Upon taking over ruling his first planet, Planetary Governor Brarol Trogawa evacuated the lightly-populated town of Vivcan. Once the population was completely gone, he had the entire town, except for one small and very nondescript building, completely leveled and razed. A two-meter-high wall was constructed around that building, placed 150 meters away from it in all directions, with a single lone gate in the wall opposite the entrance to the building.
During the project to build this wall, multiple teams of construction crews were brought in as well as twice as many guards to ensure none went near the building in the center of the area. The orders to the guards were to monitor not only the construction crews but also the other guards. One guard later described his time there as “the most nerve-wracking and paranoia-inducing moments” in his entire career — which later included military service on several planets during their conquest.
With the wall complete, the construction crews were dismissed with large bonuses and sworn to never even mention the existence of this project or location. It is rumored all of the members in all of the crews which worked there did not survive two years beyond completion of the project, although no one has been able to confirm this as the identities of those workers remains unknown.
Of course, all of the guards who were and would continue to be stationed at this location received similar orders to not only ensure none other than Trogawa, himself, entered, but also to monitor the other guards. Entering the grounds inside that wall was a guaranteed sentence to several years’ hard labor in the asteroids and touching the building or the door itself was a death sentence.
As Trogawa’s domain expanded, so, too, did the multi-layered defenses around the anonymous building. These improvements included, at various times, making the wall higher, adding razor-wire, guard posts and towers, and, of course, automatic turrets with different ammunition types — laser, projectile, and flames. The only requirements for these turrets was they must never fire upon the Emperor (Glory To His Name And Achievements), and they must never put the building itself at risk. Thus, the interior area, including even the air up to the level of the walls, became utterly devoid of any form of life whatsoever.
Aside from the stress of constant and continuous paranoia, guard duty here paid extraordinarily well — triple standard combat wages — and the supply ships landed regularly, always carrying lavish supplies. These did not, however, include any form of intoxicants, lest anyone decide to “try their luck”.
Occasionally, some of the senior guards would announce they would be receiving a small shipment of Imperial traitors. Everyone knew these traitors would be used to test the interior defenses of the barren space between the wall and the building. The arriving prisoners would be placed in cells and given a day to recover. They were allowed to clean themselves and given a hearty meal. None ever told them it was their last, since there was no need to discourage them from the start.
The next day, the group would be assembled in a corridor just outside the interior gate. The building and door facing them would be pointed out, as would all of the turrets. The guard commander would address all of the treacherous scum and tell them, simply, this was their one chance at living.
The interior gate would open in a few minutes. All they needed to do to live was reach the building and make it in through the door. Any who made it inside would receive an Imperial Pardon, although they clearly did not deserve it, and would then be transported to whichever planet they desired and released. Out of consideration, they were informed, none of the guards would fire upon them. In fact, the commander would confide, most of the guards would be cheering them on, hoping that one of them would make it.
What the scum were never told, of course, was how all of the guards had large betting pools on how far into the interior area the furthest one would reach before he stopped moving. To allow for fair gambling, the rules had been established early on that the most distant biotrace of any sort, as measured from the nearest edge of the interior gate is what counted as “furthest”.
To date, any bet placed on anything beyond 30 meters was considered to be just throwing E-Creds away. In the 20-to-30 meter range, centimeter and millimeter locations were commonly specified, and the precision scopes and measuring equipment from the guard towers were used to confirm and reconfirm the results.
The only other time there was excitement was when the Emperor (Glory To His Name And Achievements) himself would visit. Having received advanced notice, the guard commander would ensure all of his staff were in pristine uniforms and able to present themselves without dishonor to themselves or him.
The arrival would be announced, first, by several cruisers flying over at high altitude, performing detailed sensor sweeps and, occasionally, blasting crater-sized holes in something which triggered a concern on someone’s scanner screen. Next would be the assault craft swinging past on fast-attack runs which typically did little more than scare some of the surrounding wildlife.
Finally, Trogawa’s personal craft with the Imperial Guard and armed escort ships would arrive, landing just outside the guard living complex. The Guard would quickly form a corridor of flesh and armor leading from the final step of the ramp to the parade grounds. As he strode forward, the Imperial Guard would, in maneuvers so precise they made watch-makers cry, close the corridor and reassemble marching behind him.
Upon reaching the parade ground, with the sun blazing down upon all, he would address the entire assembled formation of guards. It was always a short speech, informing them of how healthy both he and the Empire as a whole were, and thanking them for their service to the Empire in guarding this location. Following that, he would descend, accompanied by the commander and the First Squad of his own Imperial Guard. Then, he would walk along the ranks, personally thanking, and shaking the hands of each individual guard. All of the guards were astonished to think Trogawa, himself, had taken the time to not only thank them but also had been willing to grip hands with them. A few passed out and needed to be brought back to their senses and their feet by their mates.
Once all of these formalities had been completed, the commander would be the escort for a trip to the security complex, to verify all of the systems still recognized the Emperor and would not fire upon him. No one wanted to contemplate what terrible future might await all there if something were to happen.
With that done, Trogawa and the First Squad would enter the corridor outside the interior gate and stride forward. Halfway through the corridor, the Imperial Guard squad would halt, taking positions there, as he continued forward, confident the gate would open before he reached it. With the gate opening before him, Trogawa would always walk casually into the surrounded area. He knew even the insects would be cleared by the various turrets and was seemingly unaffected by any concerns about his personal safety.
Finally reaching the building, he grasped the door handle and paused a moment before opening the door and entering.
Quickly stepping through door, he closed it behind him before there were any complaints about the brightness of the light pouring through the opening. It always took him a few moments for his eyes to re-adjust to the darkness, illuminated as it was by only a few flickering lights which were not candles. He stood near the door, giving himself that time to allow the process to occur.
“Brarol, is that you? Once your eyes adjust, c’mon over to the bar and tell me what you’re drinking today,” came a voice from further in. The Emperor blinked a few times, attempting to clear the last of the blinding light from his eyes and looked up, spotting the Bartender behind a mostly-empty bar. Waving a hand, he walked over and hopped up onto a barstool.
“Yeah, it’s me. I was finally able to take a break from things for a couple of days again. Used to be, I could swing by every couple of battles. Now, it seems like I can’t do it unless we’ve captured and occupied another three or four systems. I have missed this place, that’s for sure.”
“We’re always here. You look stressed. What can I get for you?”
“Remember that one ale from … like … two or three times ago? There was that short guy with the giant beard who suggested I try some. Said it was from his home. That was damned good. What the hell was it?” Trogawa paused, trying to think of the name.
“Oh, yeah … it was… wait a second…” The Bartender closed his eyes, squinting as if trying to replay a scene in his head. Suddenly his eyes flashed open, “Right! It was the Bearded Barrel’s Upriver Red! Want me to pull you a pint?”
Trogawa’s mouth turned into a huge smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve still got it!” He quickly looked around the bar. “Is that little runt here now? Hiding under a table or something?”
“No, no, he’s not here now. But for you, Your Imperial Majesty, I’ll get you your drink,” as he walked further down the bar, grabbed an empty glass and held it below one of the unlabeled taps and started to pour. After all, here in the Nowhere Pub, if you wanted a drink, there’s always one available for you.
What, you may ask, is the Nowhere Pub? It is a multi-dimensional, cross time and space, pub. Try and conjure from the deepest recesses of your mind the darkest, seemingly most unfriendly, not-where-you-belong pub. Now magnify that several times. You might just come close to the interior of the Pub. There are tables scattered across the floor and around the edges of the room — which is barely visible. On each table is something which you would think are candles — you’d be wrong — providing barely flickering sparks of light.
There are similar lights hanging over the bar. Behind the bar are several taps for beer and ale — all of which are unlabeled, having merely blank wooden pull-levers attached to them. There’s a multitude of bottles against the back wall, either similarly unlabeled or with labels that are impossible to see or read. Of course, the Pub has a bartender. He’s usually a cheerful sort and, when not serving drinks, spends most of his time polishing the glasses and mugs.
What’s the allure of the Pub? It’s got a few.
For one thing, any drink that exists — somewhere or somewhen — is available to you. Name a beer, and they’ve not only got it, but it’s on tap. Pick a vintage liquor, and they’ll have a bottle — open and waiting to serve you a shot. If you insist on a cocktail, hardly a favorite of the usual clientele, the bartender will have just the perfect ingredients for the absolutely best version of it you’ve ever tasted.
And the clientele — Ah, you’ll find all sorts here; ranging from barbarians just walked in out of icy tundra, to nomadic priests finally made it out of the desert, all the way to space marine officers who’ve come out of a successful battle. This is where they go to have a drink, or five, and relax.
The Pub is where stories are swapped. Just don’t try to start a fight. You’ll get one warning from the bartender that behaving that way will require him to call the Bouncer to put an end to it. That always settles the point.
Oh, and the other distinction about the Pub? It’s got two kinds of customers. The Regulars and the One-Timers. You don’t know which one you are until you try and find the Pub again. The Regulars can always find their way back. The door they open to leave the pub will always be the same door they used to enter it — returning them back to wherever they came from.
As for the One-Timers? Well — they get one chance. No one else uses that door? They’re headed back home and never finding it again. They go out through a different door, though, and who knows where they’re headed or if they’re ever coming back.
How do you figure out which type of customer you are? You walk out the door and see what happens. Or, you discover you can find the Pub again.
Sometimes, if you’re sure you’re a Regular, and you happen to be the Emperor over a massive portion of a galaxy, you can also just grab a door to the Pub to make sure you have an easy way to get there for a drink.
With his drink poured and the foam head starting to settle, the Bartender placed the glass in front of Trogawa. “There ya go. One Upriver Red — just like from before.” There were small drops of condensation already starting for form on the exterior of the glass as he reached for it and took a long drink, downing half of the pint in a few slow gulps.
“Ahhhh…. that is just as good as I remember it.” Putting the glass slowly back down on the bar, he gazed thoughtfully at it. While he did, the Bartender grabbed his towel and a glass from a counter behind the bar and started polishing it.
“So how come you don’t visit like you used to, Emperor?”
“Knock that off. I get enough genuflecting and pompous shite out there. I don’t need it in here from you, too.”
“Right. Ok, then, ‘Rollie. What’s keeping you from visiting? Last I heard about, you ruled a hell of a lot of planets.”
“Yeah, I do. And it’s still expanding. But somehow I’ve only ever found the one damn door to get here. And it’s the same one I walk through every time. If I found another door that was closer to the Throne World, I’d use that one.”
A pause in polishing as he glanced up to ask, “Don’t s’pose you ever thought about relocating the Throne?”
“I would if I could. This planet is too far away from the center for me to do that and still be able to say I’m actively doing anything besides being a figurehead. And if that ever happens … why do they need me as a figurehead, huh?”
“Fair point, fair point.”
Trogawa continued drinking and, after finishing off the pint held it up for the Bartender to see. “Another one, please?”
“Coming right up,” as he took the glass he’d been polishing and filled that from a different tap, but the liquid pouring out was the same reddish-golden color.
“How the hell do you do that?”
“Do what?” as the filled glass was placed in front of the Emperor again.
Tasting it to confirm it was the same beer, he held up the mostly-full glass, “This!”
“You give me the same damn drink from different taps every single time. How does that work?”
“Not sure I can explain it. I just … know … which tap to use for a drink. The Pub kinda …tells me? Same way I know how to make any drink or to be able to tell someone which beer they had from two visits back is.” The Bartender smiled. “Or … like how, for some Regulars, they can walk into a random door quite far away from the last door they used and still wind up back here. I’m told you can just tell that it’s the right door, once you know how to find it.
“Definitely seems a shame that you’ve only got the one, though. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of that happening to someone else. Hmm…” His finger tapped thoughtfully at the side of the glass he had picked up to polish.
“Maybe that’s the problem for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well … you’ve told me about how much you’ve built up and barricaded around your door. So heavily that … it feels safe and secure there? It doesn’t want to move.
Trogawa laughed. “You’re trying to tell me the door in that building likes the protections I’ve got around it?”
“You’re the one who built them. And then you keep tossing prisoners in to keep things entertaining. Ever stop to think about why you’ve got that door so well-defended and well-treated?”
“Yeah, I did it because … “ Trogawa paused, realizing all these years later, he couldn’t answer the question. He quickly drank the entire pint. “I have no damn idea why I did that. I guess I just … wanted it to be mine?”
“And now it is. Maybe that door likes that, huh?”
“Damn. Who knew my closest friends would be a guy who doesn’t even exist in my universe and a … a door stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“If you’re best buds with it, what about taking it home with you?”
“Taking it… what the hell are you talking about?”
The Bartender smiled. “You’ve got a … what’cha call it? … Good relationship with your door, right? Maybe it’d like to be closer to you also? What with sall of your Imperial technology and whozie-whatzit stuff, couldn’t you relocate an entire building? Move it to your Throne World. Then you could visit more often, y’know?”
“Relocate a building! Across planets! Are you … cra… zy…?” As soon as he said the words, Trogawa started to realize how it could be done. There were cargo ships which certainly had holds big enough to store cubic kilometers of ore and other goods. The hardest part would be excavating around the building, securing the entire thing, and then lifting it into orbit. Once it was in space, transferring it and landing it at a destination would be trivial.
While he had been lost in thought, a fresh pint had appeared in front of him.
“Son of a…” Trogawa picked up the glass and drank all of it before slamming the glass back down on the bar and sliding off his barstool. “Put those three on a tab for me. I’ve got some orders to give for a construction and transport project to get going. The Imperial Engineers are going to love this one!”
“Not for just anyone, but, for you? Sure … Just this one time, I’ll let you run a tab.”
Trogawa was striding confidently towards the door, ready to put plans in motion. He looked back just before he got there. “I’ll be seeing you again real soon, and a lot more regularly!”
He never heard the “Looking forward to it” from the Bartender behind him.
