The Third Place

By Richard Fairbairn

Alex Shields visits Domicile Echo, travelling across dimensions between Ray's world and her own. Alex comes from 1978 Edinburgh, a city erased from history and replaced by Ray's. But Alex's ancient city is a place filled with life and hope - a place the dark forces in Ray's world will stop at nothing to conquer and possess.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Fairbairn
• Release date: Oct 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463335451

Richard Fairbairn

His debut novel Beyond the Starport Adventure is listed as one of "The 30 Best Self-Published Books of All Time", but author Richard Fairbairn hasn't rested on his laurels. He's written some hard-hitting dark science fiction, along with several action and adventure stories now in beta stage. The fan-favorite Bullet series is ongoing, with the second novel expected early into 2020!Richard drives a flame-red 1978 Triumph TR7, holds a brown belt in karate, and is an amateur astronomer.

Book preview

Chapter Two: This is Home

In the dim light, it was impossible to tell how long the corridor was. There were a handful of empty doorways on either side, each leading to dismal and boxy living spaces. The corridor was cold, the air musty. The Tangler emerged from the third door on my right, but there was something wrong. Tanglers were known for their swift grace. The struggling contraption jerking into view seemed to be malfunctioning. Davidson and I pulled our blasters and uttered the same curse word simultaneously. The Tangler started twitching and flopping towards us.

I don’t like this, I whispered. Do we shoot it?

Not yet. Davidson lowered his blaster slightly. Enforcer override! Code Echo Zulu! Anxiety tinged with frustrated anger tainted his voice. The Tangler ignored his instructions as he stepped back a pace. "Stop fucking moving, bastard!"

The Tangler continued its agitated stomp. Three of its thin limbs scraped ancient plaster from the walls as others stabbed deep into the decaying wooden floor. A single red eye on its silver dome head flickered as the machine briefly examined us. Shit, Davidson said, it’s going to—

The Tangler’s limbs flailed wildly as it jumped at me. Davidson’s gun fired, lighting the corridor and revealing the old yellow covering of the wall. Powerful arms reached for my throat as Davidson fired again. He missed the Tangler, but it bounced off the wall towards him, too fast for either of us to shoot. Davidson’s blaster was knocked out of his hand and clattered to the floor. The Tangler lunged at Davidson and his hands gripped two metallic legs. He strained against the machine’s ferocity. I grabbed at the Tangler, but it whirled violently, hitting my shoulder and spinning me around. Davidson pushed himself out of the Tangler’s grip with a shout of profanity. The Tangler lashed out in all directions. I dodged to the right to avoid an outstretched metal claw. Davidson shouted something I didn’t understand. I thumbed off my blaster’s safety and stepped back from the Tangler. As I squeezed the trigger, I noticed thin metal threads trailing from the Tangler’s narrow torso all the way through the apartment door. Before I had a chance to examine this observation, my weapon erupted in my hand. A chunk of the Tangler’s torso was incinerated by the blaster’s high energy discharge. The machine’s arms stopped moving and it toppled to the floor. Davidson staggered past me. The heel of his boot crashed down into the Tangler, bending toughened steel and smashing the smoldering innards of the robot. He retrieved his weapon.

Nice one, Ray. Tough buggers, aren’t they?

Definitely. I crouched at the Tangler’s body, surveying the thin silver wires still attached to it. What do you think these are?

No time for Davidson to answer. A nearby scream – the same voice as before – cutting the silence followed by the subdued monotone of a male companion giving a nervous command to the screaming woman. The sounds were coming from the doorway the thin wires vanished into. As I listened for more sounds, the second Tangler rolled out of the room. A strange blue glow appeared, radiating from the open door. The second Tangler twitched and danced like its now-retired partner, thin silver wires attached to its body. The machine’s arms grabbed the wall, flopping there uselessly for a second before becoming completely still.

Davidson looked at me. What the f—

Cassie! A male voice edged with urgency called out in a restrained hush. Come on, we have to get out of here!

Wary of the Tangler, I crept towards the room. Inside, the blue light glowed with the flickering pulse of some strange electrical energy. Davidson shouted for me. There was a rush of motion as the Tangler detached itself from the wall. My blaster left my fingers as the Tangler legs hammered into my side in its haste to get to Davidson. The force of the blow sent me reeling into the room towards the blue light, my feet barely touching the ground.

The blue light was coming from a swelling ball of electrical fire floating a half meter from the ground, sparking and pulsed as it increased in size to fill the room. There were two silhouettes in the room, the chunky male a good few inches taller than his slender female companion. The woman was hunched over some apparatus, long hair falling around her face like a shroud. The man’s hands moved. He aimed a strange wide-barreled weapon at my chest.

Wait—"

BLOOP!

Something slammed into my chest hard. The sledgehammer blow sent me staggering out the door again, my back slamming hard against the wall. On my right, I had a vague impression of Davidson wrestling with the Tangler.

BLOOP!

Another mighty punch just above my abdomen, this one doubling me up in breathless agony. All I could think of was the intense pain. Davidson was still wrestling with the machine, unable to heed or help me.

No, Jeff! You might kill him! The woman’s voice, no longer fearful, dominated her male companion. Not again!

Jesus, they’re tough buggers, Jeff gasped. I think I gotta shoot him again. If Alex was here, she’d—

Alex isn’t here. Listen to me for once. We’re leaving.

I tried to get up, but my legs kept collapsing and I slid down the wall three or four times before standing shakily. Davidson’s weapon discharged again, and a bolt of invisible energy scorched the air in front of my face. He was grappling with the Tangler in close, desperate, hand to hand combat. Even with his enhanced strength, it was clear Davidson was losing the battle.

Ray!

I’m coming.

It was easier said than done. It was agony to move even a little, but I had to help my partner. I found my gun. As I picked the weapon up, the blue light in the room winked out. I glanced into the darkness, but the man and woman were gone. Davidson shouted again. I staggered towards him, using the wall for balance.

This thing’s out of control, Davidson snarled. Get it!

The pain in my chest was phenomenal, but I reached Davidson and the Tangler. There was no way to shoot the machine – Davidson and the Tangler were an inseparable mess of flesh and metal. Instead, I reached both arms for one of the Tangler’s legs. Davidson’s left hand joined mine. With a supreme effort, we ripped the Tangler’s leg out of its body.

The detached leg was surprisingly light. That was my first thought, besides the surprise of actually successfully detaching the limb. My second – and much more immediate – thought was the Tangler’s other arm that reached for me, long digits fully extended and grasping at my coat. Davidson’s hands were both occupied keeping the Tangler from tearing at his stomach with its heavier legs, several of them kicking wildly at him as he tussled and cursed with his robotic opponent. I tried to step away, but the machine was dragging me into the fight. I chopped the severed arm down against the slim-fingered metal hand that was now firmly attached to my coat. The Tangler did not let go but a section of my coat tore away, a good five or six inches of the distressed leather clutched in the Tangler’s hand. My blow dented the metal arm, cutting off at least two of the five fingers. Encouraged by this, I swung a second time, hammering into the joints of the legs Davidson was struggling with. One of them was out of action with my first blow. Somehow, Davidson managed to kick his way free of the machine. He twisted to the left, tearing another of the Tangler’s limbs from its body. Stepping back a half-pace, he swung a powerful right cross that hammered the side of the Tangler’s metal head. The punch must have cracked his knuckles, but it dislodged the machine’s glowing red eye and cracked open the metal skull, revealing sparking circuitry beneath. I hefted the leg above my head and brought it down hard against the damaged head, breaking the case open further still. I was preparing to swing again when I saw Davidson’s blaster lining up with the machine. He pulled the trigger without hesitation.

The blaster discharged point-blank into the Tangler’s head, destroying vital electronics. His second and third shots melted the Tangler’s body.

There. Davidson kicked the machine away. Late night exercise is over.

The Tangler was on the floor, its frozen limbs contorted. Foul smoke issued from the ruined midsection. There wasn’t much left of its metal head and the remaining limbs were curled in and motionless. I felt the stinging in my forearm for the first time. Moving my fingers, I felt the slick wetness and knew I’d see blood on looking down. I was right. My fingertips dripped with it, dark red dribbling down the Tangler’s leg still clutched in my hand. It got me, I said. Gash in my forearm. Tangler must have caught me when it was kicking around. How about you?

Scratches, Davidson said. Cracked my knuckles. My old dislocated thumb injury aches a bit, but it didn’t pop out this time. Anyway, it’s nothing the Healers can’t take care of.

Those blasted Tanglers should be scrapped. I glared at the wreck of the nearest machine. If it wasn’t for our augments we’d be torn apart.

Well, that’s the general idea of a Tangler, isn’t it? Davidson shrugged. Anyway, want to see what’s so fascinating about that room?

I nodded only, still dazed. I’d forgotten all about the room. Grappling with the Tangler had pushed every thought besides self-preservation completely out of my mind. Davidson was already moving past me, changing his blaster’s energy cartridge. I dropped the Tangler’s leg and wiped the blood from my fingers. I found my blaster on the floor a few feet away and retrieved it. I followed Davidson to the open door. His back to the wall, Davidson signaled for me to come to his side. My chest still aching, I stumbled across to him.

Davidson gave me a slight nod. Then he twisted his body to the right and jerked his blaster through the opening. He stepped to the side, giving me room to get in the door frame with him. The blue light was no longer shining. The little square of a room had no occupants, but there were signs people had been here.

There were three square crates placed in the middle of the floor, crude seating for whoever had been hiding here. The crates belonged to Bear Baxter’s bakery; an establishment situated at the far end of the Grassmarket opposite the road end where the Mech had landed. These wooden crates were all over the Grassmarket, some used as chairs and or broken apart into makeshift shelters by Transients squatting in the Finery. Those that did didn’t last long - derelict buildings were a prime hunting ground for Tanglers.

There were some paper cups on the floor, two of them still partially filled with coffee. Many more were scattered around the empty room, along with various other food and snack wrappings. Some of them were folded into tight squares and other, strange, patterns. I unfolded one carefully. It revealed a small tube of waxed paper similar in texture to the wrappings found on the butcher’s meat strips. There was a pattern printed on the outside, and words I couldn’t make out in the poor light. Davidson was standing in a shaft of light coming through wide gaps in the window boards. He picked up one of the food wrappers; a slip of black paper with red and gold lettering.

I don’t recognize these. He sniffed it carefully. Smells sweet. The writing on the packet says it’s a Mars Bar, whatever that is. Strange thing is that it looks mass-produced. You ever seen anything like it before? Mars Bar?

I’ve never heard of it, but there are lots of them here. I picked up another empty packet. It was brightly colored and made of a thin plastic I’d not seen used this way before. The packet had the word Cheetos printed in orange letters above a slogan claiming, exuberantly, that the snack tasted Really Cheesy. I slipped two fingers into the thin plastic and withdrew them covered in orange powder. I sniffed my fingers tentatively.

What does it smell like? Davidson asked, kicking about more of the trash.

I laughed quietly, shaking my head. Really cheesy.

I was tempted to taste the powder, but I decided against it. I let it slip from my fingers back to the floor. There was a glossy scrap of paper amongst the empty wrappers and paper coffee cups. It had been folded into a curious tight pattern. I carefully flattened out the creases to reveal a photograph.

The scene was oddly familiar; an old castle in the background and in the foreground a road bustling with people wearing brightly colored clothes. I looked at the other side of the photograph.

EDINBURGH CASTLE – JULY 1978.

Above this print, was a little untidy handwriting.

this is home, Cassie

A loud crashing at the end of the corridor took my attention from the photo. I folded it back up swiftly, using the same creases, and pushed it into my pocket. A scuffling accompanied by the familiar whirr of electronic motors and the rhythmic stomping of a Healer.

Healer assist! Davidson yelled. Enforcers Seven Four and Seven Eight on scene.

The machine continued its heavy approach. Healers were heavier and slower than Tanglers. Morning and evening, without fail, a Healer would find Davidson and me to administer an injected cocktail that kept our bodies and minds in peak condition. Healers were part of an established routine, yet I felt apprehensive as the machine grew closer.

The Healer appeared in the doorway, five feet tall with slender porcelain limbs and a glowing red chest. It hesitated over the metal corpse of the Tangler. Then it’s expressionless face closed in on me. I didn’t even realize my hand was moving until Davidson grabbed my shoulder.

Don’t do it!

Do what? What are you talking about?

The Healer reached for me. I had my blaster aimed right into the middle of its colorful deadpan face.

Ray!

I was squeezing the trigger. Not a conscious action, just the gentlest movement of my finger, and then the Healer’s mechanical face would implode into sparks and fire as the blaster’s plasma burned through it.

Davidson shoulder charged me as my weapon discharged, the shot passing over the Healer’s shoulder and into the wall. The old plaster there fizzled and burned. I felt like I was waking up from a dream. Davidson’s hand was on mine, pushing down my weapon. The Healer, oblivious to the doom it had avoided, probed the wound on my arm with gentle synthetic fingers.

Seven Eight, please provide your injury report. The Healer’s voice was feminine and sympathetic. Long fingers hovered above the wound in my arm, invisible energy knitting together the damaged skin. It was painful at first, becoming little more than a tingle as the wound closed up. Damage has been resolved. Seven Eight, please provide your injury report.

Chest pain, I said. Abdominal pain. Laceration left forearm.

Confirmed. Laceration left forearm has been resolved. Do you confirm?

In flexed my arm, checking. My injury there was gone. Yes, confirmed.

The Healer’s head moved, twisting down to look at my midsection. I studied the painted face but I couldn’t see anything in the smooth white head resembling a camera or lens. Besides the big painted-on eyes and lips, the head was smooth and featureless.

The Healer’s hand moved to my body. I tensed automatically, feeling a slight spasm in my chest and my right shoulder. The white hand continued to move around my chest and abdomen, hovering an inch above my shirt and never touching me. My body felt warm and the ache – particularly the throbbing pain in my right side – began to subside. Davidson’s hand was still on my gun. I looked at him and he nodded back, quiet concern visible on his grim features. His hand lifted from mine and I slowly holstered the blaster.

Seven Eight, mental report.

I’d never been asked this before. The question stunned me. I didn’t know what to say and hesitated too long.

Seven Eight, mental report. The Healer repeated. Failure to comply will result in investigation level two.

Investigation level two. What the hell was that? Davidson elbowed my ribs.

I... ah... feel fine, I said. Everything is... good here. Seven Eight mental report normal.

The Healer withdrew immediately, its whole body stepping back. It was Davidson’s turn now, and the machine reached out for him. I was surprised to see that Davidson’s right hand was bloody, the tip of his little finger missing. The Healer’s hand moved, obscuring my view. It worked on Davidson for all of thirty seconds and when it was done, it stepped away from him. Davidson grinned in the poor light, clenching and unclenching a fist. As good as new.

The Healer began to leave. When it was gone, I remembered the piece of paper in my pocket, all folded up neatly into a tiny square. I explored the little square with my left hand, scratching the edges of the paper with my fingertips. Davidson gave me a worried look.

Mental status normal?

I think so, I said. The Tanglers have me freaked out, that’s all. My hands are shaking, see?

You’ll be okay, Davidson said. That’s what the ablutions are for.

Chapter Three: The Fat Barman

A small crowd had gathered outside The Finery. The huddle of bodies blocked the streetlight so much that I climbed out into total darkness. The light returned as I shook the dust off my coat, the small group of onlookers quickly dispersing. Davidson climbed out behind me, taking my offered hand. He glanced over my shoulder and cocked one eyebrow.

Look smart, Davidson whispered. Guardian in the area.

The Guardian with the distinctive silver-white hair marched straight towards us, boots clumping loudly as he crossed a place that bustled in the daytime with stalls and vendors. Now there was only open ground lit by four dull streetlights. The crowd of onlookers had vanished. The Guardian smiled at us. It seemed his eyes were locked onto mine.

My dogs, he said. "What happened to them?

Decommissioned, sir. Davidson offered boldly. Both units malfunctioned and attacked us. We were forced to destroy both Tanglers.

Unfortunate. They were good dogs. The deep voice was a bored growl, void of malice or accusation. He studied the smashed opening to The Finery, giving a tired frown. The Incursors were gone before you got there, weren’t they?

That’s correct, sir, Davidson said. There were two individuals, possibly more. They just disappeared, as if they vanished into thin air.

The Guardian laughed abruptly. "Yes! Indeed, it’s very much like that. It is precisely like that! He exhaled softly, his blue eyes swiveling to mine. There was strange energy there. Did they leave any equipment behind?"

No, I answered nervously. The room was empty.

Empty?

Old coffee cups, I said, and some strange scraps of paper.

Some boxes, Davidson interjected. Crates from the bakery were used as makeshift seats. Three of them.

Alright, the Guardian paused. His eyes were still on mine. "Did you remove anything?"

No, I didn’t hesitate for a moment, even though my left hand was holding onto the folded scrap of paper pushed deep in my pocket. Nothing.

Nothing? the Guardian’s voice boomed. No artifacts, paper cups? No... souvenirs?

He smiled. I was certain he knew the truth. His grin broadened and I could see his teeth, perfect and white and shining in the bright streetlight. He was having a quiet, secret, joke with himself, I felt. But his eyes did not leave mine and I was forced to look away lest his stare burn right through me.

Nothing, I repeated.

Very good, he said. That will be all.

He broke eye contact then, but just before he did, there was a spark of something at the back of his eyes. I didn’t know what it was. I’d never seen it before. But some kind of tiny fire ignited in the Guardian’s eyes, but I had no time to explore it. He was turning towards the Mech and he was beginning to walk away. I was too busy wondering where the Caretaker had gone, as he was no longer in sight. The Commanders were gone, too. I realized, as the Mech’s engines began to groan softly, that they’d most likely already retreated into their boxy flying machine.

Guardian, what do we do now? Davidson shouted after him.

The Guardian did not turn, or break his stride. You’re dismissed, he said. It’s all over for today. Go back to the bar. Get drunk. Enjoy.

And that was it. He was walking away and I still had my hand on the thing in my pocket that might have cost me my life. And I didn’t know why I had picked it up in the first place.

Well, that was the weirdest thing I ever experienced, I whispered. But I’ll take his advice eight days a week.

"Me too, but I wish I knew what was all over, Davidson whispered the words, but only when the Guardian was on the Mech’s ramp and the engine sound would have drowned out even the most advanced of listening devices. The Mech’s ram closed behind the Guardian and the powerful engines roared loudly. The vehicle raised itself from the ground, white smoke belching from hidden exhaust ports. It lifted into the air, clearing the tops of the old houses on Victory Drive. Well, that’s the end of that, Davidson said. Do you want to tell me what you picked up, and why you lied to a Guardian?"

It’s nothing, I said. Just a piece of paper. I don’t know why I didn’t tell the Guardian.

There was a roar overhead. The Mech zoomed above our heads. For a terrifying moment, I wondered if the flying monstrosity had the ability to eavesdrop on Davidson and me, but the machine flew past, turning to ascend behind the Megalith. I watched, fear giving way to excitement, expecting the Megalith to somehow provide an opening for the Mech to fly into it. But it did not. The Mech continued to climb, twisting round and round the Megalith until it vanished out of sight into the clouds. The thunder of the Mech’s engine endured long after it had disappeared from sight. When it was gone completely, Davidson and I headed for the bar. I stared at the idiotic purple glare of the bar’s neon sign.

Alright then, you want to finish up here? Davidson said. Same as always?

I glanced at my watch. It was almost midnight. The Emerald Bar should have closed by now, but the fat barman was used to our routine. He wouldn’t lock the doors until we returned to give him permission.

It was no surprise to find our drinks still waiting for us. The surprise was finding the glasses refilled and refreshed. Davidson gave a nod to the fat barman. I didn’t bother to look across. I just lifted my glass to inhale the sweet aroma of my favorite beverage.

We were practically alone in the bar. It was usually that way when midnight finally arrived. The regulars were scared of Healers just the same as they were scared of Tanglers. In the corner of the bar, there was an old guy drinking the same concoction Davidson favored. We took our seats. The fat man disappeared behind the bar, far enough from us that I felt I could relax and talk openly. We always sat in the same seats, just for that reason. Davidson emptied a third of his glass with one strong pull. I took a generous drink from mine, taking half the amber liquid into my mouth and swallowing it in a single gulp.

Let’s see it then, Davidson said. Your little secret.

Not a secret, I said, slapping the scrap of paper onto the table. It’s just something I picked up. Another bit of trash, like the other bits of trash in that place. I just liked the way it was folded.

The paper slid into the center of the table, colliding with the heavy crystal ashtray and reminding me that I could really use a cigarette. I had a packet with about fifteen hand-rolled cigarettes. Davidson didn’t lift the little scrap of paper at once. He turned it one way, then the other. I flicked open my liquid fuel lighter and sparked up my smoke.

Davidson tapped the edge of the paper. Someone’s folded it into a bird. Those bits here are wings.

I don’t see it, I said. It’s some sort of art, but it’s not a bird.

"What kind of art? Davidson griped, emptying his glass. It’s someone folding paper into the shape of a bird."

It’s not a bird, I argued. But it’s art.

"It’s intricate, but it’s not art."

The fat barman came to take Davidson’s empty glass. It had been seconds since Davidson’s last swallow. The fat barman was always very quick to refill our glasses and it concerned me when he paid close attention to us. The folded scrap of paper represented something illicit. I just didn’t know what. The fat barman’s dead eyes flitted to the paper. The briefest of looks, but there was a strange illumination in his eyes. He stood a meter from our table, stalking Davidson.

Another? the fat barman asked.

Sure, Davidson said, palming the folded paper.

Another for me, too, I said. I emptied my glass with a second glug, a small piece of ice getting stuck in my throat. I swallowed it down, my eyes beginning to water. I felt the desperate urge to blink, but I didn’t. I glared at the fat barman as I slid my glass to him. Here.

The fat barman took the glasses away without a word. When he was gone, Davidson laid the paper down on the tabletop. It immediately began to unfold itself slowly. Davidson gave it a little help with his index finger and the paper flipped onto its side, wings popping out of each side. Davidson pulled delicately at each end of the tiny creation. There was no doubt that the paper had been folded in a bird shape. Seeing my recognition, Davidson grinned broadly.

A bird.

A bird, I repeated. I’ve never seen anything like that before.

There was a sputtering behind the bar. The Emerald Stout cask was beginning to run empty. The fat barman knew better than to serve Davidson the dregs of the old barrel. He caught my eye and I nodded to accept his unspoken apology for the additional minute or two we’d have to wait.

Oh well, Davidson snatched up the folded paper. He pulled the neck and tail of the paper bird, intending to flatten the paper. To our mutual surprise, the paper wings flapped. He pushed the paper bird’s tail back and forward. The paper wings flapped vigorously.

Now that is interesting. What do you make of it?

I don’t know, Davidson mused. Some kind of folded pattern. I don’t see the point of it.

Me neither. I took the paper bird from Davidson’s fingers. But take a look at this. I unfolded the little creature, taking much more care than I had the first time.

What is it? Davidson whispered. You’re ruining the bird!

I unfolded the bird carefully, laying the photo on the table. In the brighter light, the scene looked even more wondrous than before. A busy, colorful, street with bright figures walking one way and another. Cobbled streets not unlike the Grassmarket. There was even a bar that bore a vague resemblance to The Emerald Bar.

Jeebs, Davidson said. A bunch of people wearing costumes. It’s like some old Outland festival.

I don’t know. The street looks strangely familiar and the people are just milling around. What about those multi-colored vehicles? And doesn’t that road look like... Jeebs, that’s Victory Drive! I tapped the picture gently. See the way the road curves upward, heading out of this open section? And the open area there could be the market.

I don’t know, but the road surface looks familiar, Davidson conceded. That might be The Emerald Bar, but the windows and door look different. What’s that writing above the door?

Fiddler’s Arms, I said. "Doesn’t that road look the same as the one outside? This could be The Emerald Bar."

Davidson lifted the photo. He shifted in his seat, moving into better light. He shook his head, his expression uncertain. I don’t know. I mean, where’s The Finery? If that’s The Emerald Bar then The Finery should be behind it, here. And what about the grass on the right here? Where’s this... His voice trailed off. I watched the color drain out of his face.

What?

Jeebs, he whispered. Look at those rocks at the top of that hill. That’s the foundation stone of the Megalith!

I looked. Aside from the grassy part, the rock formation looked identical to me. But the Megalith was missing. Another massive structure dominated the top of the rock. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. I snatched the picture from Davidson’s hand and turned it over.

Look at the writing here. Mike, I know this—

I stopped abruptly. The fat barman had returned with Davidson’s Emerald Stout and a refill of my considerably more potent beverage. I knew the fat man wasn’t a great cigarette lover. As he approached the table, I exhaled a cloud of smoke between Davidson and myself.

Drinks, the fat man said. Thank you.

Davidson nodded to the fat man. I might have offered the ghost of a nod too; I’m not that sure. I just wanted him to get out of here so I could get back to our discussion. The words on the back of the photo were burning a hole into my mind – but not as much as the picture on the front. Davidson reached for the photo, but I glared at him.

What? he grunted.

Be careful, I hissed. That guy sees everything and I don’t trust him.

Jeebs, Ray. What have you got against the guy? He serves our drinks for free, doesn’t he?

I didn’t answer at first. I’d never liked the fat man. Everything about him seemed fraudulent, from the fake friendliness he greeted us with to the twitches of relief he gave when we left. But it was more than that. Thousands of less fortunate worked their fingers to the bone in The Outland for their rations and occasional, diminishing, privileges. The old and weak – some barely able to last a cold winter like this one – still had to trudge the fields to put food on the table and stave off retirement. Each passing winter seemed colder, more and more unfortunates retired because of their age, weakness, or ill-health. Of course, none of this was the fault of the fat barman. But his blubbery chin and wallowing oversized body was a disgusting contrast to the living skeletons who worked and died in the frigid lands to the south. I turned my attention to the fat man, watching him scurry about like an overfed rat. I frowned at Davidson.

He just gives me the creeps.

I didn’t want to talk about the fat barman anymore. I was more interested in the photo and the writing on the back. Edinburgh Castle. I feel like I know that, but I don’t know from where. But look at the rocks. This is the Grassmarket, but there’s no Megalith. Just this... castle.

Castle, Davidson said. I know that word.

Me too, but I don’t know what it means. It’s the biggest thing in the photo. That means it has to be the castle.

"Agreed. But it can’t be here because there’s no Megalith. Davidson said. The Megalith’s as old as the city - five hundred and three years."

What about before that?

Davidson sucked in a long breath. Ray, you better be giving a bit more thought to the things coming out of your mouth. He turned the photo over. "This is a joke or a mock-up. What do you mean before? There was nothing before the Megalith!"

It’s not funny if it’s a joke, and what’s the point of faking something like that? I countered. My cigarette was burning out in the ashtray. I picked it up and took a long drag.

I don’t think it means anything. Davidson turned the photo around. It’s just a picture of some weird people, some other place.

Nope. I whipped the photo from beneath his hand and turned it over again. I stabbed my finger at the paper. Same rock, big... castle. There’s no Megalith, but apart from that, this is the same place.

Edinburgh?

Edinburgh, I echoed. Edinburgh Castle, 1978. What do you think that means?

Which part? Edinburgh sounds like a made-up word. It doesn’t mean anything.

What about the numbers. One nine, seven eight. What do you think they mean?

Davidson’s glass was empty. He looked for the fat barman. I emptied my glass quickly and joined Davidson in the search. He was out of sight, which made me uncomfortable.

Where is that fat bastard? Davidson hissed. What about the numbers?

I don’t know. Maybe it’s an area code. A region. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

Perhaps it’s a date. The voice belonged to the fat barman, behind my left shoulder. The thing that startled me most was the uncharacteristic boldness in his tone. I whipped around in my chair, almost knocking over my empty glass. I drew in a breath, ready to let loose a loud string of expletives. But Davidson’s hand was on top of mine, communicating silence.

Wait, Davidson said. He looked at the barman, whose beady eyes were hooked to the photo. What do you mean, a date?

Could I... sit down? The fat barman looked around uneasily. I mean, would you mind? It would—

Are you serious? I growled. You’ve got a nerve to even ask—

Ray. Davidson’s hand crushed mine. Cool it. He nodded to the barman. Get our drinks, then come sit with us. Just for a minute, alright?.

Okay. The fat barman glanced at me nervously. I’m sorry.

The barman was quick. He was excited, obviously, and spilling some of Davidson’s drink as he waddled back to us. I’d never seen him move with such enthusiasm and purpose. He’d even brought a third glass for himself. He was walking strangely. At first, I mistook his lopsided gait for a characteristic of his oversized frame, but then I noticed the object under his armpit. He approached the table, his eyes darting across to last of The Emerald Bar’s patrons concealed in shadows on the far side of the bar. Nobody was paying attention to the fat barman, or us. They were all lost in their own little secrets, schemes, and mysteries.

The barman sat down heavily, spilling more of Davidson’s drink. I glanced at my partner, expecting some kind of reaction. But Davidson was focused on the object the fat barman had under his sweaty armpit. As the barman shuffled in his chair, he took the item from under his arm and placed it in the middle of the table next to the photograph. It was a rectangular metal tin, just large enough