Free Parabolis by Eddie Han

nothing.”
    “That’s pretty hard for nothing.”
    “Well, for one, I was thinking it makes sense, why you changed the name of this place.”
    “How’s that?”
    “This, and you—nothing really happy about this ham.”
    The barkeep burst into laughter. He walked around the bar laughing, unable to contain himself. He stopped in front of Dale, coughing, chuckling, and wiping his tears. When he finally managed to collect himself, he let out a winded sigh. Still grinning, he looked up to say something to Dale, but his eyes were diverted to a man standing at the door wearing a suit.
    “Come in. Come in, friend. Take a seat. You’ll have to go somewhere else if you want anything other than the city’s finest ale.”
    Dale glanced over his shoulder. He thought nothing of the man.

CH 11
     

FIXER AT THE BROKEN CISTERN
     
    The thin man in the suit pulled up a stool at the bar. His face was pasty white, his cheeks were gaunt, and his hair—what there was left of it—was scraggly and oily. His eyes, however, were bright and alert.
    “What can I get you?” asked the barkeep.
    “Whatever you got on tap,” the thin man replied. He turned his gaze toward Dale, holding it until he got Dale’s attention.
    “How’s it going?” asked Dale.
    “I’m sorry,” said the thin man. “It’s just that you look so familiar. Your name wouldn’t happen to be Dale, would it? Dale Sunday?”
    “Yeah. Who are you?”
    “It
is
you!” The thin man grabbed his mug of ale and moved over to the stool next to Dale. “I knew it! Arturo Lucien.” He held out his bony hand. “We went to the same school when we were kids, remember?”
    Dale recognized him by the nervous energy more than his face. “Arturo. Yeah, how you been, Art?”
    He looked nothing like Dale remembered. And he spoke fast.
    “Better than I deserve. Gosh, it’s been what? Twelve years or something?” Arturo swilled his drink and wiped the foam from his lips with the sleeve of his shirt. “How strange to randomly bump into you here like this. Look at you. You look good. Last I heard you were with the Republican Guard or something. That true?”
    “Where’d you hear that?”
    “That was the rumor after you left. So you a soldier now or what?”
    “I was. Not anymore.”
    “Oh? Why’s that?”
    “I decided it wasn’t for me.”
    Arturo waited for Dale to elaborate. And when it was apparent he wasn’t going to, Arturo was quick to fill the silence.
    “Sure, sure. It’s a good thing too. Word on the street is we might go to war with Bale. Can you imagine? Probably just posturing, but still. Duke Thalian can’t be that dumb—going up against the Ancile. You ever seen it? The Ancile?”
    “Only in pictures. My brother recently got transferred there.”
    “No shit! That’s kind of a big deal, isn’t it?”
    Dale shrugged. “I guess.”
    Arturo suddenly sat up and took inventory of his surroundings as if it had only just occurred to him where he was. His head darted back and forth in short rapid bursts like a perching bird just before it takes flight. His eyes finally settled on the old fishermen quietly imbibing at their lonely tables. He didn’t recognize any of them. Satisfied, he slumped back into his seat, took out his smokes and offered one to Dale.
    “Thanks.”
    After lighting them, Arturo seemed to ease with his first pull. He released a thick plume with a sigh and shook his head. “Imagine, the last time I saw you we were just kids. Now look at us. Seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”
    “It was.”
    “You remember Marcus Addy, right?”
    “Yeah, I do,” Dale replied with a chuckle.
    “Of course you do. Boy, I still remember when you beat him up real good. Everyone at school was talking about it for weeks.” Arturo smiled, his eyes fixed on the memory. “Anyway, he became some sort of a corporate big shot a while back before he sold his company. Bought a few mines and now he heads the trade commission in Pharundelle. I heard