Time Siege by Wesley Chu Page A

beckoned him. He felt his body pulled toward the bar as if there were a powerful magnet in there, and his skin had turned to metal. James almost felt himself lifted off his feet as he stumbled forward.
    The hallucination of Sasha stood next to the entrance and folded her arms in front of her chest. She seethed. James avoided looking at her. If he couldn’t see her, she didn’t exist, right? She didn’t exist anyway. The real Sasha was on Earth. Alive. As he entered the Drink Anomaly, he saw Sasha leave her post and stomp around the corner.
    â€œThe past is already dead.”
    That damn voice. Where was it coming from? James entered the main room of the bar, and the sounds of the crowd drowned out the whisper in his head. It was packed. Brightly-garbed pleasure boys and girls were sprinkled among dozens of surly-looking patrons. James felt energized and alive again as every step took him closer to what his body needed.
    The bartender walked by James a few times as he waited at the counter. The first few passes, the bartender must have appraised James’s clothing and decided he wasn’t worth paying too much attention to. Then he proceeded to ignore him for the next twenty minutes. James felt an itch crawling up his neck as he tried to stave off the shaking in his hands. Finally, the bartender, taking his time wiping the counter, looked his way. “What will it be, my friend?”
    That once-familiar phrase, something he often heard in his head while on jobs, stunned James as if he were splashed by a bucket of cold water. Waves of grief long-suppressed washed over him, and he felt stabbing pain rend his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed hearing those words until someone else spoke them. The bartender had to be from Proteus, the same moon colony that Smitt came from.
    James’s vision blurred and he wiped his eyes. “Whiskey. Make it a good year.”
    One drink. That’s all it would be. One drink to wipe away all of today’s rejections and failures. Tomorrow, he would start anew. Let this one drink clear his mind. He promised. That’s all he would be here for.
    â€œI knew you couldn’t survive without me.” That voice again.
    A tin cup appeared almost instantaneously, and then the bartender was gone, moving over to serve another patron. James stared at the cup sitting on the counter. He felt his throat dry in anticipation. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to pick it up and inhale the alcohol inside. He put both hands on the cup and pressed down, forcing it to stay on the counter. He was squeezing so hard its sides began to dent. He felt the urge to lift it again and throw its contents back in one smooth motion. Just one wouldn’t hurt, would it?
    He looked back at the bartender chatting with another patron and stopped. The man’s face had changed. Perhaps it was the light reflecting off his complexion. Perhaps it was his slightly familiar-sounding accent. Then the man’s features seemed to wash off his face, as if it were a paint mod erasing itself, except what was hidden behind it was someone familiar. He forced himself to look away and scan the crowd, trying to keep his shaking hands from being noticed.
    â€œYou all right there, my friend?” the bartender returned and asked. He even sounded familiar.
    James inhaled and turned back toward the counter. The bartender’s face was normal again, unfamiliar. James picked up the whiskey and lifted it to his mouth. His hands were shaking so badly he had slopped half of it out of the cup. He felt himself lean toward the left, almost falling off the stool. He was just tired. The stress. Problems stacking on top of problems.
    â€œI shouldn’t be here,” he muttered desperately over and over again. “Shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be here. Need to get out of here.”
    The voice whispered, “We’re both right here, where we’re supposed to