Nick Collins pushed his way through the pair of swinging doors into the bar, doffed his dark-colored forage cap then wiped the sweat from his forehead onto his uniform jacket’s sleeve. It was nice and cool inside and the dimly lit atmosphere of a neighborhood dive suited him perfectly. He grinned to himself and stepped up to the bar.
A paunchy older man with a graying, receding hairline that retained a bit of black around the temples looked up from wiping down a glass and nodded to Nick. The young man took a stool, placed his hat on the bar next to him and asked, “What have you got on tap?”
The bartender pulled out a mug from beneath the bar and returned, “What do you want?”
“Uh,” Nick paused. What did he want? “Whatever domestic ale you like’s fine,” he decided.
The barman grunted as he pulled on a tap beneath the counter, shaking his head in what Nick hoped was amusement rather than derision, then slid a frothing mug towards Nick. He took a long, foamy pull, then let go a heavy sigh of satisfaction. “That’s good. What is it?” The older man grunted again, but otherwise did not respond, suddenly very engrossed in cleaning some invisible spot on the bar.
Nick shrugged, took another sip from the beer and swiveled his seat around to get a better look at the room. He hadn’t been here before, but had already decided he liked it. The place was empty at this hour, but the small, square tables spaced at regular intervals around the room looked like they could hold quite a few people and Nick judged it would make an excellent new hangout. There was even a pool table along the back wall and a juke box near the end of the bar. What more could a man ask for?
Well, there was one thing. Now that he’d noticed the table, Nick would kill for a couple of other guys to shoot some pool with. He hadn’t touched a cue since his long-gone school days, but it was just like riding a bike, right? Even if he was rusty, he’d have a blast just shooting around.
The sound of the doors swinging open again, and booted footsteps on the hardwood floors, turned his head towards the entrance and the sight that greeted him split his lips into his brightest smile. This was turning out to be one terrific place!
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Nick rose from his stool and spread his arms wide in welcome as he approached the two men who’d just entered. “Jules Hemmingway and Pete Montoya! How the Hell are ya, guys?”
The newcomers, Hemmingway clean-shaven, tall and muscled like a boxer and Montoya mustachioed, of average height and above average weight, mirrored Nick’s grin as the three exchanged hearty handshakes and greetings. Like Nick, the men wore the uniforms of flight captains, though theirs were of different outfits than Nick’s.
“Imagine running into the two of you here, of all places.” Nick motioned to the bartender to bring drinks for his friends as he carried his own to a table and sat down. “God, I haven’t seen either of you since we graduated. What’s it been now, seven years?” Nick nodded in answer to his own question and, without waiting for any other response, continued. “What have you been up to?”
Hemmingway and Montoya exchanged a glance before the latter sat down and said “Oh, same as you, I suppose. How’s the brew here?” There was something odd in the two men’s mannerisms, but joy at seeing his friends pushed that detail to the back of Nick’s mind. The barkeep appeared, further distracting Nick, and set down a pair of mugs then shuffled off without a word. “Thanks!” Nick called after him before turning back to answer Montoya, “See for yourself.”
After a preliminary taste, the newcomers deemed the beer satisfactory and the three men sipped in silence for an awkward moment. Hemmingway was the first to crack. “So, you hang out here, Nicky?”
Nick tipped back his mug, finishing off the dregs and smacking his lips happily. “Nope, first time here, actually. The place I normally hang around’s getting kinda old. Hey!” He jumped up from the table and pointed towards the rear wall of the room. “You guys wanna shoot around a bit?”
Trusting his friends to follow, Nick headed to the back and racked up the balls for a new game.
Montoya and Hemmingway arrived, looked over the small collection of cues on the wall and selected their sticks. Montoya said, “Jules and I’ll take turns playing you, alright?”
“Sure.” Nick selected his own cue and asked, “Wanna put something down to make it interesting?”
Hemmingway dismissed the idea. “Nah, we’re all friends. Why complicate it?” That didn’t sound like the Hemmingway Nick remembered; back in school, his buddy had been mad for any sort of competition. Nick filed it away as something else he didn’t want to think about just now.
Instead, Nick nodded as they lagged down for the break and won. Hunched down and lining up his cue, he was surprised by the interruption of a female voice from somewhere above their heads, skewing his shot and making a terrible break. “Collins!”
Barely a moment later, the irritated voice boomed out again. “Nick Collins, you respond now!”
Nick’s cheeks reddened as his friends gave him questioning looks. “Um, I’m here, ma’am.”
The voice’s tone changed from irritated to mocking. “And ‘here’ is down in the holo-room, am I right?”
“Yes,” Nick gulped, feeling his face burn even hotter. Hemmingway and Montoya looked on curiously, wondering what had interrupted their barely-begun game.
“A split shift means you have to come back, you know. Now get your keister back up here! You’ve got drinks to serve and we’ve got impatient, thirsty passengers on this starship!” Nick sighed and hung his head, “Sorry, guys. Maybe we can pick this up some other time.” He quietly added, “Computer, end simulation Collins zero-one-one-nine.” At his command first his friends, then the bar itself, flickered, blurred then faded from existence entirely to be replaced by a room of equal size, featureless except for the thousands of tiny projector lenses sprouting from every surface.
“And you better be in the right uniform!” his shift-supervisor shrieked over the comm.
Steward Collins, hat in hand and shoulders slumped, trudged towards the waiting door and his dinner shift. “Yes, ma’am.”