Asimov's Science Fiction: March 2014 by Penny Publications

Author:Penny Publications [Publications, Penny]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Asimov's #458
Publisher: Penny Publications
Published: 2014-02-28T11:00:00+00:00

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DRINK IN A SMALL TOWN

Peter Wood | 1020 words

Pete is a criminal defense attorney in Raleigh, North Carolina, where he lives with his loving wife and demanding cat. His stories have been published in many markets, including Daily Science Fiction, Bull Spec, and Stupefying Stories. Of his first tale for Asimov's, he says, "Twenty years ago I worked as a law clerk in a sleepy Georgia town where a bar near the courthouse served cold beer and the best hamburgers in the world."

Wallace picked a hell of a place to watch the first Mars expedition land. The small Georgia town probably hadn't changed in a hundred years.

He parked in front of Scooter's Tavern, the place the interstate gas station attendant had suggested. He wondered how dives like Scooter's survived. Except for the bar he saw nothing but boarded-up buildings. The dark street had only one other car.

He thought twice about leaving the interstellar drive's blueprints in the trunk. But he didn't feel like lugging them around. After the frustrating week trying to get money to manufacture the drive, he half hoped somebody would steal the damned plans.

Inside, the wheezing window air conditioner fought August's heat and humidity. A teetering stack of water-stained boxes leaned against a dented video poker machine. Wallace hoped he hadn't made a mistake coming in here. "Do y'all serve food?" he asked the bartender, a greasy-haired man in a NASCAR T-shirt.

The bartender's eyes opened wide. He grabbed a half-filled beer off the counter and gulped it down. "Evening, sir. I'm Ray. We got burgers and chips. Want a drink?"

Wallace sat down on a duct-taped stool. He needed a drink. After trudging through South Carolina and Georgia, he still hadn't found a single investor. The real world was even less interested in his ideas about string theory and exceeding light speed than the Ph.D. physics program. Days like this he almost wished he hadn't dropped out. "Burger and chips. And whatever you have on draft."

Ray slapped a patty on the grill and poured Wallace a tall Stroh's. He turned on the flat screen TV with a remote. "Those boys are about to land."

"I wouldn't want to be the first man out of the lander. Too much pressure. Hard to top Neil Armstrong." "One small step for man. One giant leap for mankind," Ray said. "You know your history," Wallace said. Ray smiled. "It's my specialty." Wallace sipped his beer. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. "How old's this place?"

Ray shrugged. "Who knows? Ninety years? I was here when the Supreme Court ended segregation. The Vietnam War. The Moon landing." His voice was slurred.

"You were here?"

"Of course not." Ray coughed. "I meant the bar's been here that long."

"This must be a slow night with the landing and all," Wallace said.

"Nope. Normal crowd." Grease spattered as Ray flipped the burger. The rich smell of sautéing onions filled the air. "It's our last night." He poured himself another beer.

"So, I'm celebrating."

Wallace studied the unswept concrete floor, and the cracked plastic chairs and Formica tables.

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