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| The Canteen literature prompt from Iron Age Media |
Found in an empty hotel room in Nueva Helena, the largest city on the mining planet of New Montana.
I'm writing this because I can't explain the weird, sinking sensation I have right now. I feel stupid suggesting that this piece of paper might end up being my last will and testament. Not that I have much in the way to hand down, but if somebody finds this and I'm no longer around, I guess everything I have should go to my son, Jamie Soerman, who lives with my ex-wife Isabel on Wisdom, in the Artestren system.
I expect I'll be back in a few hours, and I'll destroy this paper and go on with my life, but as I sit here in this hotel room, I have this uneasy feeling in my stomach and I can't get rid of it.
Three months ago I was sitting at the bar in a little hole in the wall on Vitra with my usual glass of whiskey in front of me. The room was noisy, full of smoke, and smelled of stale liquor and all the regrettably human smells that come along with stale liquor. There I was, staring into my glass when a stranger pushed through the crowd of people to the empty seat next to me.
He sat down and put his finger up, and ordered a fairly cheap glass of Evan Williams, without ice. The bartender grabbed a glass and poured, and slid it over to him.
I had barely noticed the whole exchange, to be honest. I was too occupied with my own thoughts, but when I saw that glass slide across the countertop, I glanced over. The man was tall and husky, with a mop of graying black hair and a face that would have been square if it didn't have that flabby look that a lot of guys get in their middle age. He was wearing some oil-stained denim overalls over a dark grey shirt with long sleeves.
The man took a tiny sip of his drink and looked up and down the bar. He glanced at my glass and made a little grunt of satisfaction.
“What are you having?” he asked.
I told him, and he smiled. “Macallan?” he growled. His voice was deep and scratchy. “That's a good choice, but honestly, I'd say something that fine is wasted in a dump like this.” He took another sip, and shrugged. “But hell, it's your money.”
I lifted my glass and swirled the amber liquid in it around, and thought about it. I guess he had a point. It was an expensive glass to have spoiled by the atmosphere, but dammit, I liked it anyway. Still, it sounded as if he had a suggestion. I asked him if there was a better place to drink on this little rock.
He shook his head. “Oh, no, not here,” he murmured. “But let me tell you, I know of a place that'll make you think you've never had whiskey before. You should try it sometime. Thanks to that bar, I only bother with the cheap stuff in a noisy hellhole like this. I mean, I guess you can drink it here, but can you really taste it?”
He waved a hand slowly around, and my eyes followed, seeming out of my control.
“Look around us. The sounds, the greasy bar stools... the smells. Hardly a place for a fine drink by a distinguishing connoisseur.” He frowned. “Good whiskey is wasted in an environment like this.”
I asked him what place he was talking about.
“It's a bar on a little planet called New Montana. Place is called The Void. They specialize in making sure you can really taste that whiskey.”
I chuckled. It seemed silly. If I wanted to taste the whiskey, couldn't I just bring a bottle home?
He shook his head, and a sly smile crept across his face. “Oh, no, it's much better than that. At The Void, they get rid of all the distractions that might affect your sense of taste. It's really quite... unique.”
I grinned and asked him if he liked drinking in a sensory deprivation chamber. I imagined some hippie in a tank half-full of water trying to enjoy a glass of fine whiskey, and laughed out loud.
The smile on the man's face widened, as if he could see what I was thinking. “You're imagining some kind of silly bucket half-full of water, aren't you?” I flinched, and looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he took that as a signal to continue. “No, The Void is much more than that. A little tank full of stagnant water is no place for a drink.” He laughed softly.
“No, The Void has some special tricks that I haven't seen anywhere else. Like their headgear. You'd think that would be distracting, wouldn't you? Not what they've got. Somehow it gets around your head without ever touching it. It stays a few millimeters off of you, yet it still shows you a calm, augmented reality of a well-stocked bar with no people in it. Very atmospheric.”
He pointed to his ear. “Really interesting is the sound. The headset cancels out all noise, not just noise outside the headgear. Somehow, it picks up and cancels out the sound of your own heartbeat, your blood pumping, all of that.” He shifted in his seat. “I used to work in mining, and I got a pretty bad tinnitus from all that heavy machinery. The damn thing at The Void even canceled that out, like magic.”
He lowered a hand to pat the side of his bar stool. “Even their seats are something else. You sit, but you never actually touch the things. You'd think it would be easy to fall off like that, but it's bizarre. It's like... have you ever seen a magnet levitate over a superconductor? How it gets locked in place? It's like that. You never touch the thing, but you never feel like you're going to slip off. I have no idea how it works, but there's no contact with the seat to distract you, and also no weightless feeling that might mess up your inner ear. It felt weird the first time I tried it, but once I got used to it... It's marvelous.”
He sucked a deep breath through his nose, and mock-frowned. “The air in The Void is nothing like the mess here. It's piped in from chemically pure processes. Exactly eighty percent nitrogen and twenty percent oxygen, down to one part per trillion. That's a mystery to me, too, because somehow they cycle new air in and you never feel even a hint of wind.
“They measure your body temperature and adjust the room to maintain it perfectly, even changing it over time. As long as you don't stand up and start doing jumping jacks, you don't feel any hot or cold, even after a few drinks.”
He paused to take another sip before going on. “So there you sit, in a place without distractions in touch, sight, smell, or sound. They have a selection of fine spirits from all across the galaxy. They'll pour you a bit of anything you like into a glass made from pure fused silica. You can take as long as you like to drink it, and you'll really taste it, unlike here.”
He made a little self-deprecating sound, half laugh, half snort. “Let me tell you, it costs a pretty penny to have a drink there, and it was always tempting to overdo it. But after my first taste...” he trailed off, and paused to take another sip. “...even my favorite drinks seemed bland and flat in a place like this. At home, too.”
He shrugged. “Of course, I can't drink there every night, but whenever I can, I make that trip to New Montana and head to The Void. And when I'm not there, I drink stuff that's a little cheaper, because what the hell. If I save a bit out here, that gets me just that much closer to another drink at The Void. Gives me something to look forward to.”
He turned and grinned at me. “Does that sound good to you? Maybe you'll give it a try someday. If you do, let them know that Demarchet sent you. That's my name--Demarchet.
“And while we're here, bottoms up.” He lifted his glass and drained it dry, paid his tab, and sauntered out.
That was the last I saw of him. It took me a little while to save up for a trip to New Montana, but here I am. The Void is listed on the standard commercial lists as a luxury bar. It has good reviews. They look real, too. I can't find anything suspicious about it, so it must just be my gut trying to trick me. If Demarchet is right, maybe going to The Void is going to turn an affordable habit into a dangerously pricey one. That must be what my stomach is warning me about. It can't possibly be any worse than that. But I'm writing this ridiculous thing anyway, so I may as well make it official.
Signed,
Ryan Soerman
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Thanks for reading! I wanted to leave a lot up for questions in this story. Did Soerman vanish? Is he just working at the Void? Maybe he worked up a tab and is washing dishes. Who is/was Demarchet? Honestly, I don't have answers for you. The story is mostly about the cool tech they use at The Void.
If you'd like to support my work, head over here and see if any of my books sound fun to you. Of course, I still have a bunch of other free short stories for you to browse, as well!
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