Arriving at Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary later than I had originally planned, I found myself stepping out of a taxi instead of behind the wheel of Jamie’s car. The decision was a no-brainer, really, given the recent attention from the police. A mental note flickered through my mind, a reminder to relocate Jamie's vehicle to Clivilius sooner rather than later. With two of us Guardians now frequently activating our Portals, the network of our available locations was bound to expand rapidly, easing some logistical challenges but introducing new risks.
I expressed my gratitude to the taxi driver, paying in cash to avoid any unnecessary digital footprints. Before stepping out, I took a moment to scan the area for any signs of trouble, a habit that had become second nature. The coast clear, I exited the cab, a part of me relishing the lack of obligation to return for a car. "This isn’t so bad after all," I mumbled to myself, the freedom from the responsibility of personal transportation feeling unexpectedly liberating. The plan to activate a Portal location here at Bonorong made the idea of not having a car seem inconsequential. I stretched, allowing the serene environment of the sanctuary to envelop me, the calls of the birds and the gentle rustle of leaves providing a momentary escape from the complexities of my hidden life.
As I observed the visitors bustling around, their excitement was palpable, a contagious energy that momentarily lifted my spirits. They moved with a sense of wonder, eager to explore the sanctuary and its inhabitants. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself for the task at hand. Today was not about reliving fond memories but about reconnaissance, about ensuring our operations could continue with as little disruption as possible.
With an unexpected bounce in my step, I headed toward the front office, the prospect of adventure mingling with the practicalities of my mission. It had been years since my last visit here with Beatrix, a memory that brought an involuntary chuckle to my lips. The nostalgia was bittersweet, a reminder of simpler times before our lives had become entangled in the constant dance of evasion and subterfuge.
Surely, Beatrix will be making her way here once she discovers the registered Portal location, I thought, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The idea of sharing this new Portal location with her, of expanding our network and possibly revisiting this place together under less clandestine circumstances, offered a rare glimmer of hope amidst the shadows of our existence. For a brief moment, the weight of our secrets felt lighter, the sanctuary offering not just a physical refuge for its animal dwellers but a symbolic one for us, too.
As I approached the front desk, Emma, a friendly staff member clad in the Bonorong sanctuary uniform, greeted me with a warmth that felt both welcoming and disarming. Her smile, genuine and inviting, was emblematic of the sanctuary's commitment to both its visitors and its mission. She wore the iconic polo shirt emblazoned with the Bonorong logo, paired with practical khaki pants that seemed perfectly suited for a day spent caring for animals and educating the public.
"Hi there," Emma's greeting was as sunny as her disposition. "Welcome to Bonorong. Can I help you with anything?"
"Just a single entry ticket, please," I requested, my voice steady as I handed over the cash. "I’m really excited to see all the animals and learn more about conservation,” I found myself saying, the words slipping out with an ease that surprised me. I was fitting comfortably into the role of an eager visitor, a façade that was crucial if I was going to successfully navigate this reconnaissance mission.
Emma's response was prompt, her professionalism evident as she outlined the ticket options. "No problem. We have a few different ticket options available. Do you want to go on a guided tour, participate in a wildlife feeding experience, or just explore the sanctuary on your own?"
Her question prompted a moment of reflection. The mission, while important, didn't have to be rushed. The reminder to slow down and appreciate the natural beauty and significance of the sanctuary resonated with me. "I think I’ll go on the guided tour," I chose, the decision feeling right. "That way I can learn more about the animals and the work that you do here." It was an opportunity not just for reconnaissance but for genuine learning and connection with the sanctuary's conservation efforts.
Emma's efficiency was evident as she printed the ticket. "Here you go," she handed it to me along with a map of the sanctuary. "The next tour starts in about fifteen minutes, so you have time to explore a bit before then. Here’s a map of the sanctuary, and if you have any questions, just ask one of the staff members that will be roaming around."
"Thank you, Emma," I replied, my smile reflecting the genuine appreciation I felt. Accepting the ticket and map, I felt a sense of anticipation for the adventure that lay ahead. The warmth of Emma's welcome, the promise of learning more about the sanctuary's vital work, and the opportunity to momentarily immerse myself in the natural world offered a brief respite from the complexities of Guardian life.
The first ten minutes at Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary dissolved into the background as I found myself captivated by a conversation with a lone cockatoo positioned near the entrance. The bird, with its surprising ability to articulate a few words, offered a moment of levity and connection, a welcome diversion from the weight of my usual concerns. Its sporadic commentary, a blend of mimicry and genuine interaction, served as a gentle reminder of the intelligence and complexity inherent in the natural world around us.
As the time for the tour neared, I made my way to the designated meeting spot, finding myself among a diverse group of visitors, each of us united by a shared anticipation for the journey ahead. The tour guide, introducing himself as James, exuded a warmth and enthusiasm that was both infectious and comforting. "James," he greeted us, his smile genuine and inviting. "I hope you’re all as excited as I am for this tour."
The group's response was a collective affirmation of our eagerness, punctuated by the spirited shout of a particularly enthusiastic young child. James's playful admonition, "Shh, not too loud," accompanied by a mischievous smile directed briefly at me, added a layer of camaraderie to the proceedings. His comment about the sleeping animals elicited a quiet chuckle from me, a sign of my growing ease in this unexpected refuge.
As the tour commenced, I found myself fully immersed in the experience, the usual preoccupations with Clivilius and the duties of a Guardian momentarily receding into the background. With each step, each new piece of information shared by James, I allowed myself to be truly present, soaking in the stories and facts that painted a vivid picture of the sanctuary's inhabitants.
Occasionally, my thoughts drifted to the possibility of a wildlife sanctuary within Bixbus, the idea sparking a blend of inspiration and contemplation. The parallels between our efforts to safeguard the portals and the sanctuary's mission to protect its residents were not lost on me. As I absorbed the information about the sanctuary's conservation work, the notion of intertwining our guardianship with a similar ethos of protection and preservation flickered through my mind, a seed of an idea that might one day take root in the reality of our hidden world.
During our leisurely walk past the koalas, comfortably nestled within the crooks of gum tree branches, a fellow visitor's curiosity about James's satisfaction with his job prompted a heartfelt response. "I love it here," he declared, his affection for the sanctuary evident as his gaze affectionately swept over our surroundings. It was during this exchange that his eyes briefly met mine, holding my gaze a moment longer than necessary, sparking an unspoken connection between us. "I’ve been working here for a few years now, and I never get tired of seeing the animals and learning more about them. It’s such a rewarding job," he shared, his enthusiasm infectious and his dedication clear.
Lost in the flow of the tour, led by James's captivating narration, more and more, I found my thoughts intermittently venturing to the growing concept of a wildlife sanctuary within Bixbus. The potential for such a place in our hidden world seemed all the more tangible, inspired by the passion James displayed for his work and the sanctuary's mission. As we continued, I noticed the distance between us subtly diminishing, his occasional, light touches—like a brush against my arm while pointing out a particularly interesting animal—sending unexpected shivers down my spine. These fleeting moments of contact, though minor, added an unforeseen layer of complexity to the excursion.
Our interactions, while unexpected and certainly not part of my initial reconnaissance plan, posed an intriguing scenario. Given that my primary objective was to gather information and assess the feasibility of integrating similar conservation efforts into Bixbus, the burgeoning rapport with James presented an interesting dynamic. It reminded me that even amidst the seriousness of my self-imposed missions and the dangers I often faced, there was room for moments of genuine human connection. I rationalised that there was no harm in enjoying the tour and the company, especially if it helped to solidify an internal allegiance with someone as passionate and knowledgeable as James. After all, forging alliances, even those born out of chance encounters, could prove beneficial in the most unexpected ways.
James's sudden halt drew our collective attention to the sight of a large kangaroo grazing in the distance. The animal, upon noticing our presence, stood tall, commanding the field with an impressive stature. "That’s our biggest male kangaroo. His name is Bob, and he’s the leader of the mob," James announced, his voice carrying a mix of respect and fondness for the creature. As his eyes found mine once again, there was a spark of amusement between us, an acknowledgment of the unexpected majesty we were witnessing.
Amidst the group's chuckles, I found myself voicing my astonishment, "Wow, he’s huge," the words slipping out in genuine wonder. My experiences with kangaroos back in Broken Hill and on night drives to and from Adelaide had never prepared me for the sight of such a magnificent specimen. Bob's presence was not just impressive; it was almost awe-inspiring.
"Bob certainly is," James echoed my sentiment, his laughter mingling with mine. "But he’s a gentle giant. He’s been living at Bonorong for years now, and he’s a real favourite with the visitors and staff." The camaraderie in our laughter, the shared appreciation for Bob's gentle nature despite his formidable appearance, wove a thread of connection between us, a moment of mutual understanding and delight.
As we stood there, laughing and exchanging glances, I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander back to Clivilius. How would a creature like Bob fit into the landscapes of our hidden world? The idea was whimsical, perhaps, but not without its charm. Our eyes met again, and it felt as though we were sharing a secret thought, a playful speculation on the possibilities that lay beyond the confines of the sanctuary.
As we moved through the sanctuary, the tour unfolded like a vivid tapestry of Australian wildlife. Kangaroos and wallabies bounded with an effortless grace, their movements a dance between curiosity and caution. Tasmanian devils, those enigmatic creatures of the night, alternated between peaceful slumbers and playful snarls, offering glimpses into their complex personalities. Echidnas, with their distinctive snouts, ventured cautiously from their burrows, their slow, deliberate movements a stark contrast to the more dynamic kangaroos and wallabies.
James, our guide through this living mosaic, took every opportunity to illuminate the sanctuary's vital work. His voice carried a passion that was both infectious and inspiring as he detailed the conservation efforts at Bonorong. The commitment to rehabilitating and releasing injured and orphaned wildlife was not just a policy but a mission, a core aspect of the sanctuary's identity.
Listening to James, I found myself deeply moved by the sanctuary's dedication. The stories of rescue, recovery, and eventual release painted a picture of hope and resilience that resonated with me on a fundamental level. It was a reminder of the broader battle being fought beyond the immediate concerns of Clivilius—a battle for the preservation and respect of all life forms.
The sanctuary's efforts echoed the principles that guided me as a Guardian, underscoring the interconnectedness of all endeavours aimed at protecting and nurturing the vulnerable. As James spoke, I couldn't help but draw parallels between our work and that of the sanctuary. Both were centred around safeguarding those unable to protect themselves, whether they be portals hidden from the world or animals threatened by it.
This realisation fostered a deeper appreciation for the sanctuary and its mission, reinforcing my belief in the importance of conservation. The thought of integrating similar principles into Clivilius, of creating a sanctuary of our own that mirrored these values, was both daunting and exhilarating. As we continued our journey through Bonorong, I carried with me not just the sights and sounds of the animals we encountered but the underlying message of their presence: the imperative to protect, to heal, and to preserve for future generations.
As the tour drew to a close, James thanked the guests and received their gratitude in return. With the crowd dispersing, I approached James, unable to resist expressing my appreciation despite the risk of making myself too memorable.
"Thanks, James," I found myself saying, my hand reaching out to him. The words came out with a sincerity that surprised even me, given the layers of my presence here. "That was a really good tour." His handshake, warm and lingering, seemed to echo the connection that had subtly formed between us throughout the tour, his playful glint not lost on me.
"You're welcome," he responded, his voice low, almost intimate, as his gaze locked with mine. There was an invitation there, something that went beyond the usual guide-visitor interaction, leaving us in a moment of charged silence. It was a silence filled with unspoken questions and possibilities, a delicate balance between professionalism and the hint of personal interest.
"And here’s the real leader of the sanctuary,” James suddenly announced, breaking the moment with a lightness that eased the tension. He called out to a young man passing by, one cradling a small koala with a level of care and affection that spoke volumes of his dedication.
“Grant!” James’s voice drew the attention of the young man, who paused and turned towards us with an inquisitive look. “Hey, James. What’s up?”
James’s introduction of Grant Ironbach as the Director of Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary caught me off guard. The significance of the role, paired with the casual manner in which Grant handled the koala, underscored the passion that must drive the sanctuary’s operations. "Nice to meet you," I managed, halting mid-gesture when I realised Grant's hands were understandably occupied.
“And this is-" James’s prompt hung in the air, turning the spotlight on me to introduce myself. The sudden need to articulate my identity, under the gaze of someone as integral to the sanctuary as Grant, left me momentarily cautious. Yet, the warmth of the exchange, the genuine interest from both James and Grant, nudged me towards openness, albeit within the boundaries of my concealed truth.
My response was abruptly cut short by the unexpected arrival of a young woman, her presence like a sudden gust of wind that changes the direction of falling leaves. "Grant! There you are," she exclaimed with a burst of energy, her voice cutting through the tranquility of the moment. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She rushed towards us, her movements filled with a purposeful urgency that seemed to command attention.
"Well, you've found us," Grant replied with a tone that mixed amusement and resignation. He gestured towards himself and the baby koala nestled securely in his arms. "We're right here," he added, as if their location had been a mystery she'd finally solved.
James leaned in closer to me, his voice a hushed whisper that carried a note of caution mixed with intrigue. "And that's Sarah Ironbach. The Assistant Director, and Grant's sister. She's friendly but can be a little feisty at times." His words painted a picture of Sarah that was as vivid as the woman herself, suggesting a depth to her character that caught my attention.
I nodded in response, a silent acknowledgment of James's introduction. However, the truth was, I wasn't entirely sure how I ended up in this situation—a bystander caught in the middle of a familial and professional reunion.
"We're late for the meeting with—" Sarah's voice trailed off as she paused, her gaze shifting to notice James and me for the first time. Her attention suddenly focused on me, as if she was seeing me for the first time. "You must be Brad," she said, extending her hand towards me in a gesture that was both welcoming and assertive.
Confused about my identity, I shook her hand automatically, not fully processing the mistake. Her hand was firm and warm, a stark contrast to the cool, impersonal air between strangers. "James, printed copies of the documents you sent us. I have to say, this sounds like an amazing opportunity. Grant and I are both excited about it,” she continued, her words cascading over me like a waterfall, moving faster than my brain could catch up.
“That’s great,” I managed to reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I was about to correct her on my identity, to tell her I wasn't Brad, but before I could articulate the confusion swirling inside me, James was guiding us towards one of the buildings, a silent shepherd leading his flock.
"Bring Dudley with you," Sarah instructed Grant, her tone leaving no room for argument. Grant looked about somewhat lost, as if he was trying to find his bearings in a situation that was as unfamiliar to him as it was to me. Holding the baby koala, now dubbed Dudley, he seemed to embody the confusion and wonder that I felt inside.
As we shuffled into the small, unassuming building, the air buzzed with the kind of anticipation one feels before the dawn of a significant venture. Sarah, her voice animated and full of purpose, began discussing their fervent enthusiasm for the plans concerning the new sanctuary. She elaborated on how thoroughly they'd reviewed and approved the designs, their readiness palpable in her every word. It was clear that the initial site assessment wasn't just another task for them; it was a leap towards a vision they believed in deeply.
Caught in the whirlwind of information and the rapid progression of the situation, I found myself merely nodding and grunting occasionally. It was a feeble attempt to appear engaged and knowledgeable, but internally, I was scrambling to keep up. The complexity and the pace at which everything unfolded left me feeling like I was perpetually two steps behind, trying to catch up to a train that had already left the station.
"Grant and I have our bags packed and have everything lined up for the two weeks to conduct the initial site assessment," Sarah continued, her enthusiasm undimmed as she moved towards several large backpacks piled in the corner of the room. Her statement, "We’re excited to meet your people," felt like a weighty acknowledgment of the collaborative effort this project was poised to be. Yet, her words also served as a stark reminder of the tangled web in which I found myself.
I cast a glance at James, the confusion and disbelief surely evident in my eyes. How had he let me drift this far into a conversation under a mistaken identity? Did he not realise the gravity of the misunderstanding? The silence between us grew louder, filled with unasked questions and unspoken clarifications.
I wasn’t ready to unravel the entire tapestry of lies that had inadvertently been woven around me. Yet, acknowledging that I wasn’t Brad seemed like the first, necessary unravelling of this complex knot. My mind was racing towards crafting a sincere apology for the confusion when Sarah's next words froze me in my tracks.
"I’ve not been able to get this whole idea of Guardians and Portals out of my head since the last time we spoke with Melanie," she said, her tone shifting to one of awe and wonder. "If she hadn’t shown it to us, I’d have never believed that such things were possible." Her words were like a jolt of electricity, sparking a myriad of thoughts and emotions within me.
Perplexed and feeling the weight of the moment pressing in, I reached into the depths of my pocket, feeling the familiar contours of my Portal Key. Its metallic surface, cool and smooth under my fingertips, felt like the only anchor in a sea of uncertainty. With a deep breath that did little to steady my racing heart, I activated the Portal against a vacant wall. The transformation was instantaneous and breathtaking. The once blank and unassuming surface came to life with mesmerising, swirling colours—a vibrant dance of light and shadow that seemed to defy the very laws of physics.
“You've seen this before?” I asked, my voice laced with a mix of incredulity and a faint hope that perhaps they understood more than I credited them for.
“Yes,” replied Grant, his voice steady and assured. “We’ve seen it a number of times now. We’re quite familiar with it all.”
Are you, really? The skepticism was loud in the silence of my thoughts, my eyes darting between them, probing for any sign that they grasped the true nature of what stood before us. The portal wasn't just a marvel of technology or a gateway to new lands; it was a bridge to Clivilius, a one-way trip from which there was no return. Sarah's casual mention of a two-week trip gnawed at me—did they truly not comprehend that Bonorong was about to become a distant memory, forever?
“Well, there’s no time like the present,” I found myself saying, my voice a mix of resignation and a forced cheerfulness. I gestured towards the swirling colours, the portal's beauty doing little to ease the unease coiling in my stomach.
“Grab the portfolios, would you, Grant,” Sarah's voice cut through the moment, pragmatic and focused. Grant, momentarily lost in his farewell to Dudley, handed the koala over to James, a bittersweet exchange that seemed to underline the gravity of their impending departure.
“I’ll grab them,” I offered, stepping towards the table to collect the folders. My mind raced with questions and concerns, but the immediate task provided a welcome distraction. As I hurried to collect the documents, a part of me sought comfort in the familiarity of the task. A casual scan through these papers later might shed light on what I was walking into, I mused silently, hoping for clarity in the midst of the bewildering experience unfolding in front of my eyes.
“See you on the other side,” Sarah declared gleefully, her voice brimming with excitement as she walked through the portal, bags in tow. Her enthusiasm, so at odds with my own turmoil, was a stark reminder of the adventure we were embarking on—an adventure that held more unknowns than certainties.
“Don’t let this place fall apart,” Grant’s parting words to James were tinged with humour and a hint of solemnity. He patted the young koala’s head, a final gesture of goodbye to a piece of his world.
“You’re leaving it all in great hands,” James assured, his eyes locking with mine as he gave me a sneaky wink.
Bewildered, I watched as Grant followed his sister through the portal. The sight of them stepping into the swirling colours, disappearing from view, was both awe-inspiring and disconcerting.
“Thanks for all of your help, James,” I said, extending my hand towards him, my grasp firm yet warm, conveying a sense of camaraderie that had unexpectedly blossomed between us. My smile was playful, a light-hearted façade that belied the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me. Despite the brief nature of our acquaintance, I felt a sudden, inexplicable fondness for the young man, a bond forged in the midst of this unforeseen adventure. Yet, beneath the surface of this newfound connection, my instincts screamed for caution, a silent reminder of the precarious situation I found myself in. You can’t be Brad forever, I mused internally, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth, a silent acknowledgment of the absurdity of the masquerade I had been unwittingly cast into.
Our moment of farewell was abruptly shattered by a knock, the sound a sharp contrast to the low murmur of conversation that had filled the room moments before. Emma’s head appeared through the doorway, her expression one of exasperation. “James,” she began, her tone laced with a hint of urgency, “Brad Coleman is here to meet with Grant and Sarah about the new confidential project.”
At the mention of Brad Coleman, my heart skipped a beat, a jolt of panic coursing through me, rooting me to the spot. My eyes widened, the colour draining from my face as the reality of the situation crashed down on me like a wave breaking on the shore. The room seemed to tilt, the edges blurring as the gravity of Emma's words sank in. James turned to me, his gaze sharp, eyes narrowing as if seeing me for the first time, a dawning realisation etching itself across his features.
“Do you want me to bring him here?” Emma’s voice pierced the heavy air, a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of my thoughts.
“Uh, hang on a sec, Emma,” James replied, his voice a calm in the storm, buying us a moment of precious time. His gaze never left mine, a silent conversation passing between us in the span of a heartbeat.
Part of me was seized by a morbid curiosity about the real Brad Coleman, the man whose identity I had inadvertently cloaked myself in—the apparent Guardian. Yet, as much as curiosity gnawed at me, the realisation hit with the force of a thunderclap—I had a name, and that name was not Brad Coleman. It was a tether to reality, a reminder of the truth behind the mask.
In the few seconds that James was distracted with Emma, a window of opportunity cracked open, a sliver of time in which decisions had to be made and actions taken. With my heart pounding in my chest, a cacophony of beats that drowned out all else, I made my choice. I retreated to Clivilius, the name not just a destination but a declaration, a reclaiming of my identity and my path.
The moment I stepped into Clivilius, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The air here held a different kind of weight, charged with an energy that seemed to teeter on the brink of anticipation and unease. Grant and Sarah Ironbach, caught up in their whirlwind of excitement, barely acknowledged my presence. They were ensconced in their own world, animatedly discussing the barren beauty that unfolded before us. The vast expanse of Clivilius stretched endlessly, its dusty terrain a stark contrast to the lush landscapes they had left behind. The sky, a canvas of muted colours, hung low over the horizon, adding to the desolation that defined this place.
Anxious energy bubbled up inside me as I contemplated the imminent necessity of explaining not just their presence here but also the tangled web of mistaken identity that had ensnared us all. With a sense of urgency, I scanned the Drop Zone for Paul, hoping to find an ally in this sea of confusion. My gaze finally landed on him, and I managed to catch his attention. A wave of relief washed over me as I realised the Ironbachs remained blissfully unaware of my identity crisis. For now, the masquerade could continue, a temporary reprieve from the inevitable revelations that lay ahead.
“This is almost exactly how they described it,” Grant observed, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and recognition as he took in the desolate beauty of Clivilius. His eyes, wide with wonder, swept over the landscape, trying to soak in every detail of this alien world.
“Oh, really?” I found myself asking, my tone laced with genuine curiosity. This was an opportunity to gather information, to understand the depths of their knowledge before the precarious façade they had constructed for me, crumbled away.
“Yes,” Sarah responded, her gaze piercing me with an intensity that felt almost accusatory. It was as if she expected me to share in their familiarity of what they had been briefed. Her eyes narrowed, scrutinising me, searching for signs of recognition, of understanding that I struggled to fabricate.
"Paul!" My voice carried across the dusty expanse, laced with an enthusiasm that was as much a performance as it was genuine relief at seeing a familiar face amidst the unfolding uncertainty. He approached, and I quickly introduced him to Grant and Sarah Ironbach, emphasising their connection to the Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary in Tasmania with a warmth that belied the chaos churning beneath my composed exterior.
As I spoke, I caught the subtle shift in Paul's expression, his brow arching in that familiar way that signalled his curiosity was piqued. There was an unspoken language between us, a lifetime of shared glances and nuances that conveyed volumes.
“As discussed,” I confidently continued, locking eyes with my brother in a silent communication that was as clear as spoken word. The look I gave him was a mix of plea and command, a silent entreaty to play along with the narrative I had spun. “They’re here to do the initial assessment for the construction of the new wildlife sanctuary here.” The words flowed with a rehearsed ease, masking the inner turmoil that threatened to surface with each passing moment.
“Oh, are they?” Paul’s response was laced with a skepticism that danced on the edge of disbelief, his brow arching even higher, if that were possible. It was a testament to the absurdity of the situation, the very idea of constructing a wildlife sanctuary in Clivilius's barren landscape teetering on the brink of incredulity.
“Shouldn’t take us more than a week or so,” Sarah interjected, her confidence and enthusiasm undimmed by the skepticism that hung in the air. Her words, so full of assurance, seemed to carve a slice of reality from the fantastical premise we were all entangled in.
“And then we’ll be back to Bonorong. These things don’t manage themselves,” Grant added, his voice carrying a note of pragmatism that grounded the conversation, if only momentarily. Their commitment to their cause, to the sanctuary, was evident, yet their understanding of the situation was as misplaced as my own presence among them.
Seizing the moment before Paul’s astonishment could manifest into something less manageable, I interjected, “Do you mind giving my brother and me a moment or two?” The request was as much for the Ironbachs' benefit as it was for ours—a necessary interlude to confer, to strategise, and perhaps to come to terms with the reality of our predicament.
Pulling Paul away, I felt the weight of his gaze, heavy with questions and disbelief, as if his eyes alone could compel the truth from me. We moved apart from the Ironbachs, stepping into a space where the undercurrents of our conversation could flow freely, away from unsuspecting ears. This was a moment of reckoning, a sliver of time carved out, where truths could be whispered and plans hastily drawn in the sands of Clivilius.
Paul's gaze was like a laser, cutting through the barricade I had hastily erected around myself. His confusion and irritation were palpable. "Luke, what are you doing?" he hissed, his voice a mixture of concern and disbelief. The sharpness in his tone mirrored the severity of our predicament.
“I’m Brad,” I shot back, clinging to the alias with a stubbornness that bordered on defiance. My gaze locked with his, a silent challenge, a plea for understanding.
“And what trouble is ‘Brad’ into this time that I need to bail him out of?” His question, tinged with a condescension born of too many similar past escapades, stung. It was a reminder of the tangled paths my actions often led us down.
“It’s not like that,” I found myself protesting, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. This wasn't just another scrape; it was a mire of complexities that defied simple explanation.
Paul sighed, a sound heavy with resignation. "Another ‘accident’, then?" he queried, the word 'accident' hanging between us, a label too frequently applied to the unintended consequences of my actions.
“Not exactly,” I replied, the inadequacy of my response highlighting the depth of the hole I had dug for myself.
Paul’s eyes pleaded for further details, and in that moment, I realised the complexities of my situation.
As Paul's eyes bore into mine, pleading for a clarity I scarcely possessed, I realised the weight of the truth I was about to divulge. "They seem to already know about Clivilius and Portals," I began, easing into the revelation with a caution that belied my inner turmoil.
Paul scoffed, the sound loud and disbelieving. "Then why do they have the impression that they’re going home in a few weeks?" His incredulity mirrored my own, a reflection of the absurdity of the Ironbachs' misunderstanding.
I shrugged, a gesture of uncertainty in a sea of questions. "I’m not sure. But I think they’ve been working with another Guardian team. Apparently, Brad is a Guardian," I confessed, the pieces of the puzzle slowly beginning to align, yet still forming an incomplete picture.
“Aren’t you supposed to be Brad?” The confusion on Paul's face was a mirror to the conflict raging within me.
“No… and yes,” I stumbled over my words, the complexity of my dual identity knotting my tongue. "I was on a reconnaissance mission at the sanctuary. Happened to get myself caught up in a case of mistaken identity. It seems I was there at the right time," I tried to infuse my voice with a confidence I was far from feeling.
“Right time?” Paul's skepticism was evident, his disbelief a tangible force that threatened to overshadow the sliver of optimism I clung to.
“Well, we got the Director and Assistant Director of the Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary, didn’t we?” I countered, attempting to spin the situation into a victory of sorts. My attempt at showcasing our triumph was as much to convince Paul as it was to reassure myself.
“And,” I added, my tone shifting to one of emphatic certainty as I held up the folders, “We have their plans for the construction of a new wildlife sanctuary in Clivilius.” The grin that spread across my face was an attempt to mask the uncertainty, to project a veneer of success over the muddled circumstances. It was a moment of bravado, a fleeting triumph in the face of a situation that was as complex as it was dangerous. The plans in my hands, tangible evidence of our entanglement, were a token of victory, but the path ahead was fraught with challenges that my grin could scarcely begin to address.
Paul's initial skepticism melted away into a genuine smile, a rare concession that felt like a victory in itself. "I guess that can only be a good thing," he conceded, his tone laced with reluctant optimism. The relief that washed over me was palpable; having my brother finally see the glimmer of positivity was like finding a beacon in a storm. "Great!" I exclaimed, a burst of enthusiasm fuelled by his support. It felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders, the first step towards navigating the complicated path that lay ahead.
Just then, Sarah and Grant rejoined us, their approach breaking the brief moment of camaraderie between Paul and me. "Is everything alright, Brad?" Sarah inquired, her voice carrying a mix of concern and curiosity. The question, innocent as it was, felt like a tightrope walk over the reality of our situation.
"Everything is just perfect," I responded with a smile that was practiced yet genuine, hoping to encapsulate a sense of normalcy in the face of the absurd. As I handed the folders to Paul, I couldn't help but feel the symbolic weight of passing on the baton, of entrusting him with the delicate task of managing our guests' expectations. "My brother is going to accompany you back to camp and debrief you on the situation."
"And you?" Paul's question, his expression morphing back into one of weariness, hinted at the gravity of the role reversal we were about to undertake. The guilt for leaving him to shoulder the responsibility niggled at the back of my mind, yet, the reality was that my role as a Guardian often required me to navigate through unforeseen challenges.
"I have other important Guardian duties to attend to, but I’ll see you all later this evening," I assured him, a promise that was as much for myself as it was for them. My words were a veil, a necessary obfuscation of the truth of my immediate tasks, tasks that were as vital as they were secretive.
I could see the familiar struggle in Paul's eyes, the fight against the instinct to express his frustration in no uncertain terms. Instead, he chose professionalism over sarcasm, motioning for Grant and Sarah to follow him with a practiced ease. "We’re extremely excited to have you here," his voice carried back to me, a testament to his ability to embrace the role demanded by the moment.
As they walked away, a smile crossed my face, a mix of gratitude and admiration for my brother. Grateful for his unspoken understanding and his ability to adapt, to play along with the guise of normalcy I had crafted. It was a reminder of the unspoken bond we shared, a bond forged through countless challenges and shared secrets. In that moment, I was reminded of the strength that lay in partnership, in the shared responsibility of our duties as Clivilians. My brother's ability to 'play pretend,' to embrace the role required of him, was not just an act of deception but a testament to our commitment to protect and serve, no matter the cost.
