Tevun-Krus #100

64 - For a Mouthful of Macmac - @johnnedwill - SpaceWestern

For a Mouthful of Macmac

By johnnedwill

The light from the Entropy Reefs cast harsh shadows across the floor of the saloon that afternoon, causing the few barflies to shift uneasily on their stools. They looked out at the sky and wondered out loud what had fallen into the swirling vortices at the edge of the universe to cause them to flare so brightly. Perhaps it had been a world, its inhabitants screaming in terror as their planet dissolved around them; or maybe it had been a ship full of rich radioactives, its crew fighting bravely to the last. Despite their momentary curiosity, it never occurred to the drinkers to go and find out. The lure of the macmac was too strong.

Blake, the owner of the establishment, stood at the row of beverage dispensers and polished a glass. It didn't matter to him what happened in the rest of the universe. He was concerned with turning a profit, and that meant keeping the drink flowing for his customers. One day he would have enough credit to leave this place, this literal Last Chance Saloon, and return to the starlit arms of the galaxy where the light was gentle and warming. Until then he sold intoxicants to the hardened drinkers that came here: tzin, ouisghae and, for those who truly had nothing left to lose, macmac.

The entry signal at the saloon's entrance chimed as another customer came in. Blake looked up to see who it was and to set up the drinks. Like every good barman, he knew what his regulars were after, their particular choice of oblivion. However, the new arrival was not one of his regulars. It was someone unfamiliar. Blake smiled in welcome.

"Howdy stranger. You new around these parts?" Sure, it was a clichéd greeting, but Blake's customers were rarely that discerning to care.

The stranger was a cyborg, his once-human flesh replaced by a patchwork of metal and circuits. He fixed Blake with his one, good eye and snarled at him: "Gimme macmac."

Macmac. Blake was on familiar territory. He held a glass up to the nozzle of the dispenser and filled it with a foaming measure of the foul, alien brew. "You look like you could do with that, buddy," Blake intoned. "You had a rough time?"

The cyborg nodded. "Rough ain't the word, pal. It's taken me a long time to get here. I lost my eye from staring into the heart of the Flare Zone, trying to keep my ship on course. My arm went fighting slavers in the Black Stars. Rot Fever took my lungs on Some Godforsaken Planet. And that's just the start. But I got here in the end."

Blake nodded in sympathy. "Yeah. You had it rough. You want me to start a tab?"

"No," said the cyborg. Blake's heart leapt at the thought of cold, hard cash. Maybe his luck was on the turn.

The cyborg fumbled in his belt. "No tab. I got a coupon. This one's free."