Space... it might not be much, but I like to call it home.
Who am I? I'm Neell; I own and operate the best restaurant/bar on Interstellar Refueling Station 28... well, the only restaurant/bar on IRS 28, situated equidistant to several of the known space-faring civilizations in the galaxy. I named my establishment The Porthole, as it is on the 'port' side of the station, which doesn't mean much when 80% of the clientele that passes through don't speak Terran languages, let alone English, and it is a watering hole for said clientele, much like the bodies of water by the same name on Terra: a place to gain refreshment and relax after a hard day of space travel.
I am not alone in this endeavor: I have a staff of 3 who assist me. They are best described as gelatinous beings from the planet Gg, pronounced /guh-guh/: their names are Aa, who is a deep blue (think toilet bowl water for those who grew up in artificial gravity fields, or planets), Ee, who is a brilliant red, and Mm, who is a semi-transparent green. Aa and Ee spend most of their time squeezed between two sheets of transparent steel, so newcomers think they are some sort of clever decorative element, until their table needs bussing. Either Aa or Ee will squirt out of holes in the bar or the tables, wrap themselves around the items in question, digest them, and return from whence they came. Regulars know to toss scraps into one of the holes to inform Aa and Ee that their services are required, but first-timers usually recoil in shock when they appear, which is just as well, because scraps, glasses and patrons all taste the same. Neell has to keep a close eye on anyone who drinks too much and falls asleep on the bar.
The Porthole sees a steady stream of customers, by crews killing time while their ships are being refueled, by the station’s regular staff, and by the security forces of the nearby galactic governments. Fighting is not uncommon, but rarely dangerous, as I installed a dampening field that neutralizes all known energy weapons in the establishment. No one, so far, has been foolish enough to bring a projectile weapon on board the station, let alone into The Porthole. Edged weapons are another matter, which is why semi-transparent Mm ‘stands’ at the two entrances. Individuals with swords, knives and the like need to slowly insert them along with some portion of their anatomy into Mm, so it knows whose weapon(s) to retrieve when they want to depart. Failure to “check your iron at the door” can result in being barred entry at best, and being barred the continued ability to draw breath at worst.
Yeah, life here is good: the customers like me, my staff hasn't eaten me, and I make a small profit to keep me comfortable.
To be continued...