The White Lily Blog

Ever gone through a checkpoint carrying some little something illegal? You’ll appreciate Al’s problem: he’s got those little pills and an unconscious priest! More tales of the Church in space. See parts one through six in other posts. And do me a favor? Comment on whether the checkpoint seems sufficiently authentic.

“Stay away from the bad angels!” Father Tim woke up and swung toward Al.

“Who are the bad angels?” Al said to him, and peered over the irregular lines to see how far they had to go yet.

“You have to listen,” Father said after a pause.

“What? Are they singing or something?” Al said absently, watching the youngest guard at the checkpoint, who evidently would be their guard. Too hot on the job, Al thought bitterly. Damn!

“No. Not singing,” Tim sing-songed himself. “God is talking to you. You-have-to-listen,” Father explained, as if giving Al a formula. “God will tell you all the bad angels. But we aren’t listen-ing.”

Al dropped a duffle, and then, retrieving it, managed to slip sideways into a throng that would end up at a different check point guard, a blond woman who Al was hoping could be managed.

They reached the scanwall. The blond held out her hand. Papers.

“Here’s mine,” Al said. “I’ve got my friend here’s, too. He uh he had a couple too many. Guess he’s not real experienced.” Al grinned his best grin and looked at her dead on but only for a second. “Tell me when you want his.” Then he shut up to see if she’d buy it. She hesitated.

“How do you know this guy?” she asked. “Did he ask you to take him across if he got drunk? Did he give you anything to hold?”

“No, no. I just picked up his duffle. He just had a few too many, is all. We were sitting next to each other in one of the bars. The Launch Pad, I think is it. You know it? He’s a priest! See, his collar and all. I’m an engineer. You see on my papers there. ” Al was struck by the feeling that they were the two least valuable members in an otherwise elite bunch: a God-monger and a drainage expert. This could work either way for them. He hazarded a peek at her face. Jeez! An iron maiden! He’d hate to play poker with her! She glanced down at his papers. That’s good. Now, she’d either ask for Father’s, or pull them over for a full search, or reject either or both of them on medical grounds, or the priest for not being able to respond to questions.

“And his papers?” she said and held out her hand. Whew! Al fished them out, put them in her hand.

“Sir? Sir?” she said to the priest. Al shook him a little. “Sir?” The priest stirred, and raised his head. He look straight at her—and smiled.

“Is she one of the good angels?” Father said. “Are you one of the good angels? ” he asked her.

She ignored the question. “Are you Timoteo Monaghan?” she asked.

“Yes, I am,” Father managed to look both lucid and silly. “Are we going to the shuttle? I’m ready,” he said. “You’re a good angel,” he finished, and gave her a final dazzling smile, and went back to sleep on Al’s shoulder.

Al looked at her and tightened just one side of his mouth into a lop-sided grin. Be that angel, he said in his heart. She hesitated just a moment longer, and jerked her head sideways. “Walk the wall,” she said, and strolled down it with them, checking the x-ray. Al tried not to think about the pills in his pocket. There was a lot to see in a short time. She might miss them. She might decide to miss them. Pills were not plastiques. They were a different sin. Maybe she had her own stash. Maybe she could care less for a bunch of privileged assholes earth will never see again, go ahead, kill yourselves, that might be her deal. Al held his breath.

She hesitated, and Al’s heart pounded. This be the moment to step in and give a little push, Al said to God, if you’re listening and haven’t made up Your Royal Mind yet ha ha which is highly doubtful, and why would You care anyway for a couple of losers? Then she simply handed him the papers, and turned back to the next evacuee. And that wasn’t God, Al snorted. No way. That was just picking your battles when you’re processing a couple thousand people. All in a day’s work, Al thought, all in a day’s work, and started shuffling them toward the shuttle doors far ahead. And now here comes my turn to work, he thought, thinking about what would happen when the young priest awoke in a claustrophobic nightmare.