A Night and Day Difference

Lightyears away from any solar system, and even further from any inhabited planet or moon, Nirranfar Station lies on the interstellar crossroads of a dozen influential systems and destinations. Both far from civilization and near where you want to be, Nirranfar is the galaxy’s premiere fuel station and hotel that everyone passes through at one time or another. Unlike most people passing through, insomniac Howell Wakefield lives and works on Nirranfar as a barista by day and bartender by night. These are his stories…

“A Night and Day Difference”

For the first time since he’d chosen to stay on Nirranfar Station, Howell Wakefield slept in.

He didn’t simply just sleep through his alarm clock—the alarm clock he barely needed because of how seldom he slept. He didn’t even press the snooze button one too many times.

No.

For the first time Howell could remember, he overslept long enough to not even hear the alarm. The last thing he remembered was tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, not looking forward to another full eighteen hour day between his two jobs. Then, he groggily opened his eyes, and he was a full four hours late to work.

Howell did the only logical thing anyone could do in such a situation: he laughed.

As he hopped in the shower, he wondered how the bar was faring without him. He imagined all sorts of problems they may be having without him, but he didn’t really worry, nor did he hurry.

After all, what’s better: to present yourself at work four hours late as a sloppy mess, or to arrive four and a half hours late but showered and ready to work?

Howell figured there would be little extra he could do with the mess in the extra twenty or thirty minutes if he simply rushed to the bar while ignoring his morning routine, and he wouldn’t perform as well without that routine either.

Besides, he thought, Coffman had it coming.

Elijah Coffman was Nirranfar Station’s new owner and CEO. 

Howell’s few coworkers who’d been on the station longer than him had assured Howell that such changeover happens a couple times each Galactic Decade. The new boss always has radical new ideas to help the station’s performance, but each new idea predictably dies after a week before the station settles back into its routine monotony of mediocrity. 

Coffman’s brilliant idea was in its sixth week, and Howell tried warning the man several times that it wouldn’t work out long term. Howell tried warning him that even the best workers have a breaking point; Howell just wasn’t expecting himself to break first.

A few days after he bought the station and positioned himself as CEO, Coffman decided the station needed to stop running artificial day and night cycles in the lights and various business operation hours. 

“I don’t care how in sync we are with the Galactic Common clock. Ships stopping here for fuel get here at all hours; why wouldn’t we want to be in full, day operation to greet those visitors? What if they want to unwind with a drink, but the galactic clock says 5:30AM? There’s no reason we need to abide by that!” So he’d continued his rambling after gathering all the people who lived on the station for a required worker and resident meeting. He even had a name for the plan: “The Triple Always Initiative—Always Day, Always Night, Always Open!”

Though most people had complained, the other members of the station’s governing board welcomed this suggestion. Of course, with swift implementation, few new staff members were hired on. 

And with Howell being the morning coffee shop’s lead barista and the evening bar’s lead bartender, the last several weeks stretched Howell extra thin, leaving him more sleep-deprived than normal.

So, he didn’t rush in to work. He felt he’d earned the extra time.

Howell didn’t realize what chaos he’d been missing until he saw a mob gathered just outside the bar’s entrance. One of the men gathered in front of the door was the new janitor, Grant, and he was yelling along with the other patrons. 

Howell ran up to Grant and pulled him aside, and none of the customers seemed to notice as Howell yanked Grant by the arm and pulled him around the hall’s corner.

“What’s happening in there?” Howell yelled.

Grant rubbed his arm. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? There’s an angry mob outside my bar, and you’re a part of it. I need to know what’s happening.”

“Okay, okay, I just don’t know any of the details. Everybody’s just mad.”

“Mad at what?” Howell pressed.

“Mad at Freddie and Mella.”

“Why?”

“They won’t give anyone free drinks.”

“We never give anybody free drinks. Why are they mad about it?”

Grant shrugged. “I don’t know, but everyone’s mad about it. They said we were all supposed to get free drinks, but the bartenders are putting up a fight.”

“Why were you expecting a free drink?”

“The people said we were supposed to get free drinks, so I joined in with the chanting. Is that such a crime?”

“Yes, actually, depending on how much inventory get’s stolen and if Mella and Freddie are okay.”

“So, you’re saying there’s no free drinks?”

“I’m saying, get out of here!” Howell pushed Grant down the hallway, and Grant ran away.

Wise choice.

Howell pushed through the crowd and through the entrance, and none of the crowd seemed to immediately recognize him as the main bartender; they were stuck in mob-mode. 

The second Howell entered, he started to float. “Who turned the gravity off?”

Nobody answered Howell; most were too busy bouncing off the walls, grabbing at floating liquor bottles, and screaming about their free drinks. And, Howell noticed, Freddie and Mella were nowhere in sight.

After a couple minutes, Howell was finally able to grab a light switch on the wall, and though it was small, it was enough for him to help his body stop moving, so he could finally orient himself. Howell was used to zero-gravity environments because his dad’s old ship had an always-breaking anti-gravity drive. Plus, he’d messed with the gravity levels in this room on more than one occasion. 

Which also meant he knew how to aim himself and launch himself directly to bar. He saw that most of the bottles behind the bar had already been pilfered or thrown into the gravity-less chaos. 

The only noteworthy thing behind the bar was a man, probably drunk, pounding on the door that led to the back stock room. Howell pushed off with his feet and crashed into the guy, Howell intentionally bashing the man’s head on the door.

Before he could bounce and float away, Howell gripped the door knob and pushed the now-unconscious drunk away from him. 

Howell knocked on the door and yelled, “Open up! It’s Howell. Let me in!”

The door cracked open just enough for a hand to reach out of the shadows and pull Howell into the stock room. Howell bounced a few times slowly and softly, and he figured the gravity drive for this room must have been at sixty percent.

He heard the door slam shut and the light-switch flick on, and light filled the room. Freddie and Mella were sitting on piles of bottles, some empty, some full. Howell grabbed the closest bottle by him and threw it over their heads. With the lessened gravity, it flew fast and ricocheted off the walls—as Freddie and Mella covered their faces—before it landed without breaking.

“That’s good glass,” Howell said. “Good gravity drive, good bar, good workers…What happened?”

Mella yelled, “It was Freddie first, see, I wasn’t even supposed to start until later but Freddie said he needed—”

“—don’t blame me!” Freddie yelled. “I…”

They both yelled over each other, and Howell couldn’t make out what either had been saying. Howell grabbed another bottle, and they froze.

“One at a time,” Howell said. “Freddie, you got here first, so I’ll let you start.”

Freddie said, “I got here, and you weren’t here, so I almost panicked. I tried calling you, but I don’t even know where in the station you live, so when you didn’t answer, I figured I was on my own for today. I asked Mella if she could come in early, and she did, but still, for a lot of the time there were only two of us when there should’ve been three. Anyway, people were having to wait for a really long time, especially since most’ve’em were also ordering food. Many of the customers was getting antsy, so I started giving free drinks to some of the folks who’d been waiting the longest.”

Mella cut in. “Sounds all reasonable, except he didn’t tell me we were going against policy. I told some customers no that Freddie was gonna say yes to, and word got around the bar, and soon everyone was demanding feee stuff—both because they’d been waiting, and also because they wanted fair, equal treatment.”

Freddie said, “Things got outta hand real quick. I thought, ‘What would Howell do?’ So I started messing with the artificial gravity. That made everyone more mad. We wound up turning the gravity off entirely as a distraction, and we hid in the closet.”

Howell said, “How long have you two been hiding?”

“At least an hour, maybe two,” Mella said.

“And they’re still here?” Howell asked.

Freddie said, “I thought they’d be gone in no time, but they just raided the liquor we kept behind the bar and they’ve been chantin’ drunk ever since.”

“Well,” Howell said, “We can’t stay in hiding forever.”

Mella said, “Why not? I don’t wanna go out there.”

“For one, I have to start my shift at the coffee shop in a few hours. Two, we’re a business. We don’t got the time, money, and inventory to indulge such a stupid riot.”

Howell stood and started opening the door, complaining under his breath, "Free drinks, how ridiculous, I give them free drinks alright…”

Freddie and Mella jumped to their feet. 

Freddie said, “Uh, Howie, what are you doing?”

Howell turned to stare both of them down. “Follow my lead. Say nothing. Let it play out. Trust me.”

Mella opened her mouth to protest, but Howell raised his hand.

“Not a word, both of you!”

Howell opened the door and reached for the bar, and he used the bar to keep from floating away. He followed the bar to the edge of the room and grabbed hold of the gravity drive mounted on the wall. 

“Freddie, what happened to my remote? You didn’t leave it for the patrons, did you?”

“No, I accidentally reset it and it needs to be re-configured. Here.” He fished the remote from his pocket and handed it to Howell.

“Great,” Howell said. 

While Howell pushed a few buttons on the gravity drive, the remaining bar patrons started yelling.

“There they are!”

“Free drinks! Free drinks!”

“Get them!”

Howell turned a knob and set the drive to one hundred and ten percent, then pressed the button to initialize the change. The drive activated instantly, and everyone fell to the ground except for Howell.

Howell turned and yelled, “Attention! If you want your free drinks, you are welcome to search for more behind the bar and in the stock room.”

The people started mobbing the bar while Howell walked outside. He could hear Mella and Freddie scurry behind him after they finally got to their feet under the extra gravity.

Back in the main corridor, Howell told the lingering mob the same thing. 

He approached a control panel on the wall and logged into the interface using the bar’s security passcodes. Then, he found and pressed the “All Station Intercom” button.

Howell started a broadcast and proclaimed in his best overly-happy-boisterous-announcer voice, “May I have your attention Nirranfar Station. Attention, attention. This is Howell Wakefield, your station’s favorite bartender. We have free drinks at the bar today, but it’s self-serve, and while supplies last. I repeat—Free drinks! There are no catches, and no purchase necessary. This is a free gift, thanks to our friend Mr. Elijah Coffman. Next time you see Nirranfar’s beloved owner and president, be sure to thank him for this exciting surprise. I’ll say it one more time, for those who weren’t listening: Last call at the bar! Free drinks, courtesy of our pal, President Coffman.”

Howell ended the broadcast and followed the hall to the large common area near the station’s center. The open air room (as “open air” as one can get in a space station) is affectionately called the “Living Room,” and it’s filled with couches, screens, tables, games, and even boasts a small food court and the cafe in which Howell spends the other half of his time.

He sat on the couch closest to the bar’s hallway and waited, with Freddie and Mella sitting on the couch’s other two cushions.

Freddie and Mella still hadn’t said anything, but Howell read the concern over their sweaty, trembling faces.

He looked at them both and said, “Don’t worry. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

They sat and watched as a couple dozen other people ran past them to the bar’s chaos. Then, about ten galactic minutes later, Owner/President/CEO Elijah Coffman appeared out of a hallway on the other side of the Living Room—and he marched directly to Howell.

He pointed at Howell and screamed, “What kind of a prank do you think this is, Wakefield?”

“Not a prank, sir.”

“You know full well I didn’t agree to pay for any free drinks.”

Howell shrugged. “Someone’s gotta pay for it. We’ll be completely out of inventory in the next few minutes. In fact, we’ll probably have to close until the next liquor shipment comes in.”

“No, no, no, you stop this right now. We can’t close the bar! Are you mad? Do you think this stunt is funny? I should fire you right now.”

Howell chuckled. “Elijah…Can I call you Elijah?”

“No.”

“Okay, Elijah. There’s something you need to know.”

“What’s that?” he asked, though it sounded more like a threat than a question.

“I slept in today.”

“Another reason I should fire you.”

Howell jumped to his feet and stared at Coffman’s big nose. “I never sleep in. I rarely sleep at all. You broke me sir. Yes, my absence at the bar is part of the reason for the chaos behind me—oh yeah, it was chaotic long before I made that announcement—and I acknowledge my role in this mini-crisis. But you broke me, sir. This one’s on you.”

“You’re out of your mind, Wakefield. I’m rarely at the bar. I didn’t break anyone.”

“You broke all of us,” Howell yelled, flailing his arm around, pointing at every person in sight. “You broke the station, sir, when you put in that Triple Always insanity. When were any of us supposed to sleep? When were any of us supposed live our lives as human beings with our own circadian rhythm?”

“You’re getting paid for those extra hours. Triple Always was designed for everyone’s benefit! If you’re too lazy to accept that, you don’t have to work here.”

Howell noticed that dozens of people had surrounded them to witness the altercation. “Neither do you, Elijah. I don’t care what you own; you don’t get to threaten me or my job. I’ve been here years, longer than most all the other staff, and I know the ins and outs of both the bar and the cafe. I—”

Coffman screamed, “You’re replaceable, Wakefield! Just a cog in my machine. If you don’t stop now, you will be sorry.”

“Mr. Coffman, I mean no disrespect…but your machine has been going full force, twenty-four seven, day and night simultaneously without stopping for months. If you dare to even attempt to replace a cog in that machine, I guarantee you it will all fall apart.”

“What kind of hubris is this? You think this station revolves around you?”

“It most certainly revolves around the cafe and the bar. And I’m an indispensable part of both operations. Mr. Coffman, I am responsible for this station’s morning coffee and nighttime beer. I jumpstart their day and ready them to face the next. I am every employee’s daily routine. When you doubled up morning and night, you simply eliminated both of them and stretched me too thin to help either of them.”

“I never intended any of that; this was for our customers, the travelers. Don’t you ever think of the customers?”

“The customers never complained until now. One angry mob later, the bar is closed, the liquor is gone, and your tab is still open. So, pay up, Coffman! Triple Always ends now.”

Howell stomped away from Coffman and walked towards the cafe.

Coffman yelled, “Where do you think you’re going? Don’t you walk away from me.”

Howell faced the boss one more time. “I’m going to work. At the cafe. The Galactic Common Clock says 7:16AM, and everyone still needs their morning coffee. I will be going back to the bar for my evening shift at 7:00PM, and if we have drinks and customers, we’ll stay open until the usual 2:00AM.”

“You’re not working any of those times, because you’re fired!”

“No I’m not.”

Howell walked away, but he went slow enough to hear Coffman’s response.

“You are fired, and I—hey, what are you guys doing? Back off.”

A voice behind Howell said, “We can’t let you stop Howell, Boss. He’s on his way to work.”

Another voice said, “Yeah, last time he was late there was a riot, and we can’t let that happen again.”

Then, a child’s voice: “Thank you, Mr. Coffman for bringing night and day back for Mr. Wakefield.”

“I didn’t, I—”

Another person in the crowd: “We’re all excited to get things back on schedule! Thanks, Mr. Coffman.”

“No, I, uh—Wakefield! This isn’t over!”

Howell looked over his shoulder to see the mob of people close in around Coffman asking all sorts of questions.

Howell just kept walking until he got inside the cafe. 

And by the end of the day, everything was back to normal.