Of all the bars in the universe, mine was closest to the edge of unmapped space. Berynek’s - in cold blue neon hung over the door. It was an expansive space, being a former starship hangar, but you couldn’t see how big it was when you first walked in. First there was the velvet anteroom. Then there was the dive.
Hi, I’m Berynek. Welcome to my saloon.
Of course, when I started it was just a one-man outfit and I only operated the dive part. Who visited the last bar at the edge of the known universe? A combination of the most courageous humans and those most in need of social or mental lubrication. Being so far off the center of things lent a certain ‘wild west’ atmosphere. I did not shy away from this image. My place beat out a bar in Dutch Harbor, Alaska for being the toughest drinking hole in existence according to Space Pod, inching out the Aleutian island spot’s twenty year record. Dutch Harbor wasn’t the wild west anymore. It was bedside service and satin slippers.
It was on one of these slow days in the early days when I was wiping down the counter and she walked in. Fackin’ black-haired beauties. With long legs and no-fat curves.
She came right up to the bar and ordered a Venusian smoothie. I would have to chisel the small talk out of her, it seemed. Boy, was I lonely. A goddess is not what I needed. A fat chick always does in a pinch. But a goddess is what sat in front of me then. Hamada hamada.
I put her drink in front of her and it was only then she seemed to notice me. She arched a magnificent eyebrow. “Are you Berynek?”
It possibly helped that I was good-looking. I smiled. “Yes. And you are?”
She reached out her hand to me. “Naomi.”
I took her hand and mock-kissed it, never breaking eye contact. “Charmed, Naomi.”
She took her hand back, regarded me coolly. “What are you, French?”
“Partly.” I admitted.
She took a sip of her drink. I could see it’s immediate effect on her temple, making it throb ever so slightly. Her eyelids fluttered and I knew she was dealing with issues of self control.
“You make a strong smoothie.” she said.
“You have the same effect on my eyes.” I said.
She smiled. She had to have been feeling good. I mixed her drink just right: the proper nutrients and added supplements that led to quite an intense and prolonged body and mind euphoria. It was a popular drink for people coming back from the other edge and for those about to go out into it. The ‘Venusian’ part of the name wasn’t just a cheap marketing gimmick; part of it really had to be shipped in from Venus.
Her lips got redder, or seemed to.
“Are you going out or coming in?” I asked. This orbital was a relatively small place. Usually I saw them at least once before they left. Some I never saw again but most simply never came back. So I guessed she was on her way out, but sometimes those that were squares before they left and never mixed up their inner chemicals came back and desperately and very quickly changed this position.
“Going out,” she said.
“Ah,” I nodded. I wished she had been coming back; she could have been easier to woo that way. She would be happy to be alive, sick of everyone she had been cooped up with on her ship for that long, and probably very horny. It helps that I am good-looking.
“I need more crew.” she said.
I looked around the bar. Just a few military, a couple men from the shoal factory, and a lady who worked at the hotel. Locals. Not a lot of human detritus on Orbital 109, to be sure. Once in a while an outfit came through so desperate to add someone they offered someone from the factory an obscene amount of money to defect, but usually most outfits came fully manned, knowing this place was a relatively barren locale.
I made a sympathetic face. “No unemployed on this orbital that I know of.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“Well,” I said. “Unless it’s as your personal consort, I have to point out I do have a bar to run and I have no employees to take my place. This is a one man operation, ma’am. Unless, like I said, it would be as your consort . . . ” Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow at her.
She smiled. “You are funny.” She reached her hand out and placed a small black object on my side of the bar which was lower than her part so that nobody else, if they had been looking, could see. “I need you to hold this for me.”
“It’s not a bomb, is it?” I asked, looking it over.
“No, but all the same, you should keep it in a freezer.”
I laughed. “Come on lady, you can’t expect me to keep something for you if I don’t know what it is.”
“Just an info stick.” she said.
“So why should I keep it in the freezer?”
“Who would look for an info stick in the freezer?”
“No big, mean and ugly men are going to come looking for this info stick when you leave? Armed with hairy knuckles and laser guns?”
“Most people who stop by here on their way out are probably more prepared, aren’t they?” she asked. “They have full crews and don’t need storage.”
“Yes, and you’re different because . . . ?”
She narrowed her eyes at me.
“Is Berynek your first or last name?”
“Does it matter?” I asked.
“Do you really want to fuck me, Berynek?”
“Yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy . . . . es?”
“Then keep my info stick in the freezer for when I get back. Maybe you will have some help to take over the bar by then so we can steal away to the bedroom for your reward.” She started to get up, dropped a couple creds on the bar.
“Oh, I would close the place then. That would be OK.” I said.
She smiled at me and long-legged out.
I was on the internets putting up an ad for help wanted - been meaning to anyway - when outside there was a loud explosion.