“We don’t get many visitors out this way. To be honest, not many know we even exist. It’s a matter of location. Far past the last gas giants, beyond the pillars of creation, and just adjacent the primordial soup we ‘supposedly’ all sprung from, you can find the Café at the End of Time.
“Oh, we may not be much – a simple proto-structure with good signage – but that’s our attraction. We never meant to compete with the big chains of the known universe and honestly, we never will. I appreciate our independent vibe, as the young kids say. What we lack in panache we make up for in comfort and hospitality. There’s not much else out here.
“Anyhow, welcome in, glad you found the place. Let me know when you’re ready to order. I’m Bob,” said the man behind the counter.
I smiled and thanked Bob. The Café at the End of Time was a welcome respite after my travels across the stars. I had initially set out to write a piece on this coffee shop for my publication, the Union Tribune, a small newspaper borne from the Western Hemisphere of Earth. But as it turns out, in my assignment I had traveled far beyond the known lifespan of my planet. For reasons still unclear, my cryostasis failed to disengage and I spent many millennia floating in quiet, uninterrupted repose. Until now. Now I realized, according to my parked ship’s readouts, that should I attempt to return to the Milky Way and my dimly-lit sun, both would no longer be there. I scratched my head at the miscalculation and looked around.
The café was a warm combination of cozy cottage mixed with end-of-days brutalism. Beside the whitewashed and wood accents, streams of cosmic matter flowed through the constantly shifting, quantum-dictated space. Peppered throughout, travelers warmed themselves on well-crafted, caffeinated offerings.
“I’ll take a drip coffee,” I chimed. Sure, I could order a fancy drink with all the bells and whistles, the veritable extra-large- triple-whipped-cream-caramel-frappes of the universe, but I often found the mettle of a café was derived from the simplicity of a freshly-brewed cup of coffee.
“Sounds good, anything in it?” Bob asked
“No, just black thanks.” I responded, surveying the room for an empty seat.
“Coming right up.” Bob confirmed and set to task grinding beans and heating water. “I’ll bring it out when it’s done.”
The view from my seat was spectacular. Far beyond the window, in the vastness of space, I watched as planetoids spun into existence, coalescing into spherical orbs from the detritus of an ever-present primordial matter bubbling over the horizon. Great plumes of gasses jutted outward into infinity, catching dotted starlight in the inky expanse. Galaxies, in various states of composition, whirled around the floating café like carriages in their slow trajectories.
Bob sidled up to my table and placed a piping hot mug of coffee down.
“Pretty ain’t it,” Bob gestured at the spectacle outside the café’s window.
“Mhm,” I agreed.
“It’s the good with the bad really,” Bob continued. “We’re certainly on the outskirts here, but the views are outstanding.”
I took the mug by the handle and brought it to my mouth. The black liquid was bitter and delicious as notes of blueberry and chocolate lingered on my palette.
“Well done,” I offered, gesturing to the vessel nestled between my hands. “Sumatran?”
“Nebulan.” Bob corrected, smiling. “Thought you might like it.”
I nodded and looked around the café. The other patrons weren’t many in number, but each was focused on their own slice of life. At the table next to Bob and me, a cluster of androids beeped and booped in electronic chatter in the middle of some heated debate or discussion. Against one of the far walls, an octopus-like creature swathed in bundled fabric flapped its tentacles as it read a book and knit. In the opposite corner of the coffeeshop, a pair of glowing, pulsing blue orbs enjoyed the warmth emanating from a finely crafted fire dancing in the fireplace.
“Mind if I ask you a few questions?” I proffered and offered Bob the seat opposite me at the table. “I’m a reporter.”
Bob raised an eyebrow, then looked back at the empty register and scattered patrons. “Well, you’ve been the first customer in a couple eons. The androids got here just prior to you, but that was before the red giant formed.”
Bob pointed out the window. In a brilliant display of red and yellow fireworks, a not-far-off star was beginning the process of consuming itself. The star would eventually collapse inward, shrinking to a pinhole in the distance until, finally, expanding once more in an explosion of spent matter lighting up the sky.
Bob went on, “I probably have time for a few questions.”
The androids looked up from their seats, making their unfamiliar noises in punctuated and electronic exchange. I imagined perhaps they too were impressed by the visuals on display beyond the café’s walls.
Bob leaned over in the androids’ direction unfazed, “The wi-fi password is ‘endcafe’ all lowercase, one word.”
Clattering with fervor the androids mustered a unified, metallic ‘thank you’ before turning back to their business.
“So, a reporter you say?” Bob questioned.
“Well, former reporter, I think. I’m from Earth and sort of overshot my timeline. By a lot.” I tried laughing off the idea I was stranded.
“Earth huh? Not too close.” Bob looked ahead, unimpressed.
“Right. The last I remember is taking a really good nap inside my shuttle, bound for Orion. Next thing I know my alarm is going off and I’m parked outside your café more than a couple billion years in the future.”
“Oh, they’ve been doing construction on the Orion route for ages now. You shoulda taken the detour. Maybe on your way back.” Bob slapped his knee and nodded.
I stared at Bob, certain he didn’t understand my situation. I was far beyond the time frame in which my solar system was set to extinguish. Even if I wanted to return home, I imagined, there wouldn’t be much waiting for me. Still, I had ventured this far out. What if Bob had a point about a way back? Considering the labors of my travels, I figured I’d get the work done just in case.
“Let’s sort this article, then we can talk about that detour of yours,” I sighed and opened the notepad I’d set next to my coffee.
“Sounds like a plan,” Bob smiled.
I clicked my pen, scribbled a quick heading titled, ‘Café with a View,’ at the top of the notepad, and began.
“So, when did your establishment open?” I asked, taking another sip of the warm brew.
“Well, this place has been in my family for generations. Honestly, I don’t know how long, but I’ll tell you what. My great, great, great grandfather took that photo of the Big Bang right there not long after we opened. So, we’ve been here early on, I reckon.” Bob gestured to the framed photo of the eponymous celestial event behind the counter.
“The Big Bang? Wasn’t that quite some time ago?” I scoffed, certain the proprietor was goading me on with his preposterousness.
“Ago? In the future? Who’s really keeping track? From what I can tell time doesn’t quite work out here. It’s something akin to the stroboscopic effect. That’s probably why we’ve stayed open for so long. The clock never changes. That and our lattes.” Bob chuckled, unfolding his arms and gesturing across the room.
“Time doesn’t work out here, huh?” I echoed Bob’s words, trying to make sense of what he was saying.
“Well, time isn’t linear, right? You and I know that. Time is just a measurement of one point next to another to determine an interval of change. Out here in these backwaters we’re simple folk. We try not to get mixed up in all the observatin’ and determinatin’ of the universe. We just like our coffee and the company we keep. So, who’s to say anything is a billion years in the future, a billion years in the past, or otherwise. Why not up or down, side to side, in between?”
“But, my ship’s readouts…” My voice trailed off.
“Oh, I wouldn’t trust those instruments in these parts. Perhaps next go around they’ll send a physicist out.” Bob let loose another laugh and shook his head.
Clearing my throat, I accepted the oddity of the situation and took the opportunity to change subjects. “Yes, perhaps. I’m curious though, do you get many customers?”
“You’re looking at ‘em,” Bob lifted his hand and gestured around us.
From our vantage point I could see the androids still buried in their heady conversations, moving appendages in time with their electronic sounds. The tentacled creature, who was no longer reading, was now instead attaching their knitting project to the many layers of fabric they wore. And the two glowing orbs had fused into a single entity which cast its pulsing blue hue around the café as it floated.
“Regulars?” I asked, noting our strange company.
“Except for the odd traveler such as yourself, yup. I prefer it that way.”
“I see.” I said. The truth was I didn’t actually see. Strange beings, theories of time, extinct solar systems? These were things I’d only read about in textbooks, ideas that kept me up at night as a youngster interested in the stars. Yet, here I was, smack-dab in the middle of a coffee shop at the periphery of my know world, living in the strangeness I had read as a youth.
“Any plans for the future?” I continued.
“Well, regardless if you believe in future, past, or present, the answer is no. I’m happy with what we’ve got, and my customers like what we provide. No need to go and mess up a good thing.”
Bob paused, lost in thought, then continued, “Roof does need a patch job though.”
I nodded. Bob had a point. For a place like this, passed down through generations and still doing business for the local community, it made sense he wanted to keep things manageable.
“No plans for expansion, or another location, I take it?” I asked, wondering what new construction out here might cost.
Bob shook his head and leaned forward in his chair, “Not a chance. Feel free to stay as long as you like though. Oh, and let me know when you’re headed out. I’ll give you that detour home.”
I thanked Bob, sensing his eagerness to move on to other things. Putting away my pen, I folded my notebook closed and reached once more for my coffee. It had taken me some time to make it to the café. I figured staying a while longer wouldn’t hurt. I watched as Bob stood and made his way back to the counter where he grabbed a rag and began cleaning.
Surveying the small café for a final time, I reflected on my journey. It was exhilarating to be in my profession, to be able to travel, see new places, and meet new people. The experiences I’ve had during my career are nothing short of incredible and enlightening. Each assignment has brought with it a sense of new understanding and awareness. But, assuming there was a way home, I’d definitely have a conversation with whoever at the Union Tribune was responsible for the faulty space vessel.
Sipping the last of my drink, I packed my things and saddled up to the register where Bob had moved on to grinding beans and preparing espresso.
“On your way out?” Bob asked, looking over his shoulder.
“May as well. I don’t want to miss dinner, though I think it might be too late for such a thing.” I said, dejected at the thought of heading back alone into the vast coolness of space and toward my long-extinct solar system.
“Ah, that. I suggest you take the Event Horizon expressway. It just opened.” Bob grabbed a napkin and a pencil and scribbled a makeshift map.
Handing me the paper, Bob continued, “Follow the coordinates and you should see the expressway when you get close. It looks like a massive black circle. Can’t miss it. Just make sure you hop off the Andromeda exit when you get near Earth and you should be home in no time.”
I thanked Bob and headed off.
As I fastened the door closed to my small space vessel, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. I wasn’t certain when, or if, I’d be back, but the down-home hospitality at the Café at the End of Time lingered. Punching the coordinates from the map into the vessel’s control console, I could hear the engines fire up with a low growl. Slowly, I drifted into the darkness until the café was far below. With a steady jolt, the warp thrusters kicked in and I began my journey across space.
As I approached the expressway, my heart raced. Just as Bob had indicated, the expressway was, indeed, a massive black circle. Though, it was probably fairer to call it a massive black hole instead. Large and ominous, the perimeter of the celestial giant was illuminated only by the light it constantly and irretrievably consumed. Unable to break free, I felt the quickening of my ship’s velocity. Bob must have a cruel sense of humor.
Around me, the space-time continuum shifted and frayed while my vessel shook. Passing through the black hole’s event horizon happened in the blink of an eye. As quickly as the environment around me bent and warped, contorting to the rules governing my travel, I was transported from my destination at the end of the universe to the exit at Andromeda.
Far off the bridge of my vessel, I could see the Milky Way shining in the distance. Looking at my watch, I found its hands spinning in their normal, clockwise fashion once more. The date on my readouts read the same as when I had left Earth and it appeared as though I was going to make dinner, and my deadline, after all.