Hunter or Huntress Chapter 2: Preparation

“What are your terms?” Tom’s words rang out, silence hanging in the air for a second.

“Well,” the voice answered gleefully, “you will need to prepare yourself for anything. Creating a portal capable of transport will be a costly affair, but cheaper the weaker the veil is. And with the next convergence being in a little over a week’s time, I think you better get started...”

As evening rolled around Tom sat at his trusty computer once again, but gone was the boring work, replaced with a dozen Google searches and webshops. He honestly didn’t know why he agreed to this. It was a stupid idea, but he had had plenty of those in the past, and they had honestly led to some of the greatest moments in his life. That being said, this was by far the worst one yet.

He could bring whatever he wanted, but he had to be mobile in any terrain he found himself traversing: that meant no large vehicles. Besides, the fuel would likely have to be homemade in the future, so fuel economy and off-road mobility would be paramount. The quad bike he used to get around the property would be perfect with a few modifications of course. With a trailer, it could carry several hundred kilos of cargo and enough fuel for over a thousand kilometers offroad. If he hadn’t found civilization by then he was pretty fucked anyway.

But what to bring? He needed to think not just short but also long term, far longer than he ever had to before on any trip. A laptop, power banks, solar charger, kinetic lamp, weapons, and lots of ammo. But what happened when the ammo ran out? 'Homemade is back on the menu then,' he mused. That meant black powder, so anything semi or full auto was out of the question; it would just foul up the action, even if he could get it to run. But he still wanted stopping power in spades and a decent fire rate. Marlin it was then; you could never go wrong with a lever gun. That was probably the best gun he owned anyway. A shotgun would be a good idea too, even if it was just for hunting purposes, and if it came to it he could always chop the end off for some close quarters boom boom. He had owned an over-under he had had since he was 15, his first gun in fact and a gift from his father. It would serve once again.

He would want a pistol too though, and the same ammo concerns applied. 'Ahh what the hell might as well go full cowboy. Big ass revolver it is.’ He thought, chuckling to himself a bit. He had always wanted one, but he hadn’t had much reason to get one before now. To hell with it, why not two? Any real cowboy carries at least two guns, besides what if one broke? Content with his self-justification he placed his order for two Ruger Redhawks in 44 magnum. No use skimping on firepower when you had no idea what the target would be. As he leaned back in his chair he mused to himself that even if this was going to go horribly wrong, he would look awesome until the end.

As the days went by, things started arriving: the bits he needed to convert the quad bike to run on alcohol for when the petrol ran out, various electronics, survival tools, food and water, containers to put everything in... All was loaded onto the quad and its nifty new little trailer. Even as he worked, Tom was still wondering if he had completely lost his mind, but to be honest he didn’t care. This was exciting, even if it was all a delusion, it was better than sitting around pretending everything was as it should be. No this was right, it was what he wanted to do, it was going to be awesome, and thrilling, with so many challenges, all different. Honestly, he couldn’t wait for the day now.

It was probably for the best he had only been given a little over a week to prepare. The list was becoming longer and longer with every day. As he was packing the waterproof chest he had gotten off eBay from a boating guy, he began to wonder what his chances of actually getting to use Calister’s Materials and Engineering. Or the calculus books for that matter. Still, he had been instructed to make ready for the long haul and to make an impact on this world. If math and science couldn’t do it, what chance did he have? It dawned on him that the people of this world might not even be able to read and write, or maybe they were even more advanced than him. If so this would just be dead weight and a lot of it too. His little library was around 30 large books and a few smaller ones by now, most either from his own collection or borrowed from the local library. It wasn’t like they could come after him for not returning them anyways.

It was a strange collection of science, history, and fiction, even if the merit of bringing a fantasy book to a fantasy world was a bit dubious. But a good story is worth its weight in gold, right? Ohh right, money. What would they use for money? What could he bring that would be valuable to them, an alien people? Paper? Salt? Well, he was already bringing those, but a bit extra wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps spices and fine liquor, yeah that seemed smart.

As his thoughts wandered he began worrying about the physical attributes of the locals. Would they be human? Maybe not; was he going to be dealing with full-blown aliens? Or perhaps old fashioned fantasy? How would he communicate? He added a note to look into getting a book on communicating with primitives.

What if they were so massive and armored that not even a rifle would do the trick; what if there were real dragons there? He didn’t exactly have access to the base armory anymore, and even if he did it would be hard to explain to the boys just why he needed to borrow a recoilless rifle or a SAM launcher for recreational purposes. Even if it could blow a hole in a dragon. No, he would have to make do with small arms. Besides, he would not be able to bring much ammo for such a weapon, or replenish it once fired, and what good would it do if he couldn't carry it along with the rest of his gear? He was already bringing more guns than one man could reasonably carry.

Besides, if there were dragons there, wouldn’t he want to tame one or make friends? Riding a dragon was up there with the wildest of childhood fantasies and who doesn’t like flying? He added a note to get something on animal training, just in case. Besides, he might be the one who is physically superior. That was a funny thought: superman with a rifle. Tom chuckled to himself a bit as he entertained the thought, continuing his prep work.

As the day of reckoning drew near, Tom sat down one evening and wrote a note. Not that he wanted to, but if he wasn’t coming back the least he could do was try and assure anyone who cared that nothing catastrophic had happened, even if it wasn't true...

“To whomever may end up finding this, know that I’m fine, I just couldn’t bear the monotony anymore. I needed to get out of here. So I have gone to a place of wonders beyond measure, where I might again find life exciting and challenging, even if just for a while. Don't worry, I’m not insinuating I shot myself, trust me I’m fine where I have gone. I know it sounds weird but don’t bother trying to find me, you won’t. This is what I want, and I'm not changing my mind anytime soon. One day I might return. So keep a chair free, just in case.

Tomas Jensen”

He folded up the piece of paper and laid it on his desk where it may be found in time.

The next morning Tom got up early. 'Do I have to do this?' he thought to himself as he got ready. Yes, he did. It would likely be the last chance he got, and even if it didn’t sit right, he would hate himself in the future if he didn’t. Breakfast in hand, he walked out to the car, a nice older BMW 3-series, and as he got in the melancholy hit him. This was maybe the last time he would drive a car, damn... He liked tearing up the backroads every now and again.

On route to the nursing home, he stopped off for some flowers. ‘Red. She liked red, if she could still remember, that was.’ As Tom sheepishly knocked on the door he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and waited. He stared down at the flowers, wondering how much she would remember today. “Who is it?” came the familiar frail voice from inside. “It’s Tom. I’ve got a present for you.”

There was a bit of commotion from inside, and after a short while the door creaked open. “I think I know a Tom. Who would that be?” his mother replied as she stared up at him with a quizzical look in her eyes. Tom shed a tear. She had remembered something at least, that was good.

“Oh my goodness, how pretty they are. Are those for me? Oh you handsome young boy, come in, come in, would you like some tea, or coffee maybe?” As Tom walked in behind her he quickly dried the tear away.

“Coffee please, three sugars,” he replied as he replaced last week’s flowers in the vase on the table and sat down. “So, how’s your day going?”

After that, it was the usual routine of him trying to help explain as much as he could about what had been going on. The voice in his head, the royal family’s visit to the town in a few weeks, the weird portal, that Aunt Agustina had a son (yes he had pictures and he was very sweet), the many preparations for his trip. Yes he was, in fact, her son, and yes he knew he had grown big.

On and on it went, just like always. He stayed as long as he could today, but by afternoon she had started getting worse. She was forgetting even what they had talked about just minutes before. He knew that was it for the day. This may be the last time he saw her, but she couldn’t take it any longer, it was just getting too much. So he made his excuses, gave her a big hug and a kiss on the forehead, and said his goodbyes with a heavy heart.

On the way home he sobbed most of the way; he knew she would not be getting better, and soon she would be gone too. It wasn’t fair, she couldn’t fight it. It would just get worse and worse until one day… He couldn’t bear to be around when it happened. Dad had taken a toll on him, he wouldn’t go through it again. Besides, she wouldn’t even know he wasn’t there for her in the end.

It just felt like an excuse even if the argument was sound; it was wrong. He just couldn’t bear the thought of trying to comfort his dying mother while she would hit him and shout at him because she believed he had broken into her apartment, as dad had done. No, this is for the best he thought. They are professionals at the care home, they were specialized in dementia, they would do a better job than him.