Raywick watched from a hill as the sun met its peak above Prospect Thirty-Seven. Another abandoned mechanism of slavery that never quite grew to the full machine. The town was little more than a collection of shanties barely standing around a drill tower, but it was definitely in the middle of nowhere. A single permanent structure built with white sandstone stuck out from the rest. The vintage didn’t match the sunburnt metal of the other buildings and surely wasn’t the style of the Solar Trading Company.
“I’m going to regret this,” Raywick said throwing the spyglass in the Skyblade in exchange for an old revolver.
I am not sure you will find the wisdom you seek in this place, the voice said.
“When you plan to do a thing as stupid as crossing the boundary, it’s not wisdom you need. You double down on the daft, sprinkle in some experience, and hope for the best. It’s the sprinkle we need, but I will agree this is no place for a lady,” Raywick replied raising a brow to no one.
How would you know what I am?
“Well, I suppose you are whatever my illness makes you. I saw you in a dream the other night. You were crying. Nice touch, really, tragic sorrow and all.”
For once she had nothing to say.
Raywick wiped a fresh coat of sweat from his face as he made his way into town. If he could buy a breeze, he would give it all right about now. The white building had no door, just an old blanket stained with red covering the opening. Someone had carved warm words of welcome into the stone above:
Welcome to Nowhere, you’re lost go home.
“Charming,” Raywick muttered.
There were worse things than runaways this far in the barrens, and Raywick was pretty sure they could be found on the other side of that blanket. Against his better judgment, he pushed through the cloth and into calamity.
The body of a young man was strung up from the ceiling painting the floor with circles of blood flowing from half a dozen wounds. He had the standard black uniform embroidered with the silver shooting star of the Solar Trading Company. Overgrown hair covered the top half of a face drained of all color. There was a void beyond the dark curls where eyes used to be. Broken windows to a soul long gone.
Three bandits stood around the body taking turns kicking, sending the dead man spinning around the room like a chime in the wind. A few old drunks sitting at a bar were throwing bottles at the hanged man but missing badly and littering the floor with broken glass. The place was neck-deep in trouble and looking to take a dive. It took everything Raywick had to maintain his composure.
He made his way to the bar boots crunching broken glass with each step. Nobody gave him a second glance. Raywick supposed the scene itself provided all the intimidation needed. The barkeep had a look like he may have sipped too much of his stock. The old man’s hair was all stuck up on one side in a grey mess. He had a wandering lean like the whole room was tilted and he could only make it straight by going the other way.
“I’m looking for Freeman,” Raywick said.
The barkeep stood up straight, decided straight was all wrong, and leaned the opposite way to get his bearing.
“We’re all free here friend,” the man said.
Raywick let out a sigh. He was starting to get that creeping feeling that he had made a terrible mistake. The last one maybe, by the looks of this place. Nothing to do now but lean into it.
“Look, old man, I know Freeman is here.”
Raywick gestured around the room.
“You can’t keep this much crazy in a bottle very long without some sort of leader. So go to the back and get him, and I’ll pour us both a drink.”
The barkeep pulled a nasty-looking dagger out from his belt and sat it on the bar.
This is not going well, the voice said.
“I can see that,” Raywick said.
The barkeep looked down at the blade.
“Of course, you can see it, that’s the point. Are you some kind of mental boy?”
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“No… Look, you got it wrong,” Raywick started, then the man grabbed the dagger and Raywick drew the revolver. Checkmate.
The chaos of the room stilled in an instant, and he got the feeling that the three lunatics behind him were thinking they had found a new toy to play merry-go-round with. Raywick had fantastically blundered into his demise, and of all the things to ponder in his last moments one thought prevailed. Maybe a gun wasn’t always the answer in a knife fight after all.
REALLY not going well, the voice said.
A big man with red hair stumbled through a door behind the bar with a fresh bottle.
He looked the most normal of the crew until he turned to the barkeep and Raywick saw the other half of his face. All the teeth were missing on that side and the eye was half white and half blue. Just as Dante said.
“Jack, put the silverware away you’re scaring the customer,” the big man said.
The barkeep went straight again, almost fell, and sat back on his stool.
“I don’t guess you get many customers with decorations like that,” Raywick said nodding to the dead Company man.
“Business has been slow, but we always strive to do better. How can I help you?” the big man asked.
“I’m looking for Freeman. Big guy, missing half his face, maybe half his mind as well. I’m running a bit short on time,” Raywick said.
Freeman showed a half-crazy grin, and Raywick tucked away the revolver.
“That’s the thing about time, isn’t it? There’s always too much and never enough all at once. Best pretend it doesn’t exist at all.”
The giant held out a hand, knotted with scars from what must have been a serious burn.
“I’m Freeman.”
Raywick shook his hand and the saloon fell back into its standard state of chaos as Freeman led him into the back room. Light flowed into the office through a single window, the same golden red the sun always emitted on Solaris. Raywick sat down in a chair opposite of him and noticed a crest painted on the wall. A rifle and sword crossed above a skull that had a star drawn on the forehead. He had a pretty good idea, but now he knew for sure. These men weren’t just bandits or vagrants, they were outright rebels. Very dangerous company to keep these days.
“So, what brings you all the way out to a place that is, by definition, not even a place at all?” Freeman asked offering him a glass.
Raywick downed the spirit and pretended to study the glass while avoiding the blue and white abyss of Freeman’s eye. The colors swirled together moving like a twister conjured from the dark realms.
“A friend, Dante, said you crossed the boundary.”
“Ahh, and how is the captain these days? Still on the dust?” Freeman asked.
Raywick felt like the butt of a bad joke.
“Captain?”
“Oh. Right. Riiiight. Vagrant,” he drew the word out with a wink.
Freeman took a longer, slower drink as he gave Raywick a deadly serious stare.
“Don’t believe everything you hear friend. Things are not always what they seem.”
And then he broke out into a mad laugh, putting his half gum half pearly white smile on full display.
“Did you really cross the boundary or are you just a crazy fool? Because with what I’ve seen so far, I’m leaning towards the looney side,” Raywick mused.
“It’s true. Although, I would warn you that the journey is not as magical as the destination. Cost me half my face, and that was my good side too,” he said pointing to his bad side.
“What was it like, on the other side?” Raywick asked.
“There are things beyond our humble prison that you cannot imagine. The other side will change the very fabric of your being. Our world is waking from an ancient slumber, Raywick,” Freeman preached.
You didn’t tell this man your name. Be wary of this one, the voice said.
“Is this the part where you ask for money? Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good speech and all, but I didn’t come all this way for religion. How exactly did you get through the boundary?”
Freeman pulled out a large cylinder from a drawer that gave a complaining screech as it slid open. He laid the metallic contraption on the desk in slow motion as if it was the most dangerous thing in the bar.
“It’s a reactor core salvaged from one of the older refineries. It can be rigged to disrupt the boundary for a short time, but I doubt it will be any use to you,” Freeman mused.
“How does it work?” Raywick asked.
“Lumerite goes in and…” he made a gesture expanding his fingertips.
Raywick raised a brow.
“It’s a bomb?”
Freeman grinned like a child that just discovered fire.
“Not many problems you can’t fix with a big enough explosion. But the core itself is useless without Lumerite, and the stuff is impossible to steal these days. The Company has made sure of that.”
If this man knew you had Lumerite, I fear he would kill you and take it for himself, the voice said.
Jack the barkeep opened the door and poked his head in with a concerned look on his face.
“Boss, I think we got—”
The glass shattered from the window behind Freeman and Jack’s face folded in on itself from the force of the bullet. The old barkeep took a final lean and fell to the floor. Raywick was still trying to comprehend the situation as Freeman stood avoiding the window giving him the trademark psychotic grin. He held a revolver looking more like a hand cannon that must have been at the ready for their entire conversation.
“You know, I never mind company unless it’s the Company.”
Freeman stepped over the dead barkeep calm as a starless sky, and ear-splitting reports echoed from gunfire as he set to murdering his new guests. And so began the battle for the bar in Nowhere.