Flux (Last Time I'll Post This, Sorry for the Repeats That Don't Work)

My first real original story. It's a non-fantasy/political drama. Any criticism is appreciated!

1

The clock struck six forty seven. Steve polished the counter carefully, scrubbing mercilessly yet precisely at each white spec that took away from the perfection of the cherry wood. The door opened right on time. Jamison extended his hand out, not needing to say anything while Steve mundanely pulled out five merits from the register; same old procedure though he secretly couldn't stand it any more than the others. Jamison gave a quick grunt and walked out. It was almost time to open the pub, just as was mandated; all businesses were to open at seven a.m. and close at eleven p.m., a time frame Steve disliked since he was more than willing to work a few more hours for as much as ten more merits.

In the thirteen minutes in between then and the opening, Steve still couldn't clean all the smudges. No matter, nobody minded because people came to Steve's not for clean counters, not for better brew, but for Steve. In a fog of depression and financial burdens, Steve was a guiding light for a few motivational words and occasionally a free beer. Rick walked in four minutes after opening, being, as usual, the first one of the day- half off his first beer.

"Hey Rick, what'll we have?" asked Steve, whose voice alone lifted the spirits. Rick's still face cracked a grin, "A Henson. Dark." "Coming right up." replied Steve who immediately found the Henson Dark. He knew his pub. Steve slid it across the slightly smudged cherry wood in the classic bartender style, his quickness in movements almost made you forget he was forty five, slightly balding with just the slightest gray tint to his hair. Rick lifted the drink in a "cheers" gesture and took a quick slug.

He put the beer down and quickly inhaled letting out a short "ah" before asking, "So, did the PCC get you yet?" The Patriot's Charity Collectors. They collect money on a daily basis from all citizens and bring it to the Patriot's Charity, AKA, Emperor Gardner's wallet.

"Yea, Jamison came same time as always." he replied in a slightly monotonous voice. Quick to change the subject, "How's the wife?" "Just got over the flu. Those damned treatments put us back one hundred and fifty merits..."

Steve looked in the register. Twenty nine merits. He pulled out two five merit bills and handed them to Rick. He looked hastily at the currency, "Steve, I can't, man." he tried to push them back to him across the counter. Steve refused them, "To a loyal customer." he grabbed a Henson Classic for himself, "Here's to twenty four years of runnin' this place, and the guy who kept me sane enough to keep goin'." they chuckled and took a large slug of beer. He pocketed the bills, "I don't know how I'd ever repay ya, Steve. Every time I'm in a bind you have some way to help." he took another sip. Steve put down his Henson and picked up the rag he was using to rub the counter, "Hey don't worry about it, guy. I don't have a family to support."

After finishing his Henson and waiting about an hour to let what little alcohol the fairly cheap beer contained be filtered out of his system, Rick got up off his stool and left for work, saying goodbye.

Over the course of the day, people entered and exited the pub, some times there were up to ten people in the pub when at other times there were none. Around three in the afternoon, Steve waited for the three or four people of the after-work "crowd". Calmly nudging at the counter, he was alarmed by the sudden bursting of the door. Standing behind it was Francis, the normally mild-mannered cubical worker, gripping a stack of messy papers in his right hand. He quickly closed the door and locked it, and once he was sure it was safe to do so, he ran to the counter and excitedly said, "Steve I've got it!"

"Whoa, Frank what's the commotion?" Francis didn't like being called Frank as much as Francis since most called him Francis anyway, but Steve insisted on calling him Frank because he felt it was a "friendlier name". Francis brought up a stool and presented the papers to Steve on the counter with a wide smile of pure confidence. Steve was reluctant to read the papers, but he humored Francis and read the first paragraph.

"'Reconstruction of the establishment'? 'Resurrection of freedom'?" Steve recited, slightly confused and somewhat worried. "Steve, I brought this to you since I knew you would be the only one who could back me up on this!" Francis said, somewhat disappointed. Steve scanned it over one more time, "These are dangerous words, Frank." Steve began to give the papers back to Francis, but he wouldn't take them. "I've basically memorized this. It's just a list of demands of the people, and the consequences that will follow if the demands are not meet!" Steve hushed Francis quickly and looked around in slight paranoia.

"Burn this. Destroy it. Do something because if they see you with this you're dead." Francis' face became serious. "The other reason I came to you with this is because I know you can rally up people better than anyone in this nation. Your charisma can be the backbone of a successful rebellion!" Steve wasn't convinced.

"Listen, you're smart. You have people skills. You're creative. You are the quintessential leader! And-"

"Leader?" Steve interrupted.

"Yes." Francis replied. "You weren't supposed to be a bartender. You're too smart." Steve knew what he meant. The Empire used to be a city of a much larger nation. Gardner started rebelling. With force. He rallied up a large group of men and diligently fought off wave after wave of troops until the president of the mother nation signed a treaty to give Gardner a piece of the country's land- all those who lived in that piece of land were also new citizens of Gardner's Empire.

The only time Gardner paid close attention to his people was when he established new jobs to them as he viewed each of the twenty thousand people's summarization of experience and age (the population has since grown a bit). Steve, as well as many of his college classmates at the time, were seen as "Young and ignorant." Steve received the job of running the East Side Bar, which became known as Steve's by the regulars. He was very upset at first considering his fairly high grades and many friends he'd never see again since most of them were sent into forced labor, but he accepted his job and worked hard at it every day of his life.

Francis spoke again, "At least keep them for a few days." he said, handing him the papers again. Steve sighed deeply and took the pile of paper from Francis. He flashed yet another grin of confidence and stood up from the stool, "You won't regret this, Steve!" he yelled as he left the bar, "Trust me!"

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Perhaps the only kind gesture he had only received from Gardner was that his house was a block away from the pub. It was eleven thirty two, and by now the papers were piled neatly next to his crude, self-constructed rocking chair. He read the newspaper silently, which was a pointless activity since it was all pro-Gardner propaganda. Today's "news" seemed to bore him more than usual. He couldn't help but glance at Francis' papers. "No" he mumbled to himself, and he returned to his reading. More and more he looked over at the documents that proclaimed a "people's nation" and "revolution if necessary".

Looking back at the newspaper he read the title of the cover story, "Patriot's Charity Raises Record Funds!"

Steve dropped the news paper at his feet.

He read through Francis' papers.