Short Stories From Fading Worlds

A Bar at Kuiper: The Bar

The nights were quiet this far away from civilisation. Even the closest inhabited solar bodies were as distant specs in the night sky, and few people came through these parts for leisure anymore. There was a strange air about this place, a sense that you were somehow stepping back in time as you entered into the lavish and even posh bar. The little station had very little in the way of amenities; the structure was merely a small ring anchored around a little asteroid with perhaps two-dozen rooms for travellers to stay for a few nights, not that there was ever more than one of them in use at the moment. Aside from the rooms there were a pair of transmission terminal rooms, a reception area, and of course, the bar.

Now, seeing as the bar was the only real place for people to spend their time aboard the station, anyone that passed through tended to while away their hours on luxurious barstools or in plush booths regardless of whether they drank a drop of alcohol. All sorts had come through here in the past, from zoologists to politicians, but they all had one thing in common: all of them spoke to the bartender.

The bartender liked his job here, truth be told. Some saw it as a dead end, others called it boring, one man had even referred to it as "soul destroying", but regardless of what they thought, the bartender was happy. These days there were very few people who would pas through, and as such he and whoever he was serving would always be the only people in the bar that night. The bartender quiet liked this; the quiet and sedate nature of the bar meant that whoever he was with felt comfortable to speak to him in confidence as they drank. They'd sit there till closing time, discussing the news and swapping personal stories, hoping that the morning would wait for just a few hours more. The people who came here needed a sympathetic ear, after all. By God did they need one...

Being this far out on the edges of the Solar System, past Pluto and far from the largest stations of the Kuiper Belt, the little bar was the last stop for many of those who formed the trickle leaving the system for good by starship. The gently curling bar hosted melancholic faces each few nights, every one of them hoping to put off their leaving for just a little longer, hoping to remain in the comfort of what they knew till the night was up and they needed to leave. Going out to the colonies was undoubtedly good for most of them, but that didn't mean it wasn't daunting.

Still, he had his job to do, and do it he would. Whatever the customer wanted he could get them with the speed and expertise that came from experience on the job. The finest Terran wines, beer from Europa, Martian brandy and whiskey from all over the system, all were here for the patron's enjoyment.

Perhaps they would prefer a cocktail of some sort instead? If that were the case they were in fine hands as well, for the bartender could make anything from an Old-Fashioned to a Sex on the Beach expertly. Whatever it was the customer wanted, the bartender was happy to oblige. And if he happened to have one or two drinks himself before the night was out, well, he'd worked here for eight years now; the Landlord and Lady were more than happy for him to have a little tipple here and there if it kept him on staff.

Not that it really mattered most nights. Fewer and fewer people came through as time went by, since those who could were leaving the System for good and those who remained were too apathetic to leave and as such had no reason to come to so remote a place as this. Even criminals didn't bother coming here anymore, which the bartender guessed was one upside. Still, the lack of customers would one day drive this place out of business, this he knew, and even if it didn't the ever tightening stranglehold that the corporations had over amenities surely would.

And that brought everything soundly around to the root cause of why people were leaving; the Sol System was too far gone, steeped in the ever-encroaching influence of monopolies and corporate interests, but the colonies? The Reaches, the Frontiers? They were ripe with opportunity and free from the shackles of big business and oligarchical powerbrokers. They were free, and in the bartender's opinion, judging by the attitude most colonials had they were likely to remain free. Anything short of real military action would fail to bring the colonies under corporate guidance, and such a conflict would be deeply unpopular back in Sol.

But what did he know? He was just a bartender, not a politician. If the bigwigs thought they could do it, they damn well would.

The bartender wiped down the already-spotless counter with his cloth, the action letting him distract himself from his thoughts. He never liked to turn his mind to politics, especially not with how deeply unhappy such thoughts always seemed to make him. Better to keep his mind on what he knew, and what he was meant to be doing.

Besides, it wasn't like he could change the reality of what was happening so many billion miles away. He was just an average young man, working in a bar that clung to the very edge of civilisation in the Solar System. The political realities of what was going on planetside would eventually catch up with him, but not for a little while longer yet, and so he contented himself with seeing to the bar's patrons as they trickled on through.

They might not have received many patrons, but they still made good money. After all, the only people who stayed were those who lingered as long as they could, trying to put off their departures and remain in the Sol System for just a little while longer, just a few days more. They all had to leave in the end though, and they all said the same thing:
"Thank you for the drinks, I'll see you around."

The bartender liked his job, even if he felt as though he were putting something off while he pulled pints and measured out drinks, and so he busied himself with making sure the bar was as clean as ever, waiting for the next person to come walking through the doors.