shouted prophetic nonsense at me, and then people tried to kill me. I’m probably going to get arrested and killed if you stay around! Also; I don’t believe in God, and I’m not about to start now!”

 

“Perhaps I can bring you to appreciate God and his-”

 

“No. You’re going to get us killed. Goodbye.”

 

“No wait, I can pay you to take me.”

 

The Captain stopped for a moment. If the priest were by all definitions cargo, he supposed it might be fine. It’s okay if the cargo is a little weird. Yeah. That should be fine. Making a lot of extra money instead of paying someone never hurts either.

 

“How much?”

 

The priest muttered some poetry of questionable quality under his breath and then stood in thought for a moment.

 

“Twenty Thousand a month.”

 

Garret tried to hide the smile forming on his lips. The priest had serious cash.

 

“Hmmm. Yeah. I think we can make that work; assuming you are still willing to do the cooking.”

 

“Of course, Captain. So what do you say: first stop, groceries?”

 

“Sure, let’s get the Hell-”

 

“Heck.”

 

“Heck. out of here.”