III

That crew wore jumpsuits, looking like professional fighter pilots. Any grounder would be forgiven for thinking that they were the newest and most modern crew, but a real spacer knew anyone dressed like that was likely from the original generation, back when the drive was first pushed into service.

More and more eyes fell on the old man. Old spacers were not a common sight, between the high desertion and danger cutting many lives short, but more than that the drives had simply not been around for the thousands of years that they would need to be to produce an old spacer. No, most old spacers were merely old men who realised their time was soon approaching, and took to the stars to try to out-run it.

Not that any of that mattered. The old man was not a spacer. He moved with the weight of the world upon him, with cares, needs, a connection to this solar system that the ghosts that parted way for him lacked. He shuffled closer to the bar, Tender moving over towards him as he asked loudly, "Is he here?"

I immediately discarded plans for a refill, turning away from the bar and leaning forwards on the long table. I felt every pair of eyes along the table turn from the old man and burn into me instead, so I hung my head, waiting for it to end. Tender replied in the same monotone as always, "No, sir, he is not. I'm afraid this is a bar for spacers, I will have to ask you to leave."

A tired groan arose from a few others around me, letting me know that this conversation had happened many times before. The old man protested, "I will leave when you tell me where my father is!"

"Your father is out in the colonies on a supply run," the bartender replied, and then pointed to the door, "I will call you if he returns."

The old man cursed the metal bartender, calling him the sorts of names that would make the robotic crew by the door blush were they able, a man of his age not meant to use such foul language. He slowly turned, shuffling his way out of the bar. No one watched him go. They were still watching me. I could feel it.

This continued until I couldn't take it anymore, and I rose, headed over to the bar. I held out my drink for Tender to refill, silent. I had hoped that this time, when I returned, he would be gone.

Perhaps I was thirty-four days early.

As Tender finished refilling my drink, he spoke up in the same monotone that had just dismissed my son, "Sixteen years ago I was talking to a spacer who finally explained what you are."

The bar's atmosphere was still on hold, watching as I was talked down to by an ancient robot that each spacer in here could purchase a legion of, if there was even a company still producing them.

"You're a coward," Tender asserted, and I swear I could hear the faintest level of emotion in his voice as he learnt something new.

I took my drink, headed to a side table as the judgement was laid upon me. Slowly, the bar started up again as I sat alone and drank. Next time I return, that old man will be gone. Next time, I'll return to the way a spacer should be. Timeless, unchanging, with no connections to reality left.

A ship and a crew, adventures and stories, and not a single person left to care about when we push our ships to the speed of light. Flying so fast that we break the barrier of time, watching as humanity evolves beneath us but never returning, roaming far and wide before returning to the only place we truly feel alive -

The Bar at the End of Time.