Movers, Shakers, Taste Makers

Flash fiction, 600 words. For IAM's Feb. 7 prompt. It's the last hamburger night for a while!

Image for IAM Feb. 7 image prompt. https://ironage.media/prompt/the-canteen.html. Courtesy of Iron Age Media.

He was here, he was here, he was finally on Lychos 5. From the window shone the Mercurial Moon, at perigee no less. Below lay the City of Stars, every building inky black and yet glittering with lights and signs made from the planet’s abundant neon.

And here – here – was The Void, the very establishment where once Empress Berenike herself had tended bar. Her perfect hands had touched this counter. Her serene eyes had gazed upon this vista. Here had she beheld the universe. Here had she vowed to conquer it.

So where was everyone?

He’d expected tourists. He’d expected pilgrims. He’d expected reverent museum curiosities. Maybe even an unofficially tolerated shrine. He had not expected to sit alone, tapping a flickering screen in vain for a drink.

The bar was empty. He swallowed a vague dread that perhaps the place wasn’t open, that perhaps in a moment the proprietor would enter and shame him for imposing in the off-hours. That would be embarrassing. What if somehow the Empress heard about it? Did she still keep tabs on her old haunt, the dock from which she launched her ship of galactic dreams?

“Oh? A customer?”

The old woman appeared from beyond the swinging doors so suddenly that he jumped to his feet.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were open!” he yelped.

“I am.” She flashed a wry smile. “Not that anyone cares since that cocktail lounge opened on the 248^th floor.”

She patted the bar. Her wrinkled hand shivered slightly. She seemed to glare at him, but he suspected myopia.

“When young men like you come here, they usually want to know things. What can I tell you?”

“Are you an Imperial Docent, ma’am?”

“Oh, no, no. I’ve got a poor memory these days. I’m entirely unsanctioned. I bought the floor out about five years ago and thought I’d be making a fortune. Ha.”

“I don’t understand. I thought I’d have to fight tooth and nail for a seat at the bar.”

“You and me both, kid. But in the battle between history and fashion, fashion wins.” She made a rude gesture toward the 248th floor. She poured him a whiskey without his asking. “Four sterling, dear.”

He fished around in his pockets. She poured herself a cup and settled back against the counter.

“The old owner absconded in style to Athens IX. I wondered why he’d decided to sell, and not a month later that place opens! He knew what was coming, I know he did.”

“So you weren’t here when …”

“When the Empress was a barback? I was. But.” The old woman leaned in conspiratorially, and in a whisper, confided, “but she was so unremarkable that I can’t remember a thing except a barrette she wore in her hair. Because it kept slipping off into the dishwater!”

He pursed his lips, conflicted. What should he do first – tell off the old woman for denigrating the Empress, or rush behind the bar and ladle his hands in the drain to search for the royal headpiece?

He settled for an honest appraisal. “This isn’t what I expected.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, young man. But time and tastes move on.”

At least he could pay his tab into a real, albeit paper-skinned, hand. He took one last look at the City of Stars and the Mercurial Moon, now setting, before shuffling away to drown his disappointment in expensive cocktails.

She watched him go with narrowed eyes.

“First one in two weeks. Some retirement business this turned out to be.” She sighed, picked up his cup, and cleaned it with practiced ease. Some things you never forgot.

“Maybe it’s not too late to wrest the throne back from my daughter.”