"I hope that you will not be so busy you can't join in the ritual tomorrow," Cathal said to Alexander.

"Of course I can be there, Father. I'll make time," Alexander told him.

They had gone to visit several other of the Faithful since they'd started the walk. Alexander had waited outside while Father Sair had gone to speak to them for a few moments. Everyone they'd seen had said they'd be present.

Alexander found himself feeling incredibly honored. This was a form of ritual, the Invitation Walk, and for him to be the Second was a great thing. He took it seriously, adopting the manner and stance appropriate to the position, that he'd read about in the fourth-level teachings.

It was as far as he'd gotten. For laymen, there were twenty levels, so he had a long way to go. But the Father had told him he had advanced quickly.

"And after you reach twenty, we can discuss if you wish to go further - even becoming a priest yourself."

Those words still rung in his ears as they continued their walk.

"I'm surprised you did not ask Apollonia," Alex admitted. "I thought that you two were close friends, Father."

For a moment he feared he had overstepped his bounds, but Father Sair looked as calm as ever, smiling slightly as he often did.

"Apollonia Nor is a good person, and I believe that one day she will be a great member of our faith and do great services in the name of the Holy Void. But right now she has not fully found herself. Do not get me wrong, I believe that she is struggling and working hard to do just that. She has made great strides in moving closer to the person she wants to be."

Cathal reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. Alexander suddenly felt acutely aware that he was taller than the priest; a detail he'd never noticed before.

"You have found your path, Alexander."

Alexander smiled, moved by the words.

When he thought he had lost Iago, his closest friend, he had been destroyed. Nothing he could do or say to Iago could solve the problems in his mind.

But then he'd been returned; recovered, even made more whole. And Iago said so much of it was due to this man, this priest. Even the return of Cassandra, his wife long thought dead.

That had been enough for Alexander to see that this man was the real thing. One who could bring meaning to the disorder of his life . . . a man who cared.

His HUD interrupted him with an alert.

"Father," he said reluctantly. "My break is nearly over. I need to get back to my work."

Part of him wanted to brush it off, but he hesitated to do that. It was important, even Father Sair had agreed earlier. And if he just pushed it back he would have less time with Pirra at home.

Father Sair seemed fine, though. "I quite understand. You've given your time up for me, and I am grateful. Go on back to your good work."

"Thank you, Father." Alexander gave a little bow, and turned to head back towards his office.

He heard Sair get into the elevator as he walked away, and he called out his destination for the Resources main office.

Off to see Ham Sulp? Alexander hoped the man wouldn't be too rude to the Father.

----------------------------------------

The door to Sulp's office opened. For a moment, no one came through, and Sulp was just about to call out to them.

Then Boniface Tred shuffled slowly in.

His gaze was directed at the floor, his face matching it.

Moping like a child, Sulp thought.

This was perhaps his most detested of human behaviors, in himself or in others. Why the hell couldn't people just feel their sorrow, talk it out while drunk, and then move on?

He was no better, he knew. But it didn't irk him less to see Tred doing it.

"What do you need?" he growled.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Tred's head and eyes rose fractionally, startled.

Damn, he must have sounded too gruff. The poor man was like a puppy, sensitive to everything.

Sulp took a deep breath to calm himself. He was an officer, and even if Tred was not in his division, he should do what he could for him.

"I have a request for auxiliary parts for a spacewalk mission tomorrow," Tred said. His voice was hollow.

Damn my eyes, Sulp thought. That could have just been sent into the system. Tred had walked it down here just . . . why? The man was terrified of him. It was obvious that Tred thought he hated him.

Sulp did not, but both his personality and practical nature tended him towards being very blunt and in a hurry, which Tred was a little too sensitive for.

But Tred had come down anyway.

Bless his tiny little heart, Sulp thought. He's trying.

"All right," Sulp said. "Lemme see it."

Tred shuffled over, transferring the request ticket with a swipe of his hand. Sulp looked at it, saw that it was in order. Tred's requests were over-thorough, true, but they were always proper.

He sent it off for the drones to fill. "I'll have that in a minute. Want to wait?" He gestured towards a chair.

Tred looked mildly surprised at the offer, but moved to sit.

Zeus, who had been curled in the corner sleeping, raised his head. As soon as Tred sat down, the spacehound rose and came over, putting his chin on the man's leg.

"Try petting him. It'll help," Sulp said.

Tred was hesitant, but did put his hand on Zeus's head and started to stroke lightly.

"Want a drink?" Sulp asked, pouring two cups.

"I don't drink," Tred replied.

"It's green tea."

"Made with water?"

"Well, yes," Sulp said.

"Fish go to the bathroom in water," Tred said miserably.

". . . the aquaponics water is very thoroughly cleaned before it can end up in the drinking supply," Sulp replied, trying to keep annoyance out of his voice.

"It's the point," Tred said.

"So what do you drink?"

"I keep my own water tanks in my room," Tred said. "And I have my own filters."

Oh Dark, this man was impossible, Sulp thought. "Fine. Have some of this." He pulled from a cubby a dusty bottle of cognac. Taking two glasses out of a plastic pouch, he poured a shot for each of them.

Tred took the glass but didn't drink.

"It's not going to kill you to have a drink," Sulp said.

"Why are you being nice?" Tred asked him, looking down into his glass. He swirled it a little.

Sulp found himself surprised again, as he had been starting to think he was leaving the 'nice' stage. He felt ready to slap some sense into the man, though he would not give in to that urge.

"I see an officer having a hard time, I'm trying to help," Sulp replied. "It's not my strong suit, Boniface."

Tred recoiled at his first name. "Just Tred, if you please."

"All right, just Tred. What's bothering you?"

"I . . . it's not worth talking about."

"Clearly," Sulp said, his patience straining, "it is. There's no realm of human behavior that isn't important, even if it was unusual. We're all just a buncha fucking weirdos floating around in space. Trust me, I've known every type in the Dark."

Tred swirled his drink again, and finally took a sip. He cringed away, looking disgusted, but then threw it back and almost gagged. He forced down the drink.

"I thought I felt . . . emotions for someone. But now they're leaving. I feel . . . unrequited."

An incredibly clinical way of putting it, Sulp thought. But it was probably the only way Tred could think about it right now.

"Ah, yeah, the Star Angel? She's a sweet thing."

Tred's eyes flashed. "Don't talk about her like that! And . . . and you know about me and . . . and her?"

"It was kind of obvious, Tred," Sulp said. "And I meant nothing bad. She is sweet. Yes, I've talked to her, and no, I'm not sweet on her. Plasma girls aren't my type."

He thought his stab at humor might help, but it only rolled off Tred like water off a duck.

"Tred, everyone has a hard time in this sort of situation. But you're trying to keep going, and that's good. It's what you need to do. It's okay to feel sad, even terrible. Just remember that if it happens once, it can happen again."

"But it won't be Jophiel," Tred said.

"No, it won't," Sulp agreed. "And you can't hope the next person will be the same as the last. Everyone has their own kind of grace and wonder in them. So whoever next you find will be great in their own way."

Tred looked up at him, his eyes narrowed. Not in anger, it seemed, but . . . something. He said nothing, though.

"Thanks for the drink," Tred said, putting the glass down.

"Tred, have you ever gotten professional help for your anxiety and issues?" Sulp asked. It was not polite to ask, but someone had to ask it.

It should have been Y, he thought.

"Yes," Tred replied, a little snappishly. "They tell me I'm borderline. I can function, and it's my choice whether I get brain corrections or not."

"And you chose not to?" Sulp asked. The man seemed miserable.

"I chose not to," Tred replied. When he stood up, he stood a little straighter, Sulp thought.

Well, this was a tact. Sulp found himself . . . glad to see this spark of anger in Tred.

He raised his hand, saluting the man casually. "Then godspeed to ye, Engineer. It's your fight."

Tred blinked at him in surprise. He did not seem able to come up with any words to that, and so just returned the salute, then turned and headed out the door.