The Pulver Chronicles – 52. Would You Give It All Up To Live Again?

In the beginning of January, Jackson finally managed to set some time and money aside to do something he had been forced to put on the back burner ever since he came back to Earth, and book a flight to the state of Washington. He landed in Seattle, then, without stopping to see any of the sights, rented a car and drove to the small town of Blaine. There, he stopped at a post office, consulted the local phonebook, and got the address he was looking for.

Clara and Dennis Gardner lived in a small, one-story house right next to the Canadian border -as in, Canada was literally in their backyard. When Jackson arrived, some time after one in the afternoon, Mr Gardner was tending to the flowerbeds around the little path leading to the house’s main door, while Mrs Gardner could be seen from the window, washing the dishes. Mrs Gardner reminded Jackson strongly of her daughter, with the exception of the hair and eye color, which Bonnie had inherited from her father.

“Can I help you, sir?” Dennis Gardner said as Jackson stood before the house, hesitating.

Jackson swallowed his saliva, then introduced himself. Not knowing exactly how to broach the topic, he simply pulled out Bonnie’s old dog tags and offered them to the father. The man, who so far had seemed like the stoic, aloof kind, suddenly looked on the verge of tears, covering his opened mouth with his hand. He called his wife with a quivering voice, and invited Jackson in.

As Jackson thought, the US Army had reported Bonnie Gardner and the rest of the squad as missing in action. From what the Gardner had heard from the other families, not one had recovered the bodies of their loved ones. Most everyone had assumed they had been involved in some secret operation that had gone wrong, the details of which would probably never be known to the public. And so, for over six years now, the Gardners had assumed their only child was dead.

Of course, Jackson, who knew the details -and probably better than anyone at the Pentagon, actually-, didn’t reveal many of them to the Gardners. The version of the story he told them neglected any mention of another world, or portals, or magic, or anything that might make them think Jackson needed a straightjacket. But that didn’t seem to matter. All the Gardners cared about was one thing.

“She’s alive,” Clara Gardner said, her voice cracking. “Bonnie is alive.”

Her husband, seated next to her on their living room’s couch, leaned against her and passed an arm around her shoulders.

“Alive and well, yeah,” Jackson said.

“Well- Where is she?” Dennis said, his face reflecting many different expressions at the same time. “Can we see her? Is she coming home?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr Gardner. She, uh… She’s started a new life, some place very far away. She’s not coming back. I’m sorry.”

Dennis’ shoulders dropped as he exhaled.

“But she’s alive, and she’s happy,” Jackson immediately added. “She wanted me to tell you that. Oh, um, also, she’s pregnant. I mean, she was pregnant the last time I saw her. She’s probably given birth by now.”

“She has a child,” Clara said, her words barely audible through her tears.

Her husband was now crying as well, and muffling his sniffles behind his hand. Feeling a weight in his throat, Jackson finished relaying Bonnie’s message to them, doing his best to remember every word she had said. When he stopped talking, clearing his throat and taking a sip from the cup of coffee he had been offered, Clara cracked a smile that lit up her face. Without a word, she stood up, and went to hug Jackson. He stiffened in surprise, and awkwardly patted her arms.

“Thank you, Mr Pulver,” she told him as she ended the hug.

“Uh, yeah, you’re welcome. Look, everything I told you… Um…”

“We’ll keep it to ourselves,” Dennis said. “We understand you’re taking a risk telling us all of this. I believe you have been reported MIA as well; I take it the army doesn’t know that you’re actually, ah…”

“Right, no, they don’t. And, uh, I’d like to keep it that way, if that’s okay,” Jackson said.

Dennis nodded, and went to shake his hand. He offered Jackson to stay a bit longer, but the young man replied that he had to take his flight back soon. As he walked out of the Gardner home, Dennis said one last thing to him:

“I didn’t ask about the rest of your squad, but…”

Jackson simply looked at him.

“Ah… Yes, I figured as much,” Dennis said, lowering his gaze. “I’m very sorry. Goodbye, Mr Pulver. And thank you again.”

As he flew back to Las Vegas, Jackson tried not to fall in the pits of nostalgia once again, but, inexorably, his thoughts went back to Bonnie Gardner. Then, they naturally drifted to the Vertrisian forest, and to Varda. He was still stuck in this nostalgic trap as he drove from the airport back to Bunkerville. Happily, arriving home to Liz and Seth sprung him out of it, as he remembered he had brought the best parts of the other world with him.

A few days later, Jackson found himself doing some shopping in a supermarket in Bunkerville. They had run out of milk, following yet another of Alizana’s cooking experiments. Jackson was also nearly out of cigarettes, and a part of him was trying to talk him out of buying any more: wasn’t this a good opportunity to do what he had promised his wife a while ago and quit? What better day than today? His body seemed to rebel against the notion, however. It wanted, needed its nicotine, and it wouldn’t wait for too long. Damn it, Byron, he thought as he considered the wall of cigarette packs behind the registers. Couldn’t you have been addicted to sugar or something?

He was standing in line behind seven other people, several of which were complaining about the wait. The first person in the front, an old man on the brink of obesity, had apparently decided to use a large amount of coupons for his numerous articles, and the cashier was unfamiliar with quite a few of them. Jackson was in no hurry, but that gave him more time to ponder whether or not to buy his smokes. He was veering towards not when he heard the person waiting behind him step closer and whisper something:

“Mr Varley wants to meet you.”

It took a moment for Jackson to register what he had said. He turned on his heels, eyes peeled in shock. The man behind him looked middle-aged, with greying blond hair and a few wrinkles in the corner of his brown eyes and his thin, pale lips. He wasn’t carrying any groceries or any bags. There was nothing remarkable to the man, not in his attitude or in his choice of clothing, yet Jackson’s pulse went up.

“What did you just say?” Jackson said.

“Las Vegas, Caesar’s Palace, next Saturday, five P.M., room 912,” the man said, as casual as if he was reciting a shopping list. “Do you understand?”

“I- Yeah. Wait, next Saturday?”

Without a word, the man turned away and walked out of the supermarket. Jackson watched him go, fighting against the urge to rub his hand’s scar. Since the trip to LA, he had almost completely forgotten about Jesse Varley. He had expected any news on that front to come from Clarice, probably in the form of a phone call, or maybe one of those “texts” that seemed to be becoming more popular along with cellphones. The last thing he expected was to be contacted directly by one of Varley’s people, and not too far from his home too.

This meant Jesse Varley not only knew Jackson, but likely knew where he lived as well. This was not a good development. What else did he know?

Taking a deep breath, Jackson turned back to the cash register. His mind was now made up: today would not be a good day to quit after all.

When told about this around the dinner table, Seth and Liz reacted predictably. Seth cursed under his breath, and Liz bared her fangs and scratched her claws.

“How the Hell did he even find out where we live?” Liz asked. “We didn’t tell anyone outside the tribe, not even Clarice!”

“He must have had his people track us or something,” Seth said. “Or… maybe he knew about us before we tried to get in touch with him.”

“You think so?” Jackson said.

“I guess it’s possible. From what we’ve been told, that guy has his fingers in many pies. And if he’s connected to Azazel, it’s possible she told him about us, about our people.”

“If she could contact him, why didn’t she give him that damn thing herself?” Jackson asked, pulling the mysterious little box from his jacket’s inside pocket.

“I have no idea. Maybe the way they communicate is like phones: you can send words, but not objects.”

“It doesn’t matter at this point,” Liz said with a sigh. “The fact remains: Varley now knows about us, and he wants to meet.”

“Well, he wants to meet with me. His guy didn’t say-”

“I’m coming with you, Jack,” she interrupted. Jackson immediately recognized that tone, which he had mentally dubbed the “yes, dear” tone: it was the one she used when her mind was made up, and she wouldn’t be convinced otherwise. “Even if he doesn’t want me in the room with you when you talk, I want to be nearby just in case. Next Saturday…” She rubbed her chin. “I’m supposed to have a shift at the restaurant that day, but the other part-time cook owes me a few favors. All right, then.”

That next Saturday, Seth insisted on arriving early at the casino. Not to try blackjack, as Jackson jokingly suggested, but to scout the place beforehand. The former spymaster entered the place half an hour before Jackson, and spent a few dollars on the slot machines while keeping an eye out. Jackson and Liz then came in, and headed to the bar, where Seth eventually joined them. Seth reported seeing a couple of people -some customers, and at least one employee- paying special attention to his two friends as they had walked in. Jackson had noticed that too. One of them, a burly, out-of-shape guy playing on a slot machine, had given the distinct impression of being former military, though Jackson couldn’t quite explain what that gave him that feeling.

Once again, this was the sort of intuition Byron often had. It seemed traces of the veteran’s soul still marked his own. But how could that be? Azazel had told him that the separation would be clean. The magic that had bonded them was gone, completely gone. Maybe this is a permanent thing, he thought. Like my scars, but less visible. He pinched the bridge of his nose, tapped the small box he brought for Varley, then finished the beer he had ordered.

“Okay, well…” he said, standing up from his stool. “Since Varley probably already knows we’re here, we might as well not keep him waiting.”

“Right, let’s go,” Liz said.

“Seth, mind staying here? We might need someone to pull the fire alarm if we need to make a quick exit, or something.”

“You got it,” Seth said. “Do you still have that phone I got you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

The day before, Seth had bought him something called a prepaid phone: a cheap cellphone that, according to the Demon, couldn’t be traced to Jackson. To use in case of an emergency, he said. Jackson had reluctantly agreed it could come in handy.

“Did you remember to turn it on?”

“I…” He pulled it out of his pants’ pocket, fiddled with it, and waited until the logo appeared on the small screen. “Yeah.”

Liz and Jackson went to the elevators, and took one up to the ninth floor. Jackson noticed a camera installed in the cabin, and wondered if Jesse Varley was watching them through it. For all he knew, the man owned the whole place. Nah… If he did, we’d be meeting him in some office in the back, not in a room. The elevator went up quickly, and its doors opened as a registered voice announced the floor. There was no one in the hallway as they headed to the door marked “912”. Jackson knocked.

“Come in,” a male voice said on the other side.

The first impression Jackson got when he entered the room was: I could never afford this kind of accommodation. The hotel-casino so far had been the very definition of luxurious, but the room -or rather: the suite- looked like the kind of place that was only ever rented by wealthy businessmen and the like. It was richly decorated, and about half as big as Jackson’s house’s ground level. In the main room was a large couch and two armchairs arranged in a half-circle around a coffee table, facing a huge TV. The faint sound of music was heard in the air, some kind of jazz tune; Jackson wanted to say it was Sinatra -then again, that was the only jazz singer he knew. Covering the outside wall was a large bay window, with a balcony on the other side. A man was facing the bay window, dressed in a dark black three-piece suit with a pair of shoes that probably cost more than Jackson brought home in a month. His hands, joined behind his back, were covered by dark leather gloves. A black panama hat with a white ribbon covered his head; amused by that detail, Jackson wondered if the man had just stepped out of the Fifties.

Hearing the door close, the man slowly turned around. Jackson held in a gasp as he saw his face. The man’s skin was about as black as his suit, possibly darker than the sky in a starless night. Several speckles, pockmarks, and small rivulets covered it, as white as paper, forming a strange, mostly symmetrical patchwork. What the hell? Jackson had never seen something like that. Was the man a member of some rare Humanoid species, or was it some kind of skin condition? 

A pair of round, black sunglasses covered the man’s eyes. The only spot of color on him was his dark blue tie. His thin lips, barely discernable, stretched into an affable smile as Jackson approached him.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Jackson Pulver,” the man said. His voice was strangely musical, and in some ways sounded a little like a woman’s voice. “I am Jesse Varley.”

He gestured at the couch.

“Please sit down. We have a lot to talk about.”

“Um, we do?” Jackson said as he took place on the couch. As he did, he noticed an empty glass on the table, as well as a pale yellow folder. Liz went to stand behind him, arms crossed. “I just wanted to meet with you to give you something, Mr Varley. Speaking of… Here it is.”

He put a hand in his jacket’s inside pocket, and produced the small box, which he handed out to Varley. The man, who had taken a seat in one of the armchairs, leaned a little and grabbed the box with the tip of his fingers, as lightly as if it was made out of glass. Then, he put it away in one of his pockets.

“Thank you, Mr Pulver,” he said.

One of Jackson’s eyebrows went up. “You’re not gonna ask any questions? Like, who’s it from, why am I giving it to you, or… I don’t know, what the hell is it?”

Varley simply smiled.

“Right. You already know the answer to all of that, don’t you? I figured when she- when the person who sent you that thing didn’t add a message to it. I’m guessing you’ve got the key to open it, too.”

The man glanced at Liz. “Wouldn’t you rather take a seat, chieftain Alizana? This discussion could take some time, and you’d be more comfortable.”

Of course he knows her name and title, Jackson thought.

“I’m fine standing,” she retorted. Jackson could both hear the tension in her voice, and see it in her jaw.

“I assure you, chieftain Alizana, you are in no danger from me. Neither is mister Pulver.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, if you don’t mind.”

Varley raised his hand in an indulgent gesture. “As you prefer, chieftain.”

“And you can stop calling me that,” she said, her words sharp as a knife. “We get it: you did your homework. You could probably name every member of my tribe, too.”

“Simmer down, Liz,” Jackson muttered to her.

“Before we begin, would you like to eat or drink something?” Varley said.

“We’re good,” Jackson said.

“Actually, I’ll have a steak,” Liz said. “Porterhouse. And a sirloin. With fries.”

“Of course.”

The man stood up to get the phone, placed on a pedestal table in a corner of the main room. Jackson tutted.

“Do you have to antagonize him like that?” he asked Liz.

“I don’t like him,” she said.

“You just met him. You don’t know anything about him.”

“Well, he knows everything about us, doesn’t he? He must have had his people watch over us for a while now. I don’t like that. And I may not know him, but I know people like him. Powerful people, who enjoy nothing more than flexing their power over their lessers. I know these people; I have come to this world to escape these people. This was supposed to be a simple delivery, but apparently he wants us to have a discussion. How much do you want to bet he’s going to make us work for him? Oh, he’ll probably make it sound all innocent, like he would like us to do something simple, and he’ll probably offer to reward us as well. But if it seems like we’re going to decline, he’s going to make a few allusions to our tribemates, maybe even to other tribes.”

“What, like… He’s going to turn us in to immigration or something?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Liz said. “Clarice told us he was connected to politicians. It’s not much of a leap to assume he’s connected to law enforcement as well.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely possible. Well, we’ll have to try to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“If we can.” She growled. “Clarice was right: we should have stayed clear away from that man.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice: we had a job to do. And…” He sighed. “Something tells me if we hadn’t found him, he would have eventually found us. Better we do this on our own terms, at least.”

She seemed to have nothing to retort to that.

“I don’t like him,” Liz said again. “I really don’t like him. Even his smell is wrong.”

“His smell?” Jackson said with a half-smile.

“He wears perfume -some of that thing you call Cologne-, but I can discern his real scent. It’s… I don’t know, I’ve never smelled anything or anyone like him. I can’t even compare it to something else. It isn’t bad, or good, just odd. He doesn’t smell like he should. Him and Azazel…”

“I thought you couldn’t smell Azazel’s real scent.”

“I believe she tried to hide it with magic, but I got a whiff of it when I passed by her as we left through the portal. I thought it was the portal itself that smelled so wrong. But now I know it was her.”

“So they both smell weird. Well, we knew they had to be connected somehow. Maybe they’re both… Uh… Actually, what are they? I still don’t know if Azazel was a Demon, and I don’t know any Human that looks like that guy.”

“Their odor is completely unlike Humans or Demons,” Liz said, scrunching her nose. “It’s completely unlike anything.”

The sound of a phone being hung up interrupted their conversation. Varley went to sit back down in his chair, crossing his leg.

“Room service will be here soon,” he said. “I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of red wine and two glasses as well.”

“Yeah, that’s really nice and all,” Jackson said, “but we’re not planning on staying long. Like I said, we just came here to get you your thingamajig. Now, we should be going.”

“I won’t take much of your time, Mr Pulver. I would simply like to discuss a few things with you, and make you a proposal.”

“Here we go,” Liz grumbled under her breath.

“Right. I’m going to take a wild guess here: this is gonna be an offer I can’t refuse,” Jackson said.

Varley chuckled. “I am not a mob boss, Mr Pulver, and this isn’t that sort of conversation. I have no intention to threaten or intimidate you in any way. This is simply a deal I’m offering you, which you are free to refuse without any consequences.”

“In that case, no offense, but I’m done making deals with powerful strangers. Between that and the smoke, I’m not sure which one is going to get me killed first.”

“Wouldn’t you like to hear it first? It will only take a couple of minutes. You went to the trouble of seeking me out and coming here today, you might as well.”

“I came here to give that box,” Jackson said. “I’d have mailed it to you, if I could.” He stood up. “Can we have Liz’s meal as takeaway?”

He headed to the door, Liz in tow, when he heard Varley’s voice again:

“Mr Tannhauser will not be able to make hundreds of fake identities, you know.”

Jackson stopped dead in his tracks, and swore under his breath. He turned back to Varley, who was still sitting in his armchair, a calm smile on his face.

“Even if he could, how long do you think it would take you to gather the money for them? Years, if not decades. The man is not cheap.”

Liz sighed and dropped his head.

“Let me guess,” she said, walking back to the couch. “That is a problem you can solve.”

“It is. I can also solve your other problem, as well.”

Jackson and Liz traded a look, then the former said:

“Okay, I’ll bite. What other problem?”

“Did you really think a thousand people, many belonging to a kind never seen before, could appear out of nowhere, and not attract any attention?”

Liz’s jaw went a little slack.

“For the most part, you have been very careful, and laid low as much as you could. Unfortunately, not all of your people have followed the instructions you gave to the letter. Some have talked a bit too much, sometimes to the kind of people who ask a lot of questions. Some have wandered in the wrong places. And ironically, some have raised suspicions by following the instructions meant to avoid these suspicions in the first place.”

“What are you trying to say?” Jackson said. “Someone figured us out? Should we expect the FBI or the ICE to kick down our door any day now?”

“No one in any part of the federal government knows anything as of yet, at least no one holds enough pieces of the puzzle to figure out the big picture; moreover, no one has enough to take action. But, as I’ve said, there are some suspicions. Some of the… people I’m in contact with simply believe this is a scheme in place to facilitate illegal immigration into the United States, but another actually thinks there may be some sort of spying ring infiltrating American society.”

A wry smile twisted his thin lips. Jackson blinked. For a moment, he thought he had seen the white marks on his face move. On second thought, it was probably an illusion caused by the wrinkling of his skin as he smiled.

“There is also the issue of your status vis-a-vis the US Army, Mr Pulver,” he said.

“What’s that?” Jackon said.

“Officially, you are still considered missing in action, along with the rest of your former squad. If the military were to learn that you are still around, no doubt they would have a few questions for you.”

Jackson sucked on his teeth.

“Alright, let’s speak plainly,” Liz said. “You want our cooperation or you’ll sick your law enforcement dogs on us. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Not at all, chieftain. Again, it isn’t my intention to threaten or intimidate you. I am merely explaining that you have two issues looming over your heads, two issues that could become important and greatly hinder the well-being of your people in the long-term.”

“Luckily for us, you can solve both of these issues, if only we do this one little thing for you,” Liz snarked. Her mouth had ticked when he mentioned her people.

Jackson let out a little laugh, as he decided to sit back on the couch. It was true that, in spite of his insistence, the man sounded very much like he was threatening them into accepting whatever favor he had in mind. The threats were dripping with politeness and honey, but the effect was much the same. In fact, Jackson wondered if he wouldn’t prefer it if the man dropped the charade entirely.

“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a deal if we didn’t both get something out of it, now would it?” Varley said. “But please understand this: if you refuse this deal, nothing will happen. We will go our separate ways, never to meet again, and that will be it. No retaliations, no repercussions. I do need your cooperation, but I will not coerce you to secure it.”

Jackson hesitated. The man seemed honest, but then again there was a good chance he was just an experienced liar.

“Right. So what exactly is this deal?” Jackson said.

The man leaned back in his chair, joining the tips of his fingers in front of his chin. His eyebrows, extremely thin and barely visible on his dark skin, met in the middle.

“There is a problem,” he said, “and I require your assistance to solve it.”

“You mean you have a problem?” Jackson said. What kind of problem could this man have? He seemed like he could solve anything with a simple phone call to the right person.

“Actually, I should say we have a problem. This is something that concerns you as well, along with the rest of your people. In fact, this could endanger many, many people.”

“That sounds dramatic. What’s going on? War?”

Liz smiled at his quip.

“Possibly,” Varley answered seriously. “At the very least, we have the risk of an invasion on our hands.”

“An invasion?” Jackson repeated, incredulous. “What, the Soviet Union is back?”

“Not that kind of invasion, unfortunately. That, I believe, could be handled by our governments. No, this is the sort of invasion that regular armies can do very little about. This is more subtle, and all the more dangerous for it.”

“You said governments, plural,” Liz pointed out. “This concerns more than just America?”

“As I said, many people could be in danger.”

“Well, what kind of invasion is it then? Aliens?” Jackson asked. He looked at Liz, then back at the man. “Hold on… If you need our help… Does that mean- Are you talking about an invasion from another world?”

“That is correct,” Varley said gravely.

“Wait, what?” Liz said. “How is this possible? Travelling to another world is extremely difficult even for just a few people. An actual invasion would be… That would be impossible.”

“Normally yes. But in this case, the impossible can be made much easier when one has a man on the inside.”

“What does that mean?” Jackson said. “Someone from Earth is helping them? Like a fifth column or something?”

“Indeed. Someone is currently working to open a door to another world, with the intention of preparing an invasion by infiltration.”

“Why would they do that?”

“As to that, I can only speculate,” Varley said, shaking his head. “Promises of power, money, a desire for revenge… All I know is that the person behind this is entirely willing, and has not been forced or manipulated in any way.”

Every war has its traitors, as Nechido had once said.

“Who’s the invader?” Liz asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know for sure. Not that it matters: whoever it is, their intentions are not peaceful.”

“Well, what are their intentions, then? And more importantly: how could you know these intentions, if you don’t know who these people are?”

Her tone was veering from skepticism to outright disbelief. Jackson wasn’t convinced by this story either: there were definitely some parts the man wasn’t telling. Byron would have accused him of feeding them a narrative. Just like his accomplice Azazel -or whatever she was to him-, Varley kept his cards close to his chest. Yet, while Liz seemed to think he was lying, Jackson had a feeling he was speaking the truth. For one thing, if he were lying, he could have come up with something simpler and more believable. This story of an otherworldly invasion was just crazy enough to be true. Tis strange but true, he could almost hear Byron say, for truth is always strange, stranger than fiction.

Varley laid down his hands on the arms of his chair, his lips pursed. “While I unfortunately know little of those would-be invaders, there is a lot I know about the person helping them. I know what he is working on is big, and that his patrons are powerful. It is not a small portal he is working to create, but a large backdoor to Earth… possibly one that will not close. Whoever he’s hoping to bring here will come in large numbers. Moreover, he is planning to create more of these backdoors across the world, once the first one proves successful. What does that tell you about the intentions of whoever commands him?”

“Nothing good, I suppose,” Liz said. “But then again, how dangerous can they really be? Even imagining they send a thousand people like we did, or a thousand soldiers, the armies in this world number in the millions.”

“First of all, consider that these soldiers would enter through the back door, unseen and unknown. Second of all, and more importantly, it may not just be mere soldiers coming in, no mere Humans, Orcs, or Demons. I think you can imagine there are bigger threats out there. What could come out of this portal may not be something conventional weapons can so much as hurt.”

Jackson’s mind went back to the Archangel, and his brief fight with her. A thousand like her, roaming around the world without anyone knowing, was bad enough, but if there was something worse out there, like Varley said… Another idea popped in his mind. What if those Archangels brought their magic along with them? It seemed impossible, but then again, so did the idea of portals to other worlds. Magic on Earth… Jackson thought, the scar on his hand feeling itchy. He remembered the great and terrible things magic could do, back in the other world.

“Maybe so… Here’s another thing I find odd: how could anyone create a portal here?” Liz said. “There is no magic in this world, not one lick of it.”

“No, there isn’t,” Varley said, his lips twitching for a second, “but apparently magic is not necessary for such an undertaking. Zachariah Stanton -that’s the name of the person helping the invaders- has found another way through science and technology. How exactly, I don’t know, but he is confident it will succeed. And from what I’m told, his confidence is not unfounded.”

“Zachariah Stanton,” Jackson said, slowly enunciating the name. “Who’s he?”

“A physicist, formerly a researcher in Berkeley. From what I’m told, he was not well considered by his peers. His work was considered of lesser quality, and he was passed over several times for promotion and awards; he was also known for holding grudges against all perceived slights and injustices against him.”

“So… What? By opening these portals and helping the infiltration, he’s hoping to settle his grudges? Seems like a really petty reason to cause a world war.”

“He is, apparently, a really petty person,” Varley said with a tight smile. “It is also possible he intends to prove to everyone that his work is not as unimportant as they said. Certainly, opening a door to another world would qualify him as uniquely talented. Underachievers have often been known for their fickle loyalties. Like I said, I don’t know for sure what motivates him. It seems secondary anyway.”

Jackson tilted his head back, and ran this whole story in his head for a moment. He and Liz traded another look: evidently, she was still skeptical. Jackson gave a long shrug, non-verbally telling her he was leaning towards believing Varley. She responded by rubbing the underneath of her nose and sighing; in Jackson’s experience, that was Alizana’s way of saying : “I just don’t know about this”. Then, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

“Alright, assuming what you’re saying is true… Why is that your concern?”

The question seemed to surprise Varley. “Why is an invasion of my world my concern? Do you think I’m indifferent to the chaos and the destruction this could bring?”

“No, that’s not it,” Jackson said, biting his lower lip. “I meant more like: why is that your concern? Like, shouldn’t that be something for the government to worry about? The US Army, or the FBI, or the CIA, or whatever?”

“Ah, I see. Yes, I could go to some federal agency with what I know of professor Stanton and his work, to try and warn them. I could tell them of the impending threat of outerdimensional infiltrators, about the portals used to travel to other worlds, but…”

“… You’d be laughed out of the room before you’re finished talking,” Jackson completed.

“Well, it’s more likely they would politely listen to me, tell me they’ll look into it, then file the whole thing away as some rich man’s eccentricity. But the end result would be the same.”

“Okay, then how about hiring some mercenaries or something? Or just a hitman to take that guy out?”

“I’ve never liked such solutions,” Varley said, his nostrils briefly flaring. “Mercenaries and hitmen are not the most loyal creatures. Besides, who knows what those mercenaries or that hitman could see or hear? And who knows who they may sell that they’ve learned to? Stanton is not the only threat here: his knowledge is too. If it spreads, tomorrow we will be dealing with ten, fifty, maybe a thousand Stantons. No. There’s no one else I can trust with this but you. You are the right people for the job.”

“We’re not going to kill anyone for you,” Liz said.

“I am not asking you to. All I want is for Stanton’s operations to be stopped, and his portal destroyed. As to Stanton himself, it’ll be enough to subdue him. I can then have him arrested and locked somewhere where he’ll be under close surveillance, and where no one will listen to his stories about transdimensional travel.”

“Are we talking prison or the loony bin?” Jackson said. “If it’s the latter, I’m not sure it’s much better than death, to be honest.”

“Maybe not, but the man has made a decision in choosing to help our enemies, and decisions have consequences. We have to make sure he and what he knows are no longer a problem.”

““Our”, “we”…” Liz said. “You’re assuming we’re on the same side, here.”

“Are we not? Chieftain, you’ve fled your world so that you and your people can live free and in peace.” Liz ticked and crossed her arms, evidently uncomfortable with the level of knowledge Varley had on her. “If this world is to be invaded, there will be no freedom and no peace. For anyone.”

Liz sat on the back of the couch, her butt next to Jackson’s head, arms still crossed over her chest. Her gaze was distant, her jaw tense. Jackson placed a hand on her knee.

“Guess we gotta do this,” he said.

She shook her head. “I guess so.” She sighed. “Fine. So that’s our end of the deal. What do we get in exchange?”

“In exchange, I can offer every living member of your people what they’ve been working hard to obtain: a brand new identity.”

Jackson’s eyes shot wide. “For real? You’d get every one of them fake IDs?”

“No, Mr Pulver: I would get them a real identity. No fakes, and no hacking government databases like Mr Tannhauser does. We’re talking about real, government-issued documents.”

“No way. How do you plan to pull that off?”

“Believe me when I say that I have the right connections in the right places to make that happen.”

Yeah, I don’t doubt that, Jackson thought. He tried to keep his poker face, in spite of the slew of emotions invading him. Could it be possible? That which they thought they would have to work hard for for years, they could obtain immediately? It seemed too good to be true –way too good to be true. In fact, Jackson couldn’t help but feel like his chain was being yanked. Like Varley was just dangling a nice, shiny prize before his eyes, fully intending on pulling it away at the last time. Powerful people were known to do that. No… The more Jackson thought about it, the less he wanted to believe.

But… On the off-chance it was real… On the off-chance he could give everyone a new, better life… Didn’t Jackson have a duty to at least try? He owed it to his people, didn’t he?

From the sullen look on her face, Alizana was having the same internal debate. Eventually, she seemed to settle it, and said:

“We’ll need some guarantees.”

“What sort of guarantees?” Varley said.

“Give some of my people a real identity, like you claim you can,” she said. “That way, we can be sure you’re not just playing us.”

“Ah, so what you actually want is a down payment.” The man smiled.

“Call it whatever you like,” Jackson said. “I mean, you’re promising a whole lot here, and you’re asking for a lot, too. Only normal we want to see the color of your money first, right?”

“Hmm.” Varley considered this for a moment, the tips of his fingers rapping on the arm of his chair. “Very well. As proof of my honesty and my commitment, I will grant, say, ten of your people a real identity. I can have that arranged by next week.”

That fast? Jackson thought.

“I need to talk with my ma- my husband for a minute,” Liz said.

Varley nodded, and Liz led Jack to the bedroom. She made sure to close the door, then looked around the room, as if to make sure they were truly alone. Then, she took a deep breath, and said:

“Alright, I’ll just say it: I don’t like any of this, I still don’t like this man, and I don’t trust him… But I think we have to do this.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Jackson said. “It’s either that or working our asses off for years, trying to make everyone legit. Also, I doubt he was bluffing when he said some people have gotten suspicious about us, meaning this might all be for nothing in the end.”

He let out a breath of frustration. A lot of effort that yielded nothing… That was too familiar a situation.

“The thing is,” Liz said, “if he doesn’t hold his end of the bargain…”

“… There ain’t much we can do about it,” Jackson said. “Yeah, I know. But, hell, even in this case, ten identities is better than nothing. And he’s right that we can’t just do nothing about this invasion.”

“If he’s telling the truth about it.”

“I think he is. I mean, if this was just him sending us after a business rival or something, he could have come up with something simpler.”

Liz tutted. “Yeah, I suppose.” She glanced at the closed door. “Okay, so we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this. Alea jacta est, or whatever.”

They went back to the suite’s living room and informed Varley. The man simply nodded, as if this was a foregone conclusion for him.

“In this case, I must start making arrangements for your… guarantee,” he said, leaving his chair, and adjusting the lapels of his jacket. He pointed at the file on the table. “Here is all the information I gathered about Stanton. Using this, you should be able to find him and his current base of operation. I suggest you don’t delay: I don’t know how long it will take for him to succeed in his objective.” He adjusted his hat, then made to leave. “I booked the room for the night; please enjoy it. Room service should be here soon.”

“Uh, that’s it?” Jackson said. “We’re done?”

“We’re done. Unless there was something else you’d like to discuss, Mr Pulver?”

“No, but, like… I thought you’d give us a little speech about what would happen if we were to just take our down payment and bolt, or something. Like, how you don’t like it when someone makes a deal with you, and then doesn’t hold up to it, and something about consequences?”

Varley laughed softly. “This isn’t that kind of deal, Mr Pulver. And… I have no doubt that you will live up to your end of the deal.”

“That so?”

“Of course. You will stop Stanton. Not just because we made a deal, and not just because of what I have promised in exchange, but also because it’s the right thing to do, and you know it.”

Jackson sniffed, unsure what to make of that.

“From what I’ve been told about you two, you are the sort of people who always do what is right, no matter what. That’s why I know you will go after Stanton. You would have done so even if I hadn’t been part of this.” He opened the door. “Like I said, you are the right people for the job.”

He left the room, the door shutting behind him. Liz finally decided to sit down on the couch. She picked up the file, and opened it on her knees. It contained about a dozen pages, as well as a few photographs. One of the latter was of Zachariah Stanton, apparently taken back when he worked at Berkeley. The man looked older than the age listed in the file: he was supposed to be forty-nine, but Jackson would have said late fifties, with his wrinkles and his grey hair. He had an oval head ending in a pointy chin, small ears, and a small nose. His mouth was slanted like he was sneering, and he wore a pair of square glasses that looked straight out of the seventies.

“Not exactly the picture of an evil scientist bent on destroying the world,” Jackson commented.

There was a knock on the door, and a female voice announced herself as room service. Forgetting the file, Liz devoured her steaks, while Jackson helped himself to some of her fries. Jackson gave Seth a quick call, reassuring him that all went okay with Varley, and inviting him up to the room, where all three decided to stay the night. 

The next morning, they were pleasantly surprised to learn that breakfast was included in the price of the room. As they ate some eggs on toast with their morning coffee, Seth and Jackson finished reading the file, exchanging comments all the while. Seth more than shared Liz’s doubts about Varley and the job.

“This whole thing stinks,” the Demon said with a huff. “Are we supposed to just take that guy’s word for it?”

He shook his head, and finished his coffee.

“Well, like I told Liz, it’s-”

“Too strange not to be true, sure. Well, even if we assume he’s being honest -and that’s a leap-, there’s also the possibility that he’s wrong. Or even just nuts. We should look into this before we do anything.”

“We’ll have to anyway,” Liz said. “That file doesn’t tell us where this Stanton guy is building his portal.”

“Supposedly building his portal,” Seth said. “The file does tell us where that man lives and where he works, though.” A couple of addresses were indeed written down; both of them were in California. “You know what? Let me work my old spy magic. If he’s really up to something bad, I’ll find out.”

“You’re not the spymaster anymore,” Jackson said.

“I’m still in contact with my former spies. A few of them live in California -most of them, actually.” He smiled. “One of them is working on becoming a private investigator, in fact. That’d be a good experience.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jackson said. “Anything we should do in the meantime?”

“No… Not much we can do all the way from Nevada, anyway. Does your pistol still work?”

Jackson nodded. His old service pistol was kept in a lockbox in his bedroom, where it stayed most of the time. Every once in a while, Jackson got it out to clean it and keep it in working order, and more rarely to practice with it. He also still owned his service rifle, but kept it disassembled in a chest at the foot of his bed where he stored his clothes, and never used it. He had cleaned it once, a few months ago, but otherwise didn’t even think about it anymore. In that same chest, he kept another weapon, one he never touched at all, and in fact didn’t even think about.

“Good. Well, that could come in handy,” Seth said.

“I’ll find some of my old warriors to help us,” Liz said. “Stanton might have gotten some security. If so, the three of us may not be enough. Hopefully, they still remember their training.”

“You don’t easily forget years of war experience,” Jackson said, rubbing his chest. His ribs were acting up that morning, as they sometimes did; Liz had offered to massage them, but he knew that wouldn’t help: when this happened, there wasn’t much to do except waiting until it got better by itself.

They checked out of the room at eleven, stayed in Vegas for lunch -burger and fries in a greasy diner they found off the beaten path-, then went home.

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