There is a pub on the now lifeless planet of Bacchus six of the Tetrathon solar system, a system which is, for want of a better term, perched precariously at the utmost edge of the universe. That is not to say that is where the universe ends, just that explorers in times gone by had attempted to delve further into that bleak void and reasonably concluded that there wasn’t much else to see. It is a reach of the cosmos where the only interesting sights are scattered particles of matter drifting in endless and daunting chasms of nothingness. In its heyday Bacchus six would have seen tourists from each of the millions of sentient life forms that exist in the vast soup bowl we call existence. But in time the planet began to wither and dry up, now it only serves as a refuge for the stowaways, runaways and the endless travellers that drift the reaches of the universe. There are Hydraxians, reptilian beings with multiple heads, there are Zygons, Sea-devils, Silurians, Humans, dog headed Anubians of Osiris twelve, Slitheen, stoic Ice warriors and even one or two of the militaristic Sontarans. Yet even with such a vast array of otherworldly beings, each had stared at the newest patron to stumble through the doors, as if recollecting a familiar face from the recesses of their memory. He was human in appearance, aged and slim and dressed in an old duster. Unable to place the strange figure, they collectively shrugged and went back to their various drinks, meals, photonic cocktails and maps.
The stranger limped up to the counter on a cane fashioned of a ruddy yellow coral-like material. His right leg had been lost and appeared to be made from metal, thin and wiry the prosthetic had a somewhat skeletal appearance and glinted from beneath tatty and dirt-stained black trousers. The man behind the bar coughed nervously in anticipation of conversation with this fellow. The scrimper people were rotund, clever and very good with money, the perfect people to manage trades, in his heyday the pub-lord had driven a space-freighter across the Tetrathon-Iliad trade route, so he was no stranger to the odd hitchhiker and ragged alien wanderer. The visitor hadn’t even been the strangest thing to walk through the doors. But the stranger had a time-lost quality to him that reverberated fifty yards around him, and he gave off an aura that was, for the most part, unsettling. He hobbled over and to a seat right in front of the pub lord and sat in sullen silence, breathing heavily. He cleared his throat and said, in a voice that sounded more nervous than he had intended, ‘thirsty?’
The stranger sat in abject silence, as if lost in his thoughts.
The pub lord looked around; unsure if he was hallucinating, ‘Come a long way have you pal?’ he spoke again.
The stranger was perfectly still, perfectly silent. He gave the barman recollections of the angels above gravestones, carved from granite and grim. The Pub lord scratched his many chins and wondered how much money he had on him, from the look of him he was probably penniless, a tramp scrounging about on the by-ways between planets. Feeling though he was being made fun of, he slammed a fist on the counter ‘Oi, buy something or shove off’
The stranger didn’t flinch; he gave no indication that he had heard him other than his eyes shot upwards from his hands, cupped as they were, to meet his. The barman met a thousand yard stare that would unnerve the most seasoned and war-weary Judoon. Behind cold pale eyes he met a world weary glare, tired of travelling, tired of fighting and tired of living. The Stranger, spoke suddenly in a dry tone ‘your name?’
The pub-lord thought a second, caught off-guard by the sudden speech; as if they had been the first words he had ever heard. ‘Raxxil, Raxxil Vrast’ he muttered. The stranger’s grim face broke into an even grimmer smile. ‘Well then Raxxil my good man’ said he ‘I’ll buy water, and leave me alone. I’m on a long journey, and I’m very tired’
‘Hang about, this is my pub, you can’t just tell me to-’
The stranger stood up and raised his voice, ‘I am telling you too leave me alone, all I want is peace and quiet and rest!’ He slumped down a fraction, suddenly hit by a wave of weariness ‘Can I not just once have some rest? Can I not just find peace for one moment?’ He turned around to face the other patrons, they were staring at him, unkind eyes that watched him with suspicion and intrigue, and he laughed. Not a happy laugh, full of joy and wonder, a tired and mocking laugh full of contempt ‘And what do you lot want eh? Have a problem with a weary traveller? Everywhere I go someone has a problem that involves me.’
