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I stepped into the pub, letting the huge but light door close behind me. It did so soundlessly. Or maybe I just didn’t hear it over the jaunty din of the pub.
I felt a smile unfurling over my face as I took in the place. We had pubs in New Toronto, but not like this. They were usually grey, grungy little places you’d stop for a quick beer after pulling a 12-hour shift at the shuttle factory. The kind of place that provided only the cheapest alcohol, no atmosphere, and barely anything that passed for decent food.
I could already tell thatThe Middle’s Guardianwas completely different from that.
The inside stretched outward and back from the door I’d come through – much larger than I’d anticipated. Two, no, three times the size of my unit. Probably even larger than that when you considered the kitchen at the back, which I assumed lay beyond the holoscreen door I could see.
To my right were tables and chairs clearly meant for orcs or other aliens of significant size. The tables stood high off the ground, and the red leather-looking armchairs had sturdy wide bases and tall, curving backs. I was already dying to sink into one of them, no matter how goofy I looked hauling my little human ass up there.
To the left were more tables, these ones set into the floor of the restaurant, with delightfully huge and squishy-looking pillows around them for sitting.
OK, screw climbing up an armchair mountain. I want one of those pillow seats.
I realized, rather quickly, that all the low tables with the pillow seats were taken. The clientele, like most of the station, was about 50% human, and they’d taken all the easy-to-get-into floor seats. Most of the tall tables and armchairs were taken by Orc-Orokish aliens – orcs for short – or other aliens of similar stature who sat easily upon the giant red chairs. A particularly rowdy group of orc men nearby broke into the kind of laughter that was so dizzyingly loud I couldn’t help but grin and wonder what was so funny. The warm amber light streaming down between black wooden beams that matched the pub’s door caught on the orcs’ tusks and turned their varying shades of green and grey skin golden. In the corner, beyond those tall tables and chairs, a young orc man created the music that flowed through the pub, his powerful chest heaving as he breathed into the large, barrel-shaped wind instrument he held in bulging arms.
A third seating option mercifully presented itself straight ahead, and I lunged forward, snagging a stool at the bar. I slid up onto the leathery stool easily, its comfy cushion fashioned from the same dark red material as the huge armchairs at the other tables. It wasn’t low to the ground like the cushions, and it wasn’t super high like the chairs. It was just right.
Some bit of ancient Earth lore tickled the back of my brain at that.
Something about golden keys. Goldy keys? Or locks?
Too hungry. Can’t think.
I placed my elbows on the counter, sighing and sagging forward. The countertop was gorgeous. Fashioned from the same black wood as the door and the ceiling’s beams. It reflected the pub’s golden light like a sea-wet gem. I ran a fingertip along its surface appreciatively, marvelling at the almost silken feel of it. There wasn’t a hint of stickiness or grime you might expect to find at a busy restaurant such as this.Whoever owns this place runs a pretty tight ship.
I was liking my neighbouring business more and more.
And I started to love it when an orc waitress plonked down a basket of bread in front of me, along with a gigantic glass of ice water.
“Here you are,” she said, smiling around tusks that looked too big in her dimpled face. Even though I knew she would tower beside me if I were to stand, there was something cute about her that made me think she was probably younger than I was. “Tap your tablet there for the menu,” she said, “and you can place your order as soon as you’re ready. If you need anything, flag me down.”
She careened away from me, snatching up two bottles of what looked like Exdrok liqueur from the shelves facing me behind the bar and carting them off to a table.
The “there” that she’d referred to was a tiny wireless data port, built into the countertop’s surface. It was so small that I’d almost missed it – a pearly white square smaller than my pinky fingernail. I tapped my tablet to it, and the pub’s menu immediately downloaded and opened. After inputting my language of choice – Terratribe Standard – I was able to read it with ease.
As I’d guessed from the combination of familiar and foreign scents wafting through the air, the menu had both human recipes, largely appearing Old-European and Old-British in origin, as well as dishes native to Orc-Orok. There were pies made with Terratribe 2 goat meat and topped with your choice of pastry or mashed potatoes. Daggerfish and tiger-clam chowder with Terratribe 1 seaweed. Winter rabbit stew with sage and dumplings. I smiled at the portion of the menu that listed the Christmas specials, which included human dishes like roasted Terratribe 2 turkey breast with goldenberry dressing and wild rice.
How can I resist a seasonal specialty like that?
Without bothering to look at the rest of the menu, I ordered the roast turkey dish. When I wasn’t starving half-to-death, I’d really take my time looking over the menu and maybe choose one of the orc dishes. But for now, something hearty and filling and familiar would be good.
I chugged some of the water, glad for the ice, not realizing before how warm it was in here. Then, I grabbed a chunk of the bread the young orc lady had left. The bread was Orc-Orokish in origin, but the butter was, thankfully, human-style. Not that I had anything against other species’ condiment choices. Far from it. But bread with Terratribe 2 butter, which this seemed to be, was hard to beat when you were hungry in a strange, new place.
I smeared the butter onto the bread. You could easily tell that the bread was Ork-Orokish because of its distinctive wine-red colour, due to the deep crimson hue of their planet’s native wheat plants. There was a salty, mineral tang to the bread that the butter softened nicely, and I chowed down, positively stuffing my face with the stuff. Even though I wasn’t used to Orc-Orokish bread, I could tell this was good stuff. Probably made in-house. I squinted down the bar, trying to get a glimpse of the kitchen through the shimmering texture of the holoscreen door.
Any chance I had at peeking into the kitchen was destroyed by a gigantic body emerging through the holoscreen door. His bulk took up the entire doorframe, blocking the view beyond. Easily seven feet tall and built like a fucking tank, the orc loomed like a giant green pillar. I stared – I couldn’t help it. The guy was eye-catching. Largely due to the fact that, for some unknown reason, he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that.
“Lost your shirt, have ya then, Archie?” called an inebriated-looking orc at one of the tables before he and his party erupted into booming laughter.
The orc in the doorway grinned, tipping his chin up and straightening his shoulders.
Holy hills of Terra...
This was possibly the finest-looking man, alien or human, I’d ever seen in all my 29 years.
The golden light of the pub dripped lovingly down his rich emerald-tinted skin. His hair was as black as the polished wood in this pub, and just as shiny, looking like it had been oiled with something before he’d tied it into the long, thick, glossy braid that hung like a rope over his muscled shoulder. The end of his braid landed where his abs upon abs began, his muscled torso tapering into a thick yet trim waist that disappeared, thankfully, into what looked like black leather pants.
