Chaos Fountain

By D.C. Ballard

Chaos Fountain is the Story of Kyle Durlow. A regular Joe Human who, after a chance encounter on the streets of San Diego, is drawn into a world where titans of industry have business meetings with gods, and he is dragged along for the ride.

Quickly learning that not only are we not alone in the universe, but it is a far larger, more dangerous, weird, and wonderful place than even our worst nightmares dare consider. Kyle is set, like it or not, on a path where his choices will alter the direction of not just his own life, but the destiny of the Earth, Humanity, and the very Universe itself.

He finds love, adventure, new friends, death defying escapes, world shattering revelations about ancient universe spanning wars lost to forgotten histories, and a job unlike anything he could have imagined.

Presented with the opportunity to stay in this world where any world, even time itself could be at his fingertips. Kyle grabs the chance, and he is still not certain if that is the right decision.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.C. Ballard
• Release date: Dec 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370260294

D.C. Ballard

I am a husband, father, IT guy, and author. I write in hopes of making something my daughter can point to and be proud of, to point to and say "my daddy wrote that." I also write to shut up the voices of my characters demanding to be heard and written down, as well as to shut up Muse and to stop the metaphorical abuse. I wrote a great deal of story pieces and ideas many, many years ago in my mid to late 20's, and then life, jobs, and Muse taking a protracted vacation ended that until recently. After my daughter was born, Muse returned and motivated me to get back into it, going back through all those old story parts, snippets, and ideas, realizing that most of them were related to each other, pieces of a larger whole that I had not seen before. I have now stitched most of those together, and am working to publish the completed stories. Plus, now that Muse is talking to, an abusing me again, I have many more stories, both related to that original universe, and independent of it.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

I want to again, and endlessly, thank my wife for her patience and support. You put up with me not sleeping whenever Muse feels it necessary to abuse me with ideas and inspiration to write. You read this when I was done, despite it not being your type of book. Your input was invaluable in improving my writing and getting this book to the finish line.

I would also like to thank my friends who willingly subjected themselves to my writing, even when it was not always that good, and sometimes even terrible. I want to thank you for being as brutally honest with me as you were. You helped bring out the best in my writing and made this book into what it became.

Memory of Your Smile

By. D.C. Ballard

What can I say of thee my friend?

When my unrequited love bites so bitterly.

Knowing you felt as I.

Both of us believing,

Our love could never be returned.

The pain of knowledge slashes upon my soul.

I lament of time and opportunity for love lost.

Passed beyond reach.

May you rest in peace eternal my friend.

I take with me the knowledge of your love,

and the memory of your smile,

As I set sail across the dark and endless sea of time.

I am the last of the old.

The guardian of the new.

Eternally alone I shall always be.

Yet so long as I remember the strength in your touch,

And the joy knowing you brought into my life.

I will never truly be alone.

In Memory of Jarvis, Whose Courage, Dedication, and Love, was an Inspiration to all Who Knew Him. And whose Beauty, Grace, Strength, and Devotion, was Cherished by all Who Loved Him.

Foreword

Did it all happen like I think it did? Was it... Is it all real, or just fantasy? Just a psychotic break to compensate for the horror that was that day, and I’m actually in some loony bin with an I-Love-Me-Jacket?

I have the recordings. I have my notes. Hell, I wrote this to try and get a handle on what happened and convince myself that I am not completely around the bend. The universe is so much bigger, weirder, wonderful, dangerous, and terrifying than even my most horrible nightmares dared imagine.

Did I really meet a Dragon on the streets of San Diego? A being who then took me for a drink in a bar that exists beyond Space and Time? Did I really fall for the waitress, who happens to also be a telepath, and an alien? Damn that tail…. Did I really have breakfast with Zeus as he talked business with a guy that wasn’t a god, but damn well ought to be?

When I was growing up, aliens, star ships, and intergalactic wars were all the stuff of SciFi novels and TV shows. I was a SciFi nerd. Yet I never in my wildest dreams saw myself in command of weapons that make those in my favorite SciFi books and movies look like Nerf darts.

I have to wonder about my own sanity. After all this, everything that has happened, it is just so fantastically beyond what I thought I knew about reality. I have to ask myself if it was real. To confirm that it was. Because if it wasn’t. If it was all just a dream, a wild flight of fantasy. I’m probably somewhere with an I-Love-Me-Jacket and a padded cell, and deservedly so.

– Kyle Durlow

1

Beginnings

My name is Kyle Durlow and I'm going to tell you a story. It is a true story, and details events from my perspective, as best as I can recount and explain them, although I doubt you will believe it. I know I wouldn't. I barely believe it myself, and I lived it, or more accurately, I survived it.

As a point of note before I begin, some pieces of conversation are translated. I've tried to be faithful in conveying the meaning, if not the actual words spoken, assuming they were spoken, as some concepts simply do not translate well, if at all, and telepathy is a whole different thing. A perfect example would be the Kan-kada word Tiss-lasska. Hiss that out if you are trying to say it. Literally translated it is, pain like ripping your tail out. The concept just doesn't cross over. I’m also going to try and jump through the boring parts so we can get at the fun parts.

I was asked by the person this story was supposed to be about to write a biography of sorts. A Day in the Life of, kind of thing. It did not end up being that, and at this point, I'm not sure if it was ever actually meant to be. With him, you can never really tell.

Given everything, I think this is going to end up more of a How I Survived type of story. I mean, he canceled the contract, so I got to keep the advance. I’ve got a new position, new responsibilities, and a regular paycheck that far outstrips the advance he gave me.

I think me sitting down to write this is more about going over what happened, trying to get a real handle on, and how, to deal with it. And maybe.., just maybe.., gain an understanding of how I have changed because of, and due to, what happened.

…. Who am I trying to fool? That is exactly why I am writing this.

I suppose I should start with how I came to be writing this at all, as well as how I can be doing so with a roof over my head. Considering I told my micromanaging prick of a boss where to go, how to get there, what to do when he got there, and offered to help.

About three weeks ago, actually I think it is closer to eight, maybe it's more.., I am actually not sure. My watch stopped after the Nova-Rip in the Galactus Androx Delta sector. Okay, hang on a second. ….

The watch was totally dead after the Nova-Rip, so I had taken it off and left it in my stateroom. But.., I wasn't wearing my bracers when I got blown out the airlock at Dravos 6…

Hmm.., now I know I have to go get a full exam at the gym, and find out what the hell. I am just going to have to bite the bullet, give Carrie a call, and set it up. Though that is an entirely different thing and I might get into that later, probably book 300, if I live that long. Hell, I still don't know what all he did to me. I may be immortal now for all I know. All the more reason to set up that appointment.

Wait… Damn it. I keep forgetting. It has only been about two weeks since I entered Joe's, for everyone here on Earth that is. Like he kept saying, Time travel is a bitch, Kyle. You never quite get used to it. Of course, that means. Let's see…

Carry the one…. Yep, that assault will happen next month. Hahaha. Oh man, that will mess with your head. I'll have to remember to have Joe shift us so that we get back into linear. Sure, we could wait it out, but I understand that it can be rather unpleasant and should be avoided.

Anyway. On with the story.

~

It all started in San Diego California, planet Earth. The third planet of twelve around a fairly plain G-type star. I am human, sandy brown hair to my shoulders, and clean shaven. Yes, that is important, the human part.

Kate, my girlfriend of several weeks now, for us at least, says she likes it. I'm about 228 pounds, five foot ten, average build with a bit extra around the middle due to a burrito addiction, and gray hazel eyes. Just Joe average going nowhere fast guy. At least that is who I was.

When I got up for work that morning, I found my girlfriend at the time, Lisa, already awake. We had been having a rough go of it. She wanted more than I was willing or able to give. I cannot say I didn’t love her, but I didn’t love her the way she wanted. Then again, she had cheated on me twice before when I can say I think I did love her that way.

As for the why..., I just don’t know why. She said it was because I was too nice so I must have been up to something. I wasn’t, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. She wasn’t happy with me, and I was comfortable, but it wasn’t more than that. So, while it was a surprise, it really wasn’t.

While I was making coffee, she informed me that she had packed my bags for me and had her new boyfriend load them in my car. I had suspected that she had been cheating on me, again, but hadn’t expected that. I really didn’t want to believe that she was cheating on me again, but even if she was, I figured I had another month at least as both our names were on the lease. Little did I know she had re-negotiated the lease with the manager, her new boyfriend, and I was suddenly homeless.

Hell of a way to start the day, but I had my car and figured I could call a friend and crash on a couch while I figured things out. That was my plan. Head to work, and make some calls while I was on lunch. It wasn’t the best start, but it could have been worse.

I scored a burrito for breakfast, and was at work in enough time that I got to eat it instead of abandoning it to the fridge and a prayer that Eddy wouldn’t find it. All in all, not a great day, but still not a horrible day, or so I thought. Life has a way of kicking you when you are down, and it tends to wear spiked, steel-toed, boots.

I was sitting in the parking lot listening to Pandora, a station based off of the bad Disturbed, and trying to unwrap and eat a huge burrito with one hand while working a scalding hot Caramel Mocca latte in the other, as the cup holders were broken and there were no level places to set it.

I am a skilled artist when it comes to fast food intake, so I managed to get the top open, and diaper wrap on the bottom. Nothing starts your day like carne asada, melted cheese, and real Mexican salsa, wrapped in a steaming flour tortilla. Juanbertos food truck may not meet health department standards, a solid C minus, but when the food tastes that good, it’s worth the Salmonella risk.

Everything was going well. I had eaten as far down the burrito as I could, about half way, and needed to unwrap it more to finish. Doing this would normally not be a problem, I do it while driving all the time, and I was stationary, or was. It should not have been a problem, but suddenly, just as I started, the car started shaking violently, like an earthquake.

It felt like the big one. The car lurched and with a sudden screech of metal and a loud bang, just as I was pulling at the foil with my thumb and index finger to roll it down further, the wrapper came undone.

I cried out as the burrito started to unravel, though it was quickly forgotten as smoke began to billow out of the vents. Thick gray smoke that smelled of electrical insulation and burning wires. I tried to turn off the car, but it was unresponsive and I couldn’t breathe. I bailed out. When I looked back, I saw that I did so none too soon, as flames were now shooting out of the vents and from around the edges of the hood.

A few minutes later there were sirens as the police and fire department showed up. They put out my car, my clothes, my laptop, and what was going to be my home if I couldn’t find a couch to crash on.

I lost everything, even my cell phone, and all the phone numbers I was going to call, forgotten in the passenger seat as I abandoned ship. After it was all done, the flat bed tow truck pulling away with the remains of my car. I looked at my watch and saw the time.

Looking across the desk at the disbelieving frown of my supervisor. And that’s why I arrived at work late…again, sir. I explained to him that everything was clearly visible on the security cameras. All my co-workers had watched it go down, some coming out to live stream it, but he wasn’t hearing any of it and wrote me up anyway. In his opinion I should have just let it burn and clocked in.

I got through my shift, bought a cheap phone and had Larry in electronics transfer my account, I then tried to pull down my backed up contacts, only to find out that as my phone died with my car, it malfunctioned and wiped out my backups. I called support, and they said they could probably get some of it back, but it might take a few weeks. In the meantime, I was out of luck.

I finally got off work after being blackmailed into working a 16-hour shift in exchange for shredding the write-up, and I suddenly had a real need for the money. At least he kept that promise and shredded the write-up.

It was late, well after dark, and I was walking down E street in downtown San Diego, going towards the Gaslamp district where I was hoping the buses would still be running by the time I got there.

I was dragging my ass, depressed about the job I hated. Depressed because I was going to be riding the bus and trolley due to my car being destroyed in the fire that morning, along with everything I owned not on my person in that moment. The Insurance company was implying when I called them that they suspected that I set the fire and that they wouldn’t pay out until they had confirmed it was accidental. My newly ex-girlfriend dumping me that morning, kicking me out, and making me homeless. I had nowhere to go and no way to call friends for help because my phone died with my car. I was just hoping that I could knock on a door and they would let me in.

I was at that moment in my life a poster child for a country song. You can't get much lower than that, not without being seriously suicidal. My personal philosophy, suicide is a permanent solution for a temporary problem. Though I tell you this, my problems were looking pretty damned permanent at that precise moment. Tory tells me that I have a great philosophy, one of those lasting truisms, at least that's what I think he called it.

As I was walking, wrapped up in my self-pity I ran into this guy, nearly ran him over actually. He was short, and I have never bothered to ask how tall he actually is. I am five foot ten, and he could not have been taller than four feet.

So there I am, apologizing and trying to help him up when he stops me and say's. It's all right son. Dusting himself off and fending off my help. My fault entirely, I should have seen you there. Sulking along like hundred-year-old Siltarian crawling rot. Names Joe. Offering me a hand. Little Joe as I am referred to by my friends. You look like you have had a pretty difficult day and could use a stiff drink.

Shaking the offered hand. Yeah, that's no doubt, but I'm broke. My girlfriend… slumping my shoulders. I mean my Ex just cleaned out my account, and I have to figure out how to get a new apartment, as she kicked me out as well. I had tried to pull out some money for food and found out that she had in fact cleaned out my account. I, of course, called the bank, which was closed and ended up filing a complaint with someone I wasn’t sure understood everything I said. Yes, that is no longer a problem, but in that moment... Oh, how insignificant my problems of that moment seem from the distance I see them now.

Ooh. Wincing. Damn tough break kid. What say it's on me for running into you like that?

That's not necessary. Really. I said turning to walk away.

No. I insist. Stepping around me and into my way, he was quick for a little old man. How old I would come to understand much later. However, there isn't any place around here that a guy can get a decent drink.

Pointing towards C Street, Well there is Croce's down on C Street. I offered.

Shaking his head, No, no. I know just the place. Come on. Turning and motioning for me to follow. I was definitely not thinking straight because I followed him down the street. I looked him over a bit. Like I said he is short, and also Asian in appearance. I can't say where, just Asian, and old, he looked like he was in his 80's at least, but still spry, and his voice was odd, deep and gravelly, definitely didn’t fit his appearance.

We walked for several blocks and then he walked up to the door of a basic row house. He pulled out a key and glanced around as he slipped it into the lock. I heard a slight hum and then there was this flash, like half of a camera flash. Enough to register that something had happened and I looked around to see if there was someone taking pictures. All I saw was an empty street and cookie cutter houses poorly lit by street lamps.

I should have registered where we were as a red flag, but I blame being overly self-absorbed in my problems to register that where we were, a residential area of downtown, was odd. He pulled out the key, dropped it into a pocket, and motioned for me to follow as he opened the door.

The sounds of a tavern came rolling out of the door. He looked back. Are you coming? My fears that he might be some sort of freak went away, shouldn't have, but they did. So I mustered my courage, what was left of my self-respect, and followed him through the door. Boy was I wrong about him being a freak, but you'll understand that later.

Joe's Bar and Grill

The Beginning and Ending of Adventure

The first thing I noticed was the smell of the place. It was well lit, brighter than you expect for a bar, so I couldn't see much at first. Just one of many odd points that should have raised my hackles that it wasn't a normal bar, but my brain wasn't firing on all cylinders at the time. I smelled the sweet scent of liquor, and the pleasantly acrid scent of tobacco, and incense.

Now that did strike me as strange, as California had a no smoking law for any public establishment, but then again, he did use a key so I figured it was a private club, and therefore not under that law. Something I have learned is both true and not, that being Joe's as a private club.

Good Gods, I was so naive in those first moments.

Joe grabbed my arm and dragged me past the entry and into the bar so the door could close. He sat me down at the bar proper, right about the middle. I hadn't noticed the bar's occupants, which was probably a good thing. If nothing else, the old fight or flight mechanism probably would have had me running out of there in terror.

The bartender walked up. He is probably 7 foot plus, and built like a professional wrestler, again I have never asked. His T-shirt looked painted on, no excess fat on him. The conversation went something like this.

Hey Joe, been awhile. The bartender said, smiling widely. His voice actually matched his appearance, big and burly, with hints of California beach bum mixed with Scotch highlands.

Shrugging his shoulders. Yeah, well you know how a woman can be Joe.

Reaching over the bar and patting him on the shoulder, an easy thing for the guy. No need to say more. How is Carrie anyway?

The usual, keeps me on a tight leash." Smiling and winking at the bartender.

Nodding his head in understanding, and then glancing at me. We've noticed, so who's this?

This? Looking at me himself. Just a kid I nearly ran over.

He got a name? asked the bartender, looking back at the guy who brought me in there.

Turning to face the bartender and then directing his attention to me. Well, you know. He never did tell me, so what is your name kid?

Who me? I said feeling dazed.

The bartender smiled even wider. No, the dragon sitting next to you. Nodding towards Little Joe. Yes, you.

For clarity. Little Joe is the guy that brought me to Joe's whereas Big Joe is the bartender. You really should see their Joe-Joe routine, it's hilarious. Oh! I'm Sorry. I said, blushing. My name is Kyle. Kyle Durlow.

They looked at each other, then Little Joe asked. What do you do Kyle?

I work for Artens and Company. I said mechanically. I was still trying to figure out how I got there.

Do anything for yourself? asked the bartender, leaning on the bar.

Thinking for a moment about the question. I am trying to write a book, but.., I just don't have any ideas.

Grinning, and then slapping his hand on the bar. Well, you are in a room full of ideas. What are you drinking?

I'll have a Beer. I said, trying not to jump out of my skin at the sudden sound of his slap on the bar.

Any preference? Asked the bartender in a resigned voice, he really was hoping for a challenge, and even now that I've tried, I haven't been able to stump him. I have a rather varied selection.

Killian's Red, if you've got it. Still wondering where I was. I thought I had been in every bar in San Diego. I didn't recognize the place, but then again I wasn't paying that much attention yet. I was still wrapped up in my problems. I was mentally taking stock of what I owned, and was pretty sure was still at the apartment, wondering if I had enough to pawn so I could make a deposit on a new place, and maybe eat till I got my next paycheck. Assuming my ex hadn't done that for me already, selling my stuff that is.

Giving me a wry smile. Sure thing, Shaking his head. Though you are only the second person I have ever had in here that actually drinks that stuff.

Surprised by his open manner, Really?

Yeah, Turning his attention back to Little Joe. So what are you drinking tonight Joe? The usual? Standing back up.

Give me the menu. Looking up at the bartender, I'm looking for something new.

Laughing, Yeah, sure you are.

So Joe the bartender, Big Joe, as I learned later, walked off a short distance and started mixing a drink, for someone else I assumed.

It was something to see and had me transfixed. He had bottles flying behind his back, and up over his shoulder. For a huge man, he can twirl with the grace of a dancer, while juggling six bottles. I don’t think he spilled a single drop outside of the glass, and at one point he managed to keep one bottle in the air and spinning for a good 30 seconds. I have since learned that there is a trick to it, something about a focused gravity field, doesn't change how impressive it looks when he does it.

I began examining the bar. Beautiful, dark stained, lacquered and polished wood, with what looked like gold inlays. Little Joe touched one of the inlays and a panel appeared. I would never have found it if it hadn't popped up, and it did just that, or should I say it hinged up because it made no sound. It was at a 45-degree angle and had a display of some kind beneath it.

Joe started scrolling through a list faster than I could read. Although I could tell that I would have never read it anyway, it was written in a language I had never seen. He had obviously made his choice. and tapped the pattern again, the panel returned to its place as part of the bar, hiding the display, and even though I knew exactly where it had been, I couldn't find any features that would show the panel's existence. There was no visible seam or anything to indicate its presence.

Something suddenly got the little voices in the back of my head to screaming in earnest for the first time. Nothing that registered consciously, but I felt the hackles rising on the back of my neck. Something about that language, the vanishing panel with no seams. They had been getting louder the longer I was there, but up to that point, it had been just a sense of nervousness. They were suddenly freaking out. Something about this place had my instincts convinced that this was not a place I wanted to be, not that I was listening.

Little Joe looked over to Joe, who was heading our way again with a mixed drink and a beer in hand. Little Joe goes to speak and was cut off by Big Joe. I'll have a...

Smiling that smile that seemed almost permanently attached to his face. Sweet Blue Mirth Mountain Swirl with a Bailey's and Cream chaser. I added a Mithas splash, to mix it up a bit for you. Setting the drink down in front of Little Joe, he then turned to me and set a beer in front of me. Here's your beer Kyle.

Uh. Thanks. I say, looking at the Killian's in front of me.

After glaring at his drink for a moment and turning red in the face. Damn it Joe! How did you know? he sputtered.

Setting another drink down, his it turned out. It's what you always have. You are nothing if not predictable Joe. A mischievous glint to his smile.

Well thanks a lot. Frowning, and looking down at his drink sadly. Not like I don't get that enough at home.

Joe, my friend, you're a dragon. Putting his hands on Little Joe's shoulders, like he was trying to cheer him up. Thus, an old bastard with old and intractable habits, get over it. I missed the bit about calling LIttle Joe a Dragon again, my instincts didn’t, and it got them freaking out more, but it just didn’t register consciously.

Glaring up at him, Oh, blow me Joe.

Letting go of him. On your tab then Joe?

Shrugging, Yeah sure. He turned his full attention to his drink looking like he was trying to see something in it.

The bartender was suddenly towering over me and I didn't know how he got there. How about you Kyle?

He's drinking on me. says Little Joe.

Shrugging his shoulders and turning away from me. As you will, I do have other customers.

Looking up at him with a challenge in his eyes. Sure you do. I'm sure Markus needs help with his bottle of whiskey. Acid in his voice.

Flinching, he stopped right in front of Little Joe. Low blow Joe.

Grinning like someone who just scored the winning touchdown. I call 'em like I see ‘em.

Looking down on Little Joe. It's only 3 o'clock here Joe, you know it doesn't start to pick up till 6, and Kate doesn't come on till 7. Then shaking his head in frustration. Oi! Why am I telling you this?

Because you are bored, you only mix the drinks yourself when you are stone, dead, bored. Little Joe said. He was smiling like I imagine a shark does when it smells fresh blood in the water. What I smelled was a verbal battle of wills brewing.

While I heard that conversation, I missed the rest of it, if you can call it that. They were openly insulting and argumentative. Yet neither was the slightest bit angry, both were smiling, I figured they were old friends, having a friendly jibe contest. I later learned that in a fight, Little Joe would have Big Joe hands down in the raw power department, but Big Joe would mop the floor with Little Joe as far as combat, hand to hand skills, and experience were concerned.

But me, I was studying the bar, the inlaid patterns, and the wall behind the bar. The inlaid design was incomprehensible, and as far as the hidden panel was concerned. Well, even though I knew exactly where it was, I couldn't find the slightest hint of its existence.

The back of the bar was pretty standard, with one massive mirror running its length. Of course the bar was a good 30 feet long, and the mirror had no noticeable seams. We were sitting almost dead center, at an open or uncovered section. It had mirrored shelves to either side of the eight foot section of open area, shelves that seemed to have no discernible supports.

Every shelf was filled with bottles of liquid. Some I recognized, most I did not. Eventually my eyes drifted to just above the mirror directly in front of me. I wasn't paying attention to what the mirror was reflecting, probably a good thing, and probably my mind acting in self-defense to block out what I wasn’t ready to handle yet. Above the mirror, I found something most unusual and it held my attention for some time.

I go to the Renaissance faire when I can, and I have the money to go. I even have a costume, or garb as it's called. What I saw was a particularly large sword, a claymore to be specific, and a big one. From my distance of about eight feet, I could tell it was not only a battle ready blade, but it had also seen real use. There is just something different about a blade that has been in real combat versus a display piece, even one that is made to look like it's been used. There is just some quality a blade takes that you just can't duplicate.

One of the indications of this is the slight nicks in the blade edge. It's just something you can't fake convincingly. It looked razor sharp, a mono-molecular edge as I was told later.

My instincts were getting louder and telling me to run screaming from this place and never look back, but to do that would require me to actually listen to them. Instead of giving in to the fight or flight reflex that was trying to take over my mind, I looked at the two Joe's who had become silent and were watching me intently. That is a beautiful sword. Pointing up at it. Where did you get a battle tried weapon like that? Has it ever killed anyone? Little Joe looked at me like I was speaking a different language.

Big Joe was smiling as usual. The silent one speaks. Then thinking about what I had said, his smile going just slightly. What sword?

Up there, above the mirror. pointing to the top of the mirror. They both looked above the mirror with confused looks on their faces. At this point I noticed there was someone standing behind me. As I looked at him in the mirror he seemed about my age. Mid-twenties. About six foot, well built, midnight black hair, and green eyes that seemed to look through you. He was wearing a loose blue shirt with short sleeves.

2

Tory

That old thing? Smiling at me through the mirror. I gave it to Joe a long time ago, shortly after I first met him.

Spinning around to face this new person, How the hell did you get in here? barked Big Joe, as surprised by this new person's presence as I was.

Joe. Joe. Indicating both Joe's. What are you two arguing about this time? His voice was deep but pleasant to hear, it kept your attention, and he was deliberately dodging the question.

Nothing really. Shrugging their collective shoulders. Just seeing who's got the better wit. Then frowning at him. But, you didn't answer the question Tory.

He walked from behind me, over to the opposite side of me from Joe and Joe. No need. You've been so enraptured with each other that you've both lost total track of time. Tory said tapping his watch.

What do you mean? asked Big Joe, looking confused.

Smiling in a very knowing way, Come on boys, look around you. Sweeping his arms to indicate the rest of the bar, The bar is jumping and Kate has called in Lela and Darl for help.

What?!? exclaimed Big Joe, lurching up to his feet from his position leaning on the bar. Looking over Little Joe into the bar proper. Holy Shit! he said, and took off toward the end of the bar to take stock of what was going on.

The new guy sat down next to me and taps a few of the inlays. A Killian's like mine appears in front of him. I say appear because that is what it did. There was no flash, no pop, no fizzle, or hum, it just wasn't there one second and was the next. Star Trek, eat your heart out.

For that, I finally picked up my beer and took a long drink, my senses and my brain finally starting to communicate again. Not that it was doing me any good; the first thing I noticed was that the beer was still ice cold, even though it had been sitting on the bar for an unknown amount of time, probably an hour or more. Second, there was no ring of condensation as you might expect, even though there was moisture on the outside of the bottle.

Looking past me to Little Joe he asked. So Joseph, who's your friend here? Indicating me with a nod, He's not a regular.

Shrugging his shoulders and returning to the intense study of his drink, Yeah. I nearly ran the kid over. He's just mildly down on his luck. So I figured I'd bring him here, get him drunk, and see if I couldn't help him out.

Cocking his head to one side, Help him out? By bringing him here? What's his name? He seemed confused that Joe would bring me there for such a purpose.

Little Joe seemed irritated to be bothered. His name's Kyle. He's a writer with no muse, and yeah, help him out, just seemed like the thing to do at the time.

Really? I see. Turning his gaze to me and sounding surprised. I suddenly became the focus of his full attention and that was a decidedly unpleasant place to be, and I didn't understand why at the time, which made me that much more nervous. There was just something about his smile that seemed almost predatory. So Kyle, did Joe here bother to tell you anything about this bar or its patrons?

I turned to face him. Feeling even more confused by the statement. No. I don't even know what the place is called. What could be so unusual about this place anyway? This is what I was thinking at the time.

Smiling in a friendly, and yet still, very, predatory way. Well, this is Joe's. Joe's Bar and Grill to be specific. Motioning to the bar in general.

I wasn't impressed. So. I'm in Joe's, doesn't sound very spectacular.

He raised an eyebrow and looked over me at Little Joe frowning. A few questions before I tell you much about this place.

I was too confused to care much about the bar, but this guy made me exceedingly nervous for no reason I could figure out. Sure, but first. Who are you?

His predatory smile returning. My name's Tory. I am co-owner of this fine establishment, one of several, but I'm usually too busy with my other business ventures to be concerned about it. Besides, Joe does an excellent job without me. Pointing to the bartender.

No kidding. Looking into my beer. Well fire away. Not like there is much to tell. Downing the rest.

I could tell he was smiling again, I could just feel it. Okay. How old are you Kyle?

26 The question seemed innocent enough, so I turned to look at him.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise to my answer, but continued with the questions like he hadn't noticed. You have a Job?

Yeah, dead end job at Artens and Company, with a jerk for a boss that hates my guts. I said angrily thinking about the job I hated so much, but needed so badly at that moment.

He got this thoughtful look on his face. Hmm… Sounds normal, so what year is it?

2022. Why? Now that got my attention. Why would he want to know the year? I was starting to wonder if I should be listening to my instincts.

He shrugged his shoulders Just some background so I know what not to tell you.

I was feeling rather irritated. What did he mean by what not to tell me? My life has hit rock bottom, Tory. I doubt you could come up with anything so strange that I would freak, or even be bothered much by it. Besides, with the dull normal life I have been leading, I could use a little weirdness, or at least a few surprises. So shock me. Drop the bomb! Don't hold back, I can take it. Lose the cat and mouse act, and just tell me what is so strange, Pausing for sarcastic effect with a deep breath. About Joe's Bar and Grill? He raised an eyebrow to my statement, very Spock-like. There was nothing else that indicated that he had heard what I had said, and I hadn't been especially quiet about it.

He got this serious look on his face, like he was going to divulge some secret. First of all, Joe's caters to a highly unusual and diverse clientele. At least from your perspective.

Still irritated and not caring anymore about the consequences, I think my instincts were kicking in and since they couldn't get me to run screaming, they were going to try and get me thrown out. So it's a private club then? Is there some sort of standard you have to pass? Like a certain monetary value?

He smirked. No, nothing like that. Most of the clientele here are self employed or independent contractors of varying types, but we aren't a private club.

Independent contractors? The thought that I really didn't want to be there was getting stronger, but something was gluing me to the stool.

Mercenaries to be blunt, but we also get leaders of business and government in here too. He said it in an offhanded way, as if that was no big deal.

I thought I had it figured out. So only the elite get in here.

Shaking his head and smiling again. No. Look at it this way. Bill Gates is not a patron here. He doesn't even know this place exists. However, several of his researchers are regulars and about half of the scifi and fantasy authors you would find on the shelves of a bookstore stop in here from time to time. He paused for dramatic effect. Getting that I've got a secret look again, Looking for material.

Now I was definitely confused, So what are the criteria then? I didn't think for a moment he was serious.

An open mind and the ability to keep your mouth shut. If he wasn't serious, he was certainly convincing. I now know he was dead serious. Only thing is, the way he meant it isn't nearly as literal as it sounds, he was mostly referring to overhearing things.

I smiled ironically. Well, sounds like I qualify then.

Smiling to himself. We shall see. Remember, time is relative, if you become a regular customer here. You will always return the exact amount of time you have been gone, as far as you are concerned.

Now that was something out of left field; what did time have to do with a bar? That seems sort of self evident. How can you return someplace a different amount of time then you have been gone? I answered my own question as he answered me and it sent chills down my spine as I was beginning to suspect that again, I should have been running from this place at full speed.

With some of our patrons, that can actually be a problem. It helps to keep people running into themselves to a minimum. He sounded dead serious, and