BOB's Bar
Page 1
Contents
Bob's Bar
Dedication
Legal
Bar Stories From The Multiverse
The Accidental War
Interlude
The Vampire Vigilante
Interlude
Conspiracy
Interlude
Terry Henry Walton Tells a No-Shitter
Interlude
The Cheese God of Baa-Daa-Doosh
Interlude
Making Merit
Interlude
How I Stopped a Pirate Attack With a Nymphomaniac
Closing Time
About the Authors and Their Other Tales
M.D. Cooper
Richard Fox
Barry J. Hutchison
Craig Martelle
Andrew Dobell
Michael Anderle
Jonathan Brazee
BOB’S BAR
Tales From The Multiverse
Volume I
Michael Anderle
Jonathan P. Brazee
M.D. Cooper
Craig Martelle
Barry J. Hutchison
Andrew Dobell
Richard Fox
BOB’S BAR
Tales From The Multiverse
Volume I
Thank you to the following JIT Readers
Joshua Ahles
James Caplan
Sarah Weir
John Ashmore
Kelly O’Donnell
Kimberly Boyer
Peter Manis
Larry Omans
If we missed anyone, please let us know!
Editor Lynne Stiegler
BOB’S BAR, Tales From the Multiverse Volume One (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2018 M.D. Cooper, Jonathan P. Brazee, Andrew Dobell, Richard Fox, Craig Martelle, Barry J. Hutchison, Michael Anderle and LMBPN Publishing
Cover by Andrew Dobell, www.creativeedgestudios.co.uk
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact info@kurtherianbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, February 2018
BAR STORIES FROM THE MULTIVERSE
BOB cleaned the glass, slowly wiping the rim with its towel as it waited. It held the glass up to look for any imperfections. Finding none, it placed the glass back in the rack and picked up the next one. BOB had cleaned each of the hundred and forty-four glasses behind the bar thirty-one times now, and it was prepared to clean them another thirty-one times if it had to until the patrons arrived.
The bar was something new to BOB, and if it had possessed something other than electrons bouncing back and forth inside the circuits that made up its brain, it might have wondered about a place where organisms gathered to consume poisons and lose their faculties. The bar construct was very different from any other place created by the Collector. The patrons, too, were different from any others BOB had yet encountered.
BOB might be a construct itself—a Binary Operated Being—but it was not a mindless automaton. It had its own brand of curiosity, and it was programmed to interact with both the setting and the patrons—all the better to gather the data the Collector desired. Every time BOB recorded a patron’s story, its circuits received electronic rewards that, if they didn’t give pleasure, created a reasonable facsimile.
BOB had stopped cleaning the glass and was putting it back in its place when an ultraviolet light glowed over the entrance into the bar. The door opened, and a large, well-muscled human with dark hair came in. He looked around, eyebrows scrunched, and saw BOB. His eyes relaxed as recognition set in, then with a firm step, he walked up to it.
Once again, the Collector knew how to create a construct that put the patrons at ease, no matter what type of being it was. BOB did not understand why these humans would consume poison, but the thought that the Collector might have made a mistake never crossed its electronic mind.
“May I get you something to drink, Colonel?” BOB asked.
Colonel Terry Henry Walton put a foot up on the rail and asked, “What do you have?”
“Everything, sir.”
A thought looked to cross his mind, as if he was trying to grasp at something that managed to remain just out of reach. He shook his head and said, “How about a Guinness?”
“Certainly, sir,” BOB said, reaching under the bar and pulling out a stein of the dark stout.
Colonel Walton frowned slightly, but he took a sip and immediately relaxed. “Kind of empty here tonight.”
“More are coming, sir.”
As if on cue, the entrance lit up again, and a tall blonde woman BOB identified as Admiral Tanis Richards strode into the bar. She wore a long red and black tunic with the simple logo “ISF” emblazoned on the left side of her chest.
BOB sensed something different about her. It was as though her presence was split—almost as though part of her was not in the bar. At the same time, however, her presence seemed more, as if there were two of her. She bore watching.
Her brow lowered and her lips drew into a thin line as she surveyed the room, and her eyes paused on the man at the bar for a moment before sliding to BOB. She nodded to him and strode toward the polished counter, leaning an elbow on the wood as she addressed the construct.
“Servitor, what’s the name of this fine establishment? It looks . . . familiar, though nothing at all like the officer’s mess I expected to walk into.”
“Thank you, ma’am, I strive to present a comforting atmosphere,” BOB replied. “You may call me ‘BOB,’ and this is the Multiverse Bar. What would you like to drink?”
Tanis Richards gave a short laugh. “‘BOB?’ Well, BOB, today I need your strongest coffee. We’ll see what shakes loose after that. Nice name, by the way. Not sure if the bar suits you, though.”
BOB set to work, and the woman turned to Colonel Walton.
“Tanis Richards,” she said, offering her hand to the man, who gave it a single shake.
“Terry Henry Walton, but my friends call me ‘TH,’” he replied, and took a sip of his drink.
Tanis settled onto a barstool a few down from Terry and ran a hand through her hair as she looked around. “It’s weird. There’s something about this place, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Feels like I’ve been here before, too,” Terry replied.
“So, you’re not behind whatever,” Tanis paused and waved a hand, gesturing at their surroundings, “this is?”
“Nope, just got here myself.”
BOB set a cup of coffee prepared just the way she liked in front of Tanis, and she took a sip and sighed. “Ok, BOB, I don’t care where I am. You keep serving java like this and I’ll stick around for ‘just one more cup’ till the stars burn out.”
“Glad you like it,” BOB said with a single nod before it returned to polishing the glasses.
Before either human had taken another sip of their drinks, th
e entrance flared once more and another human female walked in. This one was a nearly a foot shorter than Tanis and had deep red hair that didn’t look quite natural. She looked around the bar, confused for a moment. There was something about the exotic energy signature of this woman that surprised BOB—the Collector hadn’t briefed him that Amanda-Jane Page would be any different than the other humans. She had abilities the first two didn’t—that much was clear—but BOB trusted the Collector and his judgment. It watched to see what would happen.
“Ur-huh, erm . . . well, that was unexpected,” she said, looking at the door she’d just stepped through.
BOB was equipped with a multitude of broad-spectrum sensors, energy levels spiked as she looked around the room in slight confusion. Those levels dropped again when Amanda shrugged and seemed to accept where she was.
Amanda spotted the other two humans at the bar, and she nodded to them with a friendly smile as they glanced at her. She walked over to the bar, stopping just to the left of Tanis and Terry.
Those strange energy readings could affect others. BOB was programmed to keep the situation calm, so it immediately placed itself in front of her and asked, “Good evening, Amanda. May I get you a drink?”
“To be sure,” she answered in an accent BOB codified as Irish. “How about a large red wine? Something fruity.”
“Certainly, Amanda. I will have it for you in a moment,” BOB answered, opening a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape grenache.
“Hi, I’m Amanda. Nice to meet you,” Amanda said to the other two. “So…um, what’s the craic? Anyone know where we are? Because this isn’t my ship, it isn’t the Aetheric Realm, and it’s certainly not Earth. In fact, it kind of feels like nowhere—or between places. Strange!”
“Sorry, I’ve got no idea, but the beer’s good. I’m Terry Henry Walton,” the colonel said.
“Guinness! Good choice. Gotta love the black stuff,” she said before picking up the glass of wine BOB set before her and taking a sip.
“It’s a good one, too. You should have one,” Terry declared.
“I will, later. The wine’s good too though, don’t yeh know.”
“I hear some Irish in your voice,” Terry said.
“Yeah, I grew up there. Traveled around a lot since, mind.” Amanda leaned against the counter, facing the man. “You?”
“I’m from a few different places, but I’m currently stationed on the War Axe.”
“The who in the what, now?” Amanda blinked.
“Our ship. We’re on the edge of Federation space.”
“Oh. Are you from the same place?” Amanda asked, turning to Tanis.
“No, I’ve only met Terry for the first time a moment ago,” Tanis said. “I was headed to the officers’ mess for a BLT . . . and then I was here. I’m not sure what happened, but the servitor seems friendly enough. Makes a damn good coffee, too.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Amanda said, offering Tanis her hand.
The tall blonde shook it with a smile. “Admiral Tanis Richards.”
“An admiral... Wow, impressive! You’ve come here from a spaceship too?”
“The I2, yes.”
“So, you’re from a spaceship and you’re wearing a red shirt . . .” Amanda said, raising an eyebrow.
Terry snorted, but there was a smile on his face. Tanis just looked confused.
“Sorry. Don’t worry about it.” Amanda smiled, touching Tanis’s on the arm in a gesture of friendship. “It was just a stupid sci-fi reference.”
“What’s ‘sci-fi?’” Tanis asked before taking another sip of her coffee.
BOB stayed silent, but it heard every word. It understood each word as well, but it didn’t believe it understood the intended meanings. Why a red shirt should have significance was beyond it.
The entrance light flared again. None of the humans could see it, but it was a beacon for BOB.
***
General Ryck Lysander entered the bar and stopped dead, frowning. BOB didn’t know if this was his regular expression or if he suspected something wasn’t normal. The general turned back to look at the entrance, and BOB thought he might try to leave.
Not that walking back out would work. The general was stuck here in the bar until the Collector decided to release the patrons.
The other three humans were engaged with each other, so BOB left them at the bar and approached the Marine.
“General Lysander, I’m glad you decided to come after all. May I get you a drink?” BOB asked as if it had expected him.
BOB had in fact expected the man since he was on the Collector’s list, but it attempted to infer that the Marine had already known about the bar and decided to come on his own. BOB could almost see the thought process going on behind the general’s eyes as he tried to make sense of what was happening.
“I’m sorry,” the general said. “I don’t recall your name.”
“I’m BOB, sir.” it said, as if merely reminding him.
“OK, BOB. If I can get a cider—Hell’s Orchard if you have it—that would be great.”
“Certainly, sir. If you would like to join the others?”
The general looked up and noticed the others for the first time. BOB watched the man’s pupils dilate slightly as he took in the two female humans. BOB had noted the significance of that in its briefing, but the general didn’t react further. He did react when his eyes swiveled to Colonel Walton, though. The wariness he’d maintained since arriving disappeared, and a smile broke out on his face.
“Good to see another Marine,” he said, striding up to the others. “Ryck Lysander, United Federation Marines.”
Colonel Walton noted the stars on Lysander’s uniform and said, “Welcome, General. Colonel Terry Henry Walton, but my friends call me ‘TH.’”
They shook hands, and the general looked at Tanis. “And you are?”
“Admiral Tanis Richards.” She extended her hand and shook his firmly.
BOB knew the general had passed the nexus point, and he seemed susceptible to gentle manipulation, something it filed away for future reference. It placed the cider in front of him while the humans continued their introductions.
The figure that stumbled in next was notable less for his disheveled appearance than for the slimy green blob balancing on one of his leather-jacketed shoulders like some obese snot-covered parrot.
“What the—?” the guy exclaimed, spinning to look back at the entrance just as it grew dark once more. “This isn’t the bathroom.”
Leaning back, the newcomer addressed the ceiling. “Kevin, was this you? Did you move the bathroom?”
He waited for an answer that didn’t come, then shrugged and crossed to the bar.
“Greetings, Cal Carver. Welcome to the Multiverse Bar,” BOB said.
“Uh . . . thanks, I guess.”
Cal looked around him again, but seemed to relax a little when he spotted the other humans. He tapped a finger to his forehead in salute and flashed them the third-finest of his practiced grins.
“What may I offer you to drink?” BOB asked.
Cal turned back to the robot and puffed out his cheeks. “Well, I was headed for the bathroom, but since I’m here . . . guess it’d be rude not to. Right, buddy?”
The green blob on his shoulder trembled, rippling its gelatinous surface but didn’t otherwise reply. There were two perfectly round eyeballs buried inside the goo, both of which were fixed firmly on BOB.
It was quite disconcerting, if BOB were being honest.
Cal studied the array of bottles behind the bar. “OK, BOB, how about you surprise me?”
BOB hesitated. This had never been asked of it before, and it had to access a decision tree to determine how to respond.
It banged its hand on the bartop, making Cal jump.
“Jesus!” Cal yelped. “What was that for?”
“I was trying to surprise you,” BOB said. “Did it work?”
“No, that’s not . . . I meant . . . Forget it,” said Cal. H
e gestured to some blue stuff in a chunky bottle. “I’ll have one of those.”
Cal stole a glance around the bar again, sizing the others up while he waited for his drink to arrive. He didn’t have to wait long, and reached for it as soon as he heard the glass clunk down.
Raising the glass to the room in general, Cal mumbled, “Cheers,” then downed the liquid in one swift gulp.
His legs buckled immediately, forcing him to grab the bar to stay upright. He grimaced, snorted, coughed, and gagged all at the same time.
“I’m on fire. Oh, God. Everything’s on fire,” he sobbed, then he slapped a hand to his forehead. “My face. I can’t feel my face!”
Heaving himself up with his elbows, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, spoke briefly in tongues, then nodded his approval.
“Perfect,” he said in a dry, rasping wheeze. “Give me another of those, and this time make it a double.”
BOB knew that the amount of poison in the shot of D’Shalah Tusteron was at toxic levels, and it had watched Cal with electronic curiosity as he had downed the glass. Now he wanted another? It began to realize why the Collector had brought the construct to this node between universes. Humans were not normal.
***
The patrons turned another time as the door into the bar opened, curious to see who was coming in this time.
It was a human female in black leather pants and a black long-sleeved Under Armour shirt, and she had black hair and not-quite-alabaster skin. She blinked once at the group who was staring at her, then glanced behind her. “Fucking hell,” she mused as she turned back around. “I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore.”
BOB noted that Bethany Anne had a link to the same exotic energy Amanda did, but hers was different. It hadn’t flared or increased when she stepped into the bar.
She strode over to the group at the bar. “Hey, TH!” She smiled and stepped around the crew to give the man a hug. “Where the fuck are we?”