1
BEGINNINGS
My name is Kyle Durlow and I'm going to tell you a story, a true story that 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, as some concepts simply do not translate well, if at all. Like the Kan-kada word Tiss-lasska. 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, seeing as 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, 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 fat 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 boots.
I was sitting the parking lot listening to Pandora, and trying to unwrap and eat a huge burrito with one hand while working a scalding hot Mocca latte in the other as the cup holders were broken and there were no level places to set it.
I was a skilled artist when it came 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, melting 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 this good, it’s worth it.
Everything was going well, and I had eaten as far down the burrito as I could, I 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 was 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 breath. I bailed out and 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, and 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.
“And that’s why I arrived at work late…again, sir.” I tried to explain to my boss, 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.
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 Gas-Lamp 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 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."
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
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, he 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 this 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 maybe 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 they door could close. He sat me down at the bar proper at just about the middle. So far 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 to jump out of my skin at the sudden sound of his slap on the counter.
"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 never would 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 more of just nervousness. But something suddenly had them 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 challengingly, "Sure you do. I'm sure Markus needs help with his bottle of whiskey." With 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." 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 monomolecular 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.