II

In truth, my crew this time were fresh and new, children practically, though they were only four years younger than I, at my tender age of twenty-three. And yet, I had seen the centuries before they were born. Right now, they weren't chasing the working girls with their fresh pay. They were curled up on the floor of our ship's common room, screaming, crying and tearing at their hair as the messages that had been sent decades ago finally arrived, and the reality of what they had done hit them.

Perhaps I was wrong to leave them like that, and come here instead, but I'm no good at dealing with people in that state. Hell, after flying for so long, I'm not sure I'm good at dealing with people at all. Jaded, exhausted, and used to it now. They'll recover soon and either desert the ship or their resolve will harden, and soon I'll see them in this bar as if they had been drinking here since 2164.

It had only been a two month supply run out to the colony of Gilgamesh, and then two months back with their recent discoveries aboard. We did as spacers do, and pushed our ship to the speed of light, as close as we could get. By the time we returned, the world had changed. As the banter between myself and James of Bulla was overruled by a fresh arrival wearing powered armour from a war that had ended eighty years ago, my view shifted to the back wall of the bar.

Next to the big window giving us all a view of the maiden-home we could never return to, there was a wall of clocks. Some spacers had given it fancier names, but in the end the names for it were as different as our clothing styles. Every clock had a name above it, Farewell to Maiden-Home, Heartbeat, Starblazer, Volcani's Legacy, Enterprise, Last One Out.

And my new ship, No Regrets. I wish I'd known back when I named it, that every other bastard in the bar would just shorten it to 'Regret'. Every clock displayed a different time and date, the most recent a time around thirty-six years ago. Even the seconds ticked at a different rate per clock, the wall softly pulsing in a strange wave that got far more fun to look at the drunker you were.

Above all of them sat the one clock that I never liked looking at. Earth. Turns out my supply run to Gilgamesh cost the young men of my crew twenty years. An intense desire to repeat a stunt from a year and a half ago came over me – get drunk beyond belief and then climb up the wall to try and pull down the Earth clock. Last time it was James of Bulla that defeated my attempt, slapped some sense into me and spent the rest of the night finishing my alcohol.

My scheming was interrupted by the arrival of another warrior, his power armour looking battle scarred and burnt compared to the pristine suit of the current boasting man. It was only when he sat opposite the other warrior that I realised his armour wasn't burnt, but rather of a darker camouflage. The rest of the spacers had picked up on this too, as talk at the table quietened and people shifted, ready to move.

The boisterous warrior was the last to fall silent, matching the gaze of the new arrival, who spoke first, "You owe me a drink." Those words sent out a wave of relief, and the chatter returned as the two warriors, one victorious and one defeated, both removed their helmets and shared a drink. Perhaps they were both aware that whatever victory had been won was likely already forgotten by all save for themselves.

I traded words with the other crews while I drained my glass, feeling almost human again as friends arrived, shared drinks and stories and then left to head out into the stars once more. I was turning to go get a new drink when I saw a rather unusual sight at the bar. An old man had just shuffled in the door way, a walker pushed out in front of him as he slowly stepped his way towards the bar. The spacers there moved aside to allow him access.