Isolation

Chapter 08

Since it had gotten late, the lights in the colony mimicked the setting of the sun on Earth, maintaining a normal circadian rhythm. The walls glowed a soft orange and the ceiling a rainbow of setting colors in the Hub. Few people were going around their daily business. The night shift was approaching.

"I sent Sara a message to meet us at the observatory in about an hour," James said. "That should give us plenty of time to have a drink or two."

"I still can't believe you're talking me into this," Mark said. "Alcohol isn't good for you."

"If it was really bad for you, then it would be outlawed under colonial law. You guessed why it's not? Because it's a relaxant. It's not like we'll get carried away and drink until our livers explode."

"Explode?"

He didn't respond. Mark found it hard to swallow all of a sudden. Blaez looked around, constantly prowling.

Timmy's Tavern was an old brewery that was set up a long time ago. People were getting restless and stressed in the early days of development. The tavern was one of many breweries in the colony. Timmy's just happened to be on the way. Lots of people went out to drink, including James's dad. Mark never knew his father to drink anything alcoholic, but he barely knew him, so it didn't account for anything. James got a chime on his communicator.

[I'll be there.]

Timmy's Tavern was located more on the outside edge of the Hub. It made it easier to store and access the fermentation canisters. There was a small café near the school that Marks' dad took him to once when he was five. That was a long time ago, though. He hasn't taken him since.

Deeper into the alcove of restaurants, Timmy's Tavern was tucked away en-route to the old observatory. They could hear laughing from a group of drunk men at one of the bar tables with casual jazz music nowhere near enough volume to drown them out. There was an ambiance of glass on glass mixed in with the other sounds.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Mark asked James as a couple of men stared at them.

"Come on, what's the worry? If anyone tried to mess with you, I'll handle it."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"Is that you, Mark?" The bartender said. "Mark O'Connor?"

He had a big beard and a mustache with a bald head. He had a bit of a beer belly, but he wore a sleeveless shirt, making his muscles bulge like they wanted to rip out of his skin.

"Yes, sir," Mark said as they approached the bar. More people were beginning to stare.

"I'm Timothy, in case you didn't know. Call me Tim."

They shook hands.

"What can I do for you boys tonight?"

"Mark here was feeling a little stressed today," James put his hand on Mark's back. "I was hoping you would give us a drink to calm the nerves."

"Now, even I know you're both minors," he said. "Are you sure your father would be alright with this, Mark?"

"How old was he when he first started drinking?" He asked him.

He actually had no idea, but the question seemed to stump Tim.

"Alright, but one glass. I don't like the idea of Mr. O'Connor arresting me because I let his son take a swig of ale. What would you like?"

He thought for a moment. He didn't know his ales.

"I'll let the expert decide for me," he said. "I want something sweet, not too strong, and it needs to help me relax."