“Now will you take Ruiz’s job?” Beck asked.

“Not yet.” The pill bottle was still a lump of lead in the breast pocket of my trench coat. I’d left the cross for the kid, along with his gun. Once he woke up, a quick examination showed that he wasn’t hurt too badly. By examination, I meant I’d verified he was still capable of slinging weapons-grade vitriol. With any luck he’d calm down and offer a prayer of forgiveness for the unrepentant assholes who had invaded his home.

Forgiveness like that wasn’t likely this close to the cathedral, which is why I also confiscated his bullets.

Beck stepped between me and the cathedral. “You have the drugs. Drop them off with your client and let’s go.”

“That painting’s not going anywhere.”

“No, but my boss is.”

I looked up, letting my eyes unfocus on the gray noonday sky. “I have a client, and I have questions. So long as those two things exist, I’m not touching another case, no matter what the pay.”

Beck growled in disgust. “Does your client really want you tracking down all these loose ends?”

She was right, of course. If McCay was my excuse to keep following up on this, then he ought to have some input. He wasn’t. I needed to know more about the situation, and something didn’t sit right about McCay.

I shouldered past Beck. “I don’t want your job.”

“You do.” She didn’t follow me. “You need the money and you need to know the truth.”

I pulled open the massive cathedral doors and spread my arms to take in the whole elaborately decorated church. “If I was interested in the truth, why would I come to a place like this?”

Beck didn’t follow me, I didn’t blame her. The Cathedral of Saint Francis of Assisi was an intimidating structure, even for those of us raised in the embrace of the almighty Catholic Church. It replicated all the polished wood and shining metal of the cathedrals of Earth, but added the deep resonance found only in the hollowed core of a massive space station and held inside the existential heft of a religious building that had actually journeyed through the heavens. It was a three-hundred-year-old monstrosity made all the more impressive by its absolute dominance of the center of the great downward spiral.

The Jesuits who had funded Nicodemia had long ago decided that this would be the biggest bastion of Christianity’s journey, never mind that folks of other religions were welcome on the trip. Never mind the sins and vices of common folk thrived just as well no matter how scenery changed. A church aboard a generation ship was just another church far as I was concerned. Just as full of itself. Just as fallible.

“Jude Demarco,” drolled a woman’s voice from behind me as I walked up the aisle. “Your parents would be so proud to see you returning.”

I didn’t turn around to respond. “Hello Cecilia.”

“It’s customary to take off one’s hat, my dear.” She placed a hand on my elbow. She was a tiny lady, worn by the years, but her blue eyes sparkled with a clarity that only true faith in God or the gleam of snake oil can provide.

I swept my hat from my head, genuflected, and sat at the nearest pew, indicating the spot next to me for Ceclia to sit. She did, and for a while the silence of the midday church seeped into my tired bones.

Addressing the hat in my lap as much as the woman next to me, I said, “The world’s a terrible place, Priest. Full of terrible people.”

She placed a hand on mine. Her skin was paper thin and soft. “Are we having this discussion, again?”

“The world just doesn’t shine like it used to.”

She looked up at me, her features grim in the imitation candlelight. “There is a lot of good in this world, Demarco, and in all of the worlds.”

“Sure.” I wasn’t convinced. We’d had that argument too many times. “But today my problem’s with the church.”

Her hand tensed, and she pulled it away. “Is it?”

“There’s a stray kid not far from here living in a warehouse. You know about that?”

A long time passed before she spoke. “I might have an idea.”

“See, here’s the thing,” I said, trying hard to keep the tension from my voice. “There’s this boy who feels alienated from the church.”

“This friend have a name?”

“The Church has some funny ideas about sex, don’t you think?”

“Mr. Demarco—”

“The way I see it, the church started in a place where reproduction was a competitive advantage. Makes sense those rules might exist way back then.” I swallowed back a lump in my throat. “Now there’s this boy by the name of Retch.”

She tilted her head to one side quizzically.

“Gretchen, maybe.”

Cecilia nodded understanding. “She’s been in here.”

“What can you tell me about the Wailing Sinners?”

“They’re a street gang. Trouble. Every last one.”

“I should have come here first, but…”

“You don’t like it here.”

“Never have.”

Her eyes twinkled with amusement. “You should always come here first, Jude. It would keep you out of a lot of trouble.”

“Retch needs help. He’s on the street and afraid of everyone, especially you. He’s armed, maybe dangerous. He’s a thief at the very least.”

“You think there’s something more I can do to bring these kids into the fold?”

I met her gaze. “It’s not about bringing them into the fold, and you know it.”

She looked down at the hymn book in the pew in front of her. “There’s only so much I can do.”

“You could accept him.”

“He’s always welcome here.”

“Sure.” I put a little more spite into the word than I intended.

“Just like you, Demarco. You’re always welcome.”

I drew the med bottle from my pocket. “What do you know of this stuff?”

She peered at the bottle for several seconds. “It’s used to treat certain genetic diseases, but Trinity provides it free thanks to God’s good grace.”

“Free to anyone who wants to register their genetic flaw officially.”

“It’s hardly a flaw, Mr. Demarco. A lot of people take medicine.”

“You provide medical assistance to your flock?”

“It’s provided to anyone who asks.”

It was just like the church to push people away and pull them close at the same time. One more way to manipulate the populace. “Do you think this Wailing Sinners group is a threat?”

“No, of course not. Deviants and confused children.”

I closed my eyes and drew in a long breath. Retch’s determined gaze greeted me behind my closed eyes. “He won’t come to you if you’re going to judge him.”

“I will have you know that I have experienced more of the Church’s ideas on sexuality than most.”

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. “They only got woman priests two hundred years ago.”

“Two hundred years.” She gave the sign of the cross. “We can only hope another two hundred will erase the stigma behind it.”

“What can I say, Priest? The world is a terrible place full of terrible people.”

Her fists balled up at her sides. She looked like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “There isn’t much I can do if this Retch won’t come to me.”

“I want to know he’ll have someone looking out for him.”

She shot a glance at the bottle still in my hand. “You took her meds.”

“I took his meds.”

“Right.” She licked her lips. “You stole from him the thing he needs to survive, and you want me to make sure things are fine?”

“Kids steal drugs all the time. It’s not for survival.”

“Isn’t it?”

I genuflected and stood at the end of the pew. I took a good look at the gold leaf on the ceiling, some of which had been taken from the Vatican itself back on Earth. “Who gets to call it stealing, anyway? I took back something that had been stolen. What’s God say about setting things right?”

She walked with me back through the church to the large wooden doors. “What does your heart tell you?”

“My heart tells me the church should stop being such an asshole.”

Cecilia gave me a wry look. “What else?”

I looked at the pill bottle. I hadn’t read the label closely before, but the prescription on the side was printed in a tiny font that I could barely read. No narcotics. No painkillers. Nothing that might be used recreationally.

“Shit,” I said, provoking a scathing look from the priest. I pocketed the pill bottle. “Next time you have a chat with God tell him—tell him he’s not making life easy, okay?”

“You could tell him yourself.”

“I would if I thought he’d listen.”