Chapter Fourteen
Tequila
Alien bars are a lot like bars on Earth. Some are
pounding, pulsing music and lights, some are dark taverns
with darker beer. Locals and intergalactic travellers alike
would find them, hoping to drown their sorrows in the
bottom of a whiskey glass, forget their pain in a stranger’s
arms, throw away cares with cards and dancing and shots
all around. This one was large and long and semi-dark, one
of the low-key local haunts, but the locals didn’t mind when
Rangers in the area stopped by for a drink or two on their
day off – it usually made for excitement of one kind or
another.
Up leaned against the bar, wooden and smelling of a
hundred days of spilt alcohol, sipping at a purple Yularian
scotch. He’d offered the evening’s shore leave in an effort
to help his crew forget that they’d just spent a rough couple
of weeks battling stray robot fighters in the Beta sector, and
several dozen of his Rangers had taken him up on it.
Everyone was growing tense as the robot-human conflicts
had begun to escalate, and the G.L.E.E. couldn’t afford to
lose soldiers to burnout now. He figured a night off would
do his Rangers good.
It seemed to be working – to his right a few young
ensigns were trying their luck with the local ladies, and a
rowdy game of cards was taking place in the corner. But
most of the bar’s blurry attention was focused on the
makeshift stage set up in the corner of the room. It was