watching repeats on my ceiling, another hour left to kill;
Since the supplies had failed to arrive and therefore stock the Complex for the month, Rostat had been relatively quiet, at least after Aiden and the other bartenders on staff got it through to everyone — regulars or otherwise — that they didn’t have the means to just whip up a batch of homemade moonshine and send them all on their way with the fuzzy brains and warm thoughts that were usually brought about by free alcohol. It had been extremely stressful at first, reminding everyone that they were required, as part of their jobs, to serve the liquor when they had it, and that they weren’t about to keep it for themselves. They’d been drained dry, like Cavern, and would have gladly handed over any reserves they’d had at the first sign of trouble. Thankfully any fights that had broken out had been short-lived, resolved either by Aiden and his co-workers personally or by the quick-to-respond Authority who were more active in the streets with things so tense following a shortage of this magnitude.

Aiden wasn’t a cowardly sort, wasn’t at all easy to intimidate, but having the black-clad men around was a reassurance he could most definitely live with. There were only so many things that he and the others could resolve on their own, and there was a point where managing those problems yourself just became plain stupid or reckless. Both, even. Some people got a little needy for alcohol, paling in comparison to the quality of pre-War stocks though their supply was at the best of times, and there was no telling what a desperate man would do when denied his after-work drink, not to mention the half a dozen that would likely have followed it.

But now, in comparison, the bar was just dull. Lifeless, even. It would have been almost ‘cushy’ if currency had still existed and there had been any promise of getting paid for doing nothing for several hours on end. As it was, this was his part in the grand scheme; he worked his shift, went home, ate leftovers out of his fridge and watched reruns on the television for a while before he called it a night. Maybe he ran for a while. It varied, mostly depending on the weather. There weren’t really any luxuries left, especially not during a ‘drought’ like this. Tonight, he had already cleaned the bar down (twice), tidied the stools, checked the corners and hidden crevices the regulars had discovered for any hidden ‘treasures’ like glasses that would only go furry in the base or litter they couldn’t be bothered to leave on the tabletops for the bartenders to clear up. He had changed the faulty bulb in the men’s room, gone over the glasses for any stains or smudges, and checked that the cellar was well and truly locked.

For a couple of hours after that, he’d been poking around on the limited but thankfully still-available internet, a fruitless endeavour until Susan Ash’s journal message had been launched. Now that he’d convinced her to head on over for a little downtime from the Medlab, he would at least have something to do, and some favourable company at the same time.

Of course, it would take her a while to get to the bar from her place of work. Until then, Aiden had little else to do except what he had been doing prior to her announcement. He would check pages, refresh things too many times, and occasionally lean back in the old, cushioned and squeaky office chair to check no one had come into Rostat without him noticing.

Not that he wouldn’t notice. Aiden Fields would hear them long before they even reached the bar.


( SUSAN )