Inn Space : The Adventures of Dursten Sh'awtz
Dursten finished his second night shift—his first as acting Night Manager—and for the most part, the evening had gone off without any major issues… other than the scoot-jumper alert earlier. First responders handled everything off-property, and although the hotel’s security wasn’t allowed to intervene directly, the medevac team had to transport two injured individuals.
Buz’zee was convinced it was Tolby’s scoot-jumper.
“Damn,” Dursten muttered, dragging his sore feet down the hallway. “I must’ve put on twenty miles tonight. I’m gonna have to soak these poor dogs in something stronger than water.”
Back in his room, Dursten flopped onto the bed and mindlessly scrolled through old vid casts. His nerves were still buzzing, despite the shift being over.
He found his thoughts drifting to Buz’zee. Her confidence. Her humor. Her uncanny ability to handle any situation with a bright smile and quick laugh.“I’ll learn a lot from her,” he thought, eyelids starting to droop.
But just as sleep wrapped its soft tendrils around his brain—
BWAAAAAHHP.
An ear-piercing fire alarm shattered the silence.
Intercom: “Night Manager to the front desk. Immediate response required.”
Disoriented and half-dressed, Dursten scrambled into clothes—shirt backwards, shoes mismatched—and bolted for the lobby.
Guests were already filing into stairwells, elevators disabled. Parents carried crying children. A dozen people in sleepwear clogged the foyer with confused murmurs.
At the front desk, the night auditor waved Dursten into the back office.
“Security’s investigating the alarm,” she explained. “But we’ve got four minutes to confirm if it’s a false alarm. Otherwise, the suppression system auto-triggers.”
She handed him a red key card.
Only a manager on duty could reset the system, and only with ID code and physical key card authorization.
Dursten checked the fire panel. The alert had come from the second wing, eighth floor—manual pull switch activated. “Eight floors,” he muttered. “Of course.”
He hustled toward the stairwell, but before he hit the first landing, the handset crackled.
Security: “We’ve got eyes on it. False alarm. Kid pulled the switch. No fire. You’re good to reset.”
Dursten exhaled with relief.
The fire panel was nearly identical to the one used in his old lab. Same layout. Same key card interface. Familiar tech, at least. He reset the system, shut down the alarms, and returned the handset and key card to the front desk.
That’s when he noticed the crowd.
Dozens of tired, irritated guests filled the lobby. Most still in pajamas. Some carried sobbing children. Frustration hung in the air like thick nebula mist.
“I apologize for the disruption,” Dursten said, trying to project calm. “It was a false alarm. System has been reset. Elevators are back online. You’re clear to return to your rooms.”
Some guests grumbled. One muttered, “Hope you fry the little prick that pulled it.” Others demanded compensation.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” Dursten replied. “But unfortunately, when a system designed to save lives is misused, the hotel has no control. We have to treat every activation seriously—for your safety.”
That earned a few nods. Mostly silence.
Back at the desk, he waited for the auditor to finish her call. “I hope this doesn’t happen often,” he asked.
“Eh, once in a while. Usually around holidays. People party too hard and think pulling the alarm’s funny,” she said. “You handled it great, by the way. What you told the guests? Perfect. And Que’enesh won’t refund a single credit for false alarms, so that covered our bases.”
“Thanks,” he smiled. “I was nervous though.”
“Oh, we know. Next time, try putting your shirt on the right way. Helps with the whole ‘I’m-in-charge’ look.”
“Shit,” he laughed. “I was in bed and startled, and—yeah. Never mind.”
She handed back the key card. “You’re not done yet. You’ve got an incident report to file—for Que’enesh and the Fire Marshal.”
“Seven a.m., and now paperwork? Great.”
“They’re short forms,” she grinned. “But Que’enesh will absolutely chew a strip off your ass if she doesn’t get one. Our last Night Manager looked like he sat on a meat slicer.”
“Yeah, she definitely seems like someone you don’t want to piss off.”
“She’s all fangs when you cross her, but honestly? Not a bad boss. Just don’t screw up.”
“Dursten, you’ve got a call coming in. Where do you want it?”
“I’ll take it at the FYI Pod, thanks.”
He stepped into the pod, hit privacy mode, and answered.
“Hi, Dursten. It’s Buz’zee. I heard about the alarm. Security paged me thinking I was still on duty. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just a false alarm. People were pissed, but… I think CAGEE may have gotten a little ‘involved’ too.”
“Heh. He does that. Listen, I might not make it in tonight. The accident earlier… it was Tolby and Mel’lonza. I’m at the hospital now.”
“What? Are they okay?”
“Tolby was trying to impress her. You ever see that old Mother (Earth) vid Dumb and Dumber?”
“Yeah. Studied it in late-era pre-exodus media class.”
“Remember the part where the guy tries to light his own fart?”
“…No way.”
“Oh yeah. Tolby did it while scoot-jumping Mel’lonza home. His scoot-jumper didn’t have a BTV—it ran on hydrocarbon plasma. Turns out there was a coolant leak…”
Dursten covered his mouth, trying not to laugh.
“He lit his own fart and blew the shit out of the scoot-jumper.”
Despite the serious tone, Buz’zee was barely holding in giggles. But her voice cracked—she was clearly worried.“They’re both in rough shape. We don’t know if they’ll make it.”
“Do you need me down there?”
“No, stay at the Inn. I want someone I trust on deck if I can’t make it in. I’ll let Que’enesh know. Just… try to get some rest, okay?”
“Yeah. You too.”
Dursten ended the call, sat down to fill out the incident reports… and promptly started giggling uncontrollably. “What sort of place have I gotten myself into?” he asked aloud, pen in hand, tears of laughter and exhaustion running down his face.
✨ End Chapter Three ✨