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Short Stories From Fading Worlds
A Bar Called Kuiper: The Bartender

A Bar Called Kuiper: The Bartender

"I should have known I'd find you down here again."

The bartender looked up, his reverie broken, and watched as the young soldier sauntered into the room. The man seemed to have cheered up a great deal these last two weeks, and for that the bartender was glad, but at the moment such a feeling was drowned out by a deep well of sadness at the knowledge that this was it. The knowledge that all of... all of this, was over. This time tomorrow the bar would be out of his view, and he'd never see it again. Hell, there was a good enough chance he'd never see the Solar System again, let alone the bar.

"Where else would I be?" He started. "This bar is... it's sad to say, I know, but this bar has been all I've known for eight years. I'm not an adventurous man, friend. I can't see myself enjoying leaving all of this behind."

"Maybe not," the soldier replied, "but at least we're leaving it behind together. That's got to count for something."

The bartender nodded, smiling softly.

"Yeah, I guess you're right on that much. Did you get a chance to speak to the smuggler over the transmitter?"

The man nodded.

"Yep. He seems a nice enough man, if a little rough around the edges. Was more than a little spooked that, at first, he believed that a military man had somehow managed to get into contact with him, but he calmed down a mite when I told him I was with you. Says he'll be here in the early hours of the morning, but then you knew that already, didn't you? If you didn't then you wouldn't be here, brooding over your empty kingdom."

The bartender snorted over the man's dramatics.

"I'm not brooding, just... looking. Trying to burn it into my memory so I don't forget what it's like here. The Landlord and Lady will be packing everything with our help when our ride gets here, but for tonight I get to enjoy this place as it was. If it weren't for the silence I can almost imagine this place is still at its prime when I close my eyes. Ah well, there's little use moping about that now I suppose. I'll have to find another home when we make it to the reaches, find a station somewhere with a good bar that needs an experienced barman. The folks who come through here always move on to do the same sort of job, and I'm no exception. Actually, I think you're one of the only people I can remember who isn't planning on going back into his old job."

The pilot shrugged.

"If ever there's a conflict then I'll sign myself up in a heartbeat, but until that happens there's no need for people like me out there. No, I'll be finding an explorer's ship and signing on, just like you said I should."

The bartender smiled.

"I'm glad I could be of assistance. Remember me while you're out there, won't you?"

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The pilot made a 'pshhht' noise and waved his hands up a little.

"You think I'm going to forget you anytime soon? Nah, you're stuck with me for quite a bit longer yet. We're in for the long haul together, you'll be sad to learn; I might be off on exploratory missions, but so long as you keep me updated on where you're working and where you're staying, I'll keep finding my way back to you. I'm drawn to you, for some reason."

The bartender smiled, something warm growing in his chest.

"I'm very glad to hear that. I've grown rather fond of you as well these last few weeks. Now, would you like a drink? Something lighter, due to our trip tomorrow?"

The soldier smiled warmly.

"Old habits, huh? Sure, why not. What did you have in mind for the two of us, barkeep?"

"Chambord, I was thinking. That or a nice crème de cassis."

"No idea what either of those are, but they sound good to me."

"Do you prefer black raspberry or blackberries?"

The man pulled a thinking face for a moment.

"Black raspberry, if I had to pick one."

The bartender nodded silently, pouring out two small glasses of the raspberry liqueur.

"Chambord it is then. I used to enjoy this when I was younger, though I drink a lot less now than I did then."

"Well," the soldier started, mischievous smile on his face, "seeing as we're leaving this behind, we should get through as much of this as possible tonight, don't you think? We're both young men after all, and what are young men known for if not drinking far too much far too quickly?"

The two of them were silent for a moment, then they laughed quietly to themselves.

"Hey, at least I'm keeping good on what I said to you."

The bartender looked over, confused.

"And what was that?"

"Well, I said I'd see you around, didn't I?"

Despite the jovial way his friend had spoken, the words sent him deep into his thoughts. He'd heard those same words so many times, and not once before now had any of the people saying them meant what they'd said. None of them knew if they'd see him around or not, and though those were the words they used he knew what they were really saying when they thanked him for the drinks, when they said they'd see him around. They were thanking him for his company, for being a shoulder to cry on and a sympathetic ear to listen. They were thanking him, and telling him that they hoped he'd do better than they did.

Right now, it didn't feel like he had.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

The bartender blinked away a tear he didn't know had been forming in the corner of his eye, and shook his head a little.

"Nothing, it's nothing. Just memories, is all."

The soldier nodded in understanding, seeming a little sad himself, and the bartender thought back on all the people who had passed through here, all the people he had helped stay for just a little longer before they moved on to the colonies. He closed his eyes and sighed. Deep down, he knew that he was lingering just as they had. He really should leave soon, before this place became any more of a ghost station than it already was. He looked at the bar taps and smiled softly. The pilot caught his gaze, then smiled warmly himself.

"Go on, barkeep. There's no shame in having this for yourself. You've more than earned it."

The bartender nodded at no-one in particular, zoning out a little as he considered his friend's words. He'd manned this bar for eight years now; that was long enough to have earned a special something before he left.

"One last drink." He muttered to himself. "On the house."