Realms of Sci-Fi

Broken Things

The bar was old, dilapidated and lacking any living soul other than the bartender. The majority of the overhead lights were not functioning, letting darkness dominate the room. The floor was covered in dust, grime, patches of soot from a fire the week before, and pieces of debris from some of the furnishings demolished in a fight yesterday.

The front door slid to one side, slightly sticking partway and only getting moving again with a protesting groan from the mechanics hidden inside the wall. Entering the bar's abysmal interior was a man with scowl on his face and clenched fists at his sides. The bartender looked toward the man, the glowing red cybernetics of his right eye taking in information his organic left eye couldn't detect.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked as the customer slumped down on the cleanest stool available at the bar.

"Anything, just make it strong," the man growled.

The bartender took a bottle down from wall mounted racks behind him and poured out a concoction of silver and blue. The liquid was unable to mix entirely, leaving swirls of differing colors in the clear glass.

"What brings you here at this hour?" the bartender asked in an attempt to start a conversation.

"The broken down wreck I refer to as my cab," the man answered grimly. He downed the offered drink and slid the empty glass back to the bartender for a refill.

"Hard day?" the bartender prompted.

"What day isn't?" the cab driver grumbled. "My house was broken into. The police caught the men responsible, but because they have friends in the judicial system, the charges were never filed, and the criminals never saw a day in court or jail."

"Sorry," the bartender consoled.

"It gets better," the driver went on, downing his second drink. "A net-slicer got access to my personal data, and now the authorities are looking for me. All in all, it's been a great day."

The driver slammed the empty glass down on the bar. Standing up from his stool, he moved over to the old style jukebox near the door.

"Isn't there any way to clear your name?" the bartender inquired.

"The Judicars aren't looking for the truth," replied the cab driver. "You know the secret police only look for someone to blame, arrest, and execute. That's why I'm here, trying to enjoy what little is left of my life."

"You may have a problem with that," the bartender warned as the taxi driver selected the music he wanted to hear on the jukebox. "It's been broken for years. I only keep it because it's a relic of a past era."

"Why not?" the cab driver griped. "The justice system is broken; law enforcement officials are corrupt. Innocents are chewed up every day, and no one cares. Everything's broken, so why shouldn't this be broken too?"

The taxi driver slammed the palm of his hand against the jukebox, rocking the machine but not making it switch on.

"That's the way of things, even in the Civilized Star Systems," the bartender mentioned.

"Or, things are the way they are because of the Civilized Star Systems," the driver replied, turning around to face the bartender. "Maybe it's time things changed. Sometimes you have to tear down the bad so you can build something better in its place."

"Do you know how many people got killed talking that way?" the bartender questioned.

"What difference does it make?" the driver shot back. "The Judicars are already looking for me, so why don't I give them a reason?"

"Many have died challenging the authority of the Civilized Star Systems," the bartender warned. "Are you willing to throw your life away for nothing?"

"Maybe," the driver answered. "Maybe it won't be for nothing. Today's problems only exist because too many people were unwilling to do anything about them yesterday. If the Judicars are going to kill me, at least I can try to do something right before I go. Thanks for the drinks."

The driver tapped his credit stick against the data reader on the bar to pay his bill. As he was heading toward the exit, the bartender called to him.

"Just a minute," the bartender said. He reached under the bar and pulled out a plasma shotgun, throwing a laser pistol to the driver. "I think we're going to need these. I'm going with you."

"Another lamb for slaughter?" asked the driver.

"Do you know how many people walk through my doors, existing but not living?" the bartender queried. "I don't know if we'll make a difference or be just another casualty lost in the pages of history, but nothing will change if no one tries. We might not change the world, but we could inspire the one that will."

"At the very least, our consciences will be clear," suggested the driver.

The bartender nodded. "Let's see what kind of a difference we can make."

The two men readied their weapons and left the bar.