The Imperial Conference Room settled into a stunned silence as what had just been said sank into the thoughts of the Emperor, all of the highest-ranked military personnel, and other Imperial advisors. Vice-Admiral Kaydyn Rames began to sit down again, but before he completed the movement, a voice from the elevated throne at the head of the table stopped him.
“Wait. Before you sit down again, let me make sure I fully understand what you’ve just said. Yes, I know I am infallible, but in this case, I wish to ensure that there are absolutely no misunderstandings. If I misrepresent anything of what you’ve presented, please — you are ordered to interrupt me and correct my mistake.” The voice was calm and steady, but there was clearly a simmering rage lurking just below the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
“Ye-yes, Your Imperial Greatness?”
“At our last meeting, you announced the completion of the Door-Knocker … the brand new Imperial super-weapon. If my memory serves, it was constructed, at great expense, by moving a large asteroid close to our orbiting ship-building facilities at Uvoacoph IV. The asteroid, which was approximately 10 km in diameter, was then hollowed out, and the interior was completely rebuilt as a self-propelled weapon, also capable of star jumps. I’m correct so far, am I not?”
“Your memory is impeccable, Your Majesty.”
“Good, good. I wanted to be sure.” A soft throat-clearing sound and then the voice continued. “The Door-Knocker was built to be a mobile impregnable fortress, its entire surface covered with all sorts of automated turrets and sensor arrays for defense, as well as being the base for several squadrons of fighters and a small flotilla of, what was it …? Five attack cruisers and their accompanying escorts?”
“Again, you are correct, Oh Mighty and Capable Emperor.”
“And the main weapon … which is why we needed to use a hollowed-out asteroid in the first place … was to be capable of erasing an entire continent from the surface of a planet, leaving everything flat and barren, even removing the mountains and any signs of life? Truly a weapon to finally convince the rebellious scum that their fight was lost, yes?”
“I am certain when they first heard of it, many of the leaders of the rebellion required new clothes from having soiled themselves, Your Mightiness.”
There were a few contained soft chuckles from around the table which were quickly stifled at a glare from the Emperor.
“Then, could you please explain to me how it is even remotely possible there was a design flaw of this magnitude in such a magnificent creation?” Emperor Brarol Trogawa rose from his throne, his voice rising with him as he continued to speak. “And not only did this flaw become known to the rebels, but they were able to infiltrate four people into this base …”
“Six, Your Majesty … It was six, not four.” Rames’ voice was weak and trembling.
“SIX! Six rebel scum infiltrated themselves onto what should have been the most well-defended location in the Empire outside of my own damn THRONE ROOM! And then, after infiltrating, they not only disabled the weapon but also DESTROYED the entire asteroid in the process! And, as far as can be determined, they did so by sabotaging three of the powering chambers with … what? POTATOES???”
Rames gulped as the Emperor made it clear he did, indeed, understand everything Rames had said. “Y-ye-yes, Your Im-Im-Imperial Greatness. Y-you ha-have u-under-st-stood.”
The Emperor’s voice lowered to a normal volume, but the simmering rage which had been lurking was clearly boiling over. “And now, instead of an asteroid-sized super-weapon, all I have is an expanding cloud of space dust and a few charred potatoes to show for it.” A small tilt of his head before he continued. “As this was your project, Rames, you are clearly the one responsible for it. I still want that super-weapon and I think it is important we begin work on the Door-Knocker Two without any delay. In fact, I believe it appropriate that you take the lead for the initial construction crew.”
“Oh, th-thank you, Your Imperial Majesty.” Rames allowed himself to slump into his chair.
“Guards!” Two of the six Imperial Guards who had been stationed along the wall behind the Emperor stepped forward. “I am hereby appointing Kaydyn Rames as the head … and sole member … of the initial construction crew for the Door-Knocker Two project. Please find him a suitable asteroid and transport him to it. Ensure he is provided with a habitat … and a spoon. He can start digging and keep at it until we send others to help him … eventually.”
“What, noooooo….!” By this point, the two Guards had already each hooked an arm onto Rames’ arms and were dragging him out of the room and off to his fate.
“If there is no other business to discuss, I will be in my chambers. Hopefully everyone else present will take this moment to heart and work extra diligently to prevent future mishaps of this sort?”
Saying that, he turned and exited the room through his personal door, followed by the remaining Guardsmen.
After stomping through the short corridor to the residential section of the Imperial Palace, Trogawa dismissed the Guards to their regular duty posts and walked dejectedly to his chambers. He muttered to himself. “Quadrillions of E-Creds … gone in a flash … such incompetence … maybe giving that fool a spoon was being too generous …”
Upon reaching his personal chambers, the two concubines assigned to him for the day slithered off his bed. They barely made a sound, their feet whispering softly as they stepped lightly on the rugs to kneel before him, their silks and lace swirling around them. The two spoke in alternating phrases, a common practice among the best of his concubines.
“Your Majesty, as always …”
“We are at your service. May we …”
“Assist you in undressing?”
“Would you allow us to …”
“Assist you in eating? Or …”
“Perhaps with bathing?”
“The evening is young, yet, and …”
“We look forward to being with you …”
And finally, they spoke as one, “For the entirety of it.”
He smiled a soft smile at them, appreciating their beauty and attentiveness, but in a dour mood still with the news of moments ago.
“I would change into casual wear, but, alas, I am not of a mind to eat or bathe just yet. And I am definitely not ready for bed either.” He reached out and gently caressed both women’s faces and hair. “Later, my sweets … later.”
The two of them quickly stood and dashed to his closet, selecting a linen pull-over tunic with loose gray trousers and a light vest in the same color. “Is this acceptable, Greatness?”
He nodded at the clothing and they assisted him with undressing and then donning the casual clothing, also helping him change from his formal boots into softer footwear. With the shift in what he was wearing, Trogawa felt somewhat more able to relax.
“Excellent, ladies. I thank you for your help. I believe I would like to spend some time by myself. I expect I will return in a couple of hours. Please have food waiting for us and a bath ready for afterwards.”
Both concubines took to their knees again, bowing subserviently. “Of course, Your Exalted Majesty.” / “It is our greatest pleasure.”
With that said, he turned and left his chambers through a different door that led even deeper into the residential complex. This was a private section, accessible only to cleaning automatons and himself. Each of the small automated defenses mounted on the ceiling at regular intervals tracked him for just a moment before the tiny lights flicked to green and they deactivated.
At the far end of this corridor was a door. Unlike all of the other doors in the palace, this door was not automated and had a very incongruous handle which was clearly designed to be pulled, opening the door. After a completely unnecessary but habitual glance behind him, he opened the door, revealing a darkness beyond the door… a darkness filled with small flickering lights.
Stepping forward, he crossed the threshold of his own personal door into the Nowhere Pub.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim lights, he began to make out the Bartender, standing, as always, behind the bar and polishing a pint glass with a towel. The Bartender looked up at him. “‘Rollie! Good to see you as always, mate. C’mon over and I’ll draw you a cold one!”
Trogawa walked the path to the bar, surprised to see a couple of other men seated there, each nursing a pint of some liquid that was clearly one of the brews which were always available. While it was not uncommon for there to be other patrons at the Nowhere Pub, he couldn’t remember any time when there was more than one other sitting at the bar. Of course, the shadowed tables around the perimeter often held a few people, although they remained private settings for those located there. Not to mention the odd sounds which occasionally would be emitted from them. He was reasonably sure he’d once seen something that looked like a tentacle or two, but quickly dismissed it as a figment of his colorful imagination.
“Yeah, I definitely need something. Make it strong, but not enough to knock me out. I’ve got two lovely young ladies who’ll be waiting for me in my quarters later and I would hate to disappoint either of them.”
“Hmmm… intoxicating, but not so’s bad as to make you comatose.” The Bartender thought for a moment. “You don’t need anything to … ahem … enhance your performa-“ A glare and quick shake of the Emperor’s head put an end to that question immediately. “No, no, of course not. What was I thinking, eh?”
The Bartender picked up a pint glass, grabbed the towel hanging over his shoulder and started polishing it. “And something for a bad day, seems like. I’ve got just the thing. In fact, the gentleman to your left was seeking something similar, so I’ll set you up with one just like that.” He stepped over to the taps, most of which were just bare wooden handles — with no signs or symbols on them; one of the tap handles even appeared to be part of an antler.
Holding the glass under one of the handles, he pulled it and a dark amber liquid poured smoothly from the tap, filling the glass. Once it was full, with barely any head of foam, he placed it on the bar. “There you go. ‘Blood of the Minotaur’, one of Garnak Maze’s best brews. Oh, and don’t worry — there’s no traces of any portion of a minotaur in there. Just that he has some on staff, minding the fermentation process — blood, sweat, and tears, and all that, y’know?”
Trogawa lifted the glass staring through the dark liquid before taking a sip and letting the ale fill his mouth before taking his first swallow. “Ah, that is good. Hits the spot, definitely.”
It was just the sort of relaxing drink he’d come to the Nowhere Pub to have.
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, or some other handle, 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 holy knights partaking in a crusade to devout monks, departed from their monastery on a personal pilgrimage. 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.
But even if you’re a Regular and the only other customers present are other Regulars, the Pub has a habit of getting the right set of people together to make for some interesting stories.
With Trogawa’s first drink served, the Bartender grabbed another pint glass and began his customary routine of polishing it. In a voice loud enough to suggest that the answer might be of interest to the others sitting at the bar, he asked, “So, ’Rollie … what’s got you so down today?”
Brarol sighed at, once more, hearing the overly-familiar method of addressing him, but realized making a point of it would just worsen things. “You remember how I recently mentioned that my giant super-weapon, the Door-Knocker, was nearing completion? And, once it was done, my Empire would finally possess the capability of eradicating the treacherous rebellion scum who’ve been a thorn for decades?”
“Yeah, yeah. You took a big rock, hollowed it out and built it into some sort of death ray or something, right?”
Deciding that any attempt to correct the Bartender’s impression with a more detailed explanation would probably not be useful, he nodded. “It was a little more complex than that, but, basically, yes. It represented quadrillions of credits and billions of hours of effort to build it …”
The Bartender held up the glass he was polishing, seemed to notice a spot still on it and began rubbing it with even more vigor. “Ok. Big gun … very expensive … lots of work. Was it a dud?”
“I don’t know.” Trogawa hissed and then attempted to calm himself by taking another drink of his ale. “Somehow, the security team was utterly incompetent. Details of the weapon escaped and some rebels were able to sneak in and destroy the thing! But …” He held his glass up to contemplate it before taking another drink and resuming his story.
“The absolutely worst part of it? They blew it up by overloading the power chambers. They stuffed the damned things with, if you can believe it … potatoes. That caused some sort of power feedback into the reactors and the whole thing was vaporized.”
“Wait … they used root vegetables in strategic locations to destroy your super-weapon?” The Bartender was clearly attempting to smother a smile.
“Please? I’m really trying not to think about it.” He held up his now-empty glass. “I need another one now.”
“Coming right up.” As he was filling a fresh glass, the Bartender looked past Trogawa to the man sitting on that side of him. “Hey, Wolfie! Sounds like both of you are having a bad day today, huh? I’ll get you another pint also, both pints are courtesy of the Pub.” Pouring another pint, he slid the glass down the bar to where a bony, almost skeletal hand clinked against the glass.
“Yes, we seem to be similarly afflicted by those who seek to refute our power and destiny to rule.”
Trogawa and the other customer both turned to each other at the same time, allowing each to look at the other more closely. Trogawa noted the other wore a cloak, with the hood pulled up. As he reached out his hand for an introduction, the other’s hood fell backwards, revealing the man’s skin was pulled taut, making his appearance seem almost skeletal.
“Duke Wolfram Furchtleiden, at your service.” A pair of red glowing orbs showed through where the man’s eyes would have normally been visible.
“Star Emperor Brarol Trogawa, and I’ll skip the usual list of platitudes and dominions.” Both men shook hands. “Pardon me for asking, but …” Trogawa waved his hand vaguely in front of his own face by way of indicating a question regarding Furchtleiden’s appearance.
“This? Oh, no, it’s not some sort of demonic curse, no matter how it appears. Merely a persistent skin condition. I’ve tried various lotions and ointments and treatments, but nothing seems to keep it at bay, so it always returns.”
“I see.” Trogawa took a sip of his refreshed drink. “And apparently we’re both having a bad day?”
“Yes, indeed. I have no idea what a ‘gun’ or a ‘power chamber’ is — doubtless one of those twists from us having different realities — but it sounds like some sort of significant source of military might of yours was destroyed?”
“That is one way of putting it, yes.”
“For my part, ah … the preparation was complete and my armies had assembled. I would conquer the long-lived purple ones first. Once that task was finished, the Alliance of Five Races would be shattered, their eldest members destroyed or subjugated to My Will.”
Furchtleiden’s voice rose. “From there, we would have marched onward! Tearing through the rest one after another!” As his voice rose, small crackles of lightning formed around his body and one of the non-lights above the bar where he sat began to sway back and forth.
“Wolfram!” The Bartender’s voice cut through the story-telling. “If you don’t control yourself, the Bouncer will be happy to assist!”
With that, all of the anomalous activity ceased suddenly and Furchtleiden cleared his throat. “My apologies. I get a bit excited when I contemplate my plan for domination over the Five Races of the Realm.” The skeletal fingers reached out and grasped his glass, and a long drink followed.
“As I was saying, my vast army had assembled and we were prepared to strike. Except … my beloved eldest daughter… Dusternis … had been somehow seduced by one of the damned so-called ‘Heroes’!” Furchtleiden made air-quotes as he said this last word. “She betrayed the Cause. She betrayed her family. And, damn it!” He chugged down the entirety of his glass and waved it towards the Bartender.
“She betrayed me. My armies were ambushed before we had barely even begun to march. All Five Races had sent their troops and their mage forces. I weep to think of how long it will take to rebuild what she caused to be destroyed.” A freshly-filled glass was placed in front of him, which he picked up, but did not yet drink from.
“And the part that truly hurts me the most? She didn’t even have the good grace to invite me to the wedding.” Trogawa made a toasting motion with his glass and both men took small drinks.
Just then, the other person sitting at the bar cleared his throat and turned towards them.
“While I would dislike to make this a full-on pity party, may I join you both, as I too have a bit of a sad tale to tell and came here to drown my sorrows.” Both Trogawa and Furchtleiden nodded their assent, after which the other man relocated himself to an adjacent bar stool.
“Your Majesty, and your … Grace?” He had stumbled trying to recall the proper term.
“No, no… Those are merely for out there and by way of introducing ourselves. Unless the Duke, here, objects, I am comfortable with being simply Trogawa or even Brarol. Unlike how the Bartender chooses to address me, as … ugh … ‘Rollie’.”
“And, please … for me, Wolfram or Wolf, as well.”
“Very well. Brarol … and … Wolf?” Both nodded their assent as his chosen form. “I am Stuart. Stuart Gilmartin. I have nothing to compare to both of your stories. However, if I may share my own tale of woe?
“Up until recently, I had been operating a very successful fishing operation. Close to where I live, there is a small cove nearby. It was often populated by these fish, you see? Kylajun. Such wonderful and magnificent creatures they are, too. Their scales glitter like a rainbow in shallow waters. And, if I may, their flesh is simply the most delectable you have ever tasted. They are valued highly, both for collectors of aquatic creatures as well as renowned connoisseurs.”
Furchtleiden interrupted for a moment. “Might I speculate that capturing these fish is not exactly an allowed activity?”
Gilmartin chuckled. “Indeed. They are considered some sort of protected species. And the cove was not entirely an area I was allowed to access for a commercial venture either, as you may have also speculated. But, for an ordinary man such as myself, the revenue was not something I could easily dismiss.
“In any event — very recently, there had been a significant increase in the frequency and number of casual tourists wandering through the area, causing interruptions and delays. You must understand, I had made commitments to clients to deliver certain quantities of these fish by certain dates and they were becoming quite insistent that continuing delays were unacceptable.
“I did the only thing I could think to do, silly and perhaps childish as it may seem. I started several rumors to the effect that there had been ghostly sightings at this cove. To strengthen these, I acquired a costume of a deep-sea diver. This costume I then adorned with various lights, effects, and other ornaments as to make it appear ghastly and frightening.”
“And this was sufficient to chase away these tourists?”
“Much to my surprise, yes!” He took a small sip of his beer and continued. “My mere appearance, climbing out of the water, enhanced by all sorts of terror-filled moaning, had all of them screaming and running away in fear and horror, thus allowing my continued operations.
“Oh, yes, it was a bother every time I needed to don this suit, but the rewards made up for it. At least up until they showed up to ruin things!”
“And who, may I ask,” said Trogawa, “is this ‘they’ you refer to? What happened?” Despite himself, he was curious about the man’s story, paltry and simple though it was.
“Some group of young adults and their … swarm … of pet mustalids.” Seeing Trogawa’s raised eyebrow, he added, “They’re small, flexible, furry animals. Constantly sneak around everywhere, able to get into places they have no business being!
“They heard about the cove and how it was haunted and, instead of behaving perfectly normally and minding their own business, they chose to investigate and find the cause of all of the sightings. As soon as they showed up, I, of course, put on my suit and chased them away. Except, they didn’t stay chased. They returned and lay traps and all sorts of other inventive items to confound me — of which I was unaware at the time. Once I saw them and started to chase them again, I fell victim to a few of these and then, somehow, a couple of their damned pets found their way into my suit.
“Suddenly, I was being nibbled by the things in places which, I dare say, no one has ever appreciated being nibbled by a small animal! Thus, I was caught and unmasked, much to my shame. The local authorities were called in and my entire operation was shut down.”
Gilmartin took a deep drink from his glass, and then slowly shook his head. “I would’ve gotten away with it, too … if only it wasn’t for that meddlesome group and those damned ferrets!”
