Keys, Dust, and Theories

"Every solution here seems to come with a fresh problem attached—like a caravan with a tow bar missing, or a Portal with a grudge."

With the newly purchased caravan securely in tow, I swung open Jamie’s car door and stepped out, the air in Bixbus meeting me like a flat, dusty handshake. The breeze, faint but determined, immediately set to work unravelling my ponytail, teasing loose strands across my face in what felt like an act of personal sabotage.

I huffed, fumbling for my hair tie with the kind of single-mindedness usually reserved for people defusing bombs. Sophie—still lurking in the back of my mind like an actor refusing to leave the stage—would have handled it with a poised little flick of the wrist, all elegance and precision. Beatrix, however, ended up jabbing herself in the scalp and muttering words unfit for polite company.

The breeze, now smug in its victory, whipped the rogue strands directly into my eyes, turning the barren Bixbus horizon into a dusty blur. Not that there was much to see—just the endless ochre sprawl and the hulking white-and-blue caravan that had taken far too much of my day, my energy, and my patience to wrangle here.

"Beatrix!" Luke’s voice rang out, cutting cleanly through the haze of hair and irritation. His tone was bright, buoyant—borderline gleeful—which immediately made me suspicious. Nothing in Bixbus was ever worth being that excited about unless something had exploded or was on fire.

I didn’t even bother looking at him straight away. Instead, I gave the elastic one last vindictive twist, securing my ponytail with a level of force that could probably withstand gale-force winds. "Can you two unhitch the caravan?" I said, my voice carrying that veneer of calm that’s really just frustration dressed up in business casual. My eyes finally flicked toward Luke and whoever he’d roped into helping, my unspoken thought lingering: I’ve done the hard bit—now it’s your turn.

But Luke, in true Luke fashion, was already halfway down a mental rabbit hole I hadn’t been invited into. My perfectly reasonable request about unhitching apparently bounced off him like a pebble off armour.
"I need to test something with you," he announced, eyes alight with that dangerous blend of curiosity and urgency—the kind that usually ended with someone singed, confused, or both.

Before I could decide whether to humour him or not, Paul cut in, his brows knitting together in what I’ve come to recognise as his what fresh logistical hell is this? look. "How am I supposed to move the caravan back to the camp if it’s not connected to a vehicle?" His tone carried equal parts confusion and the kind of mild exasperation that suggested he’d already imagined himself hauling it across the dust by hand.

I let out a long, slow sigh, the kind that’s as much for show as it is for personal survival. Sophie would have handled it with a polite, almost pitying smile. Beatrix, however, went for blunt practicality. "You’ve got other vehicles here," I said, sharper than I meant to, but I didn’t bother cushioning it. "Surely one of those has a tow bar you can use.” It wasn’t rocket science—though in fairness, around here, rocket science would probably get more immediate attention.

Paul’s response was a low, irritated grunt, the sound of a man reluctantly conceding a point but resenting the person who made it.

"You’re doing a lot of grunting today," Luke chimed in, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He punctuated the jab with a playful slap on Paul’s shoulder, like a puppy pawing at a bear.

Paul gave him a look that could curdle milk.

"I can always bring you another vehicle with a tow bar?" I offered, trying to sound helpful but suspecting it came out as more of a Do you really need me to spell this out for you? He muttered something under his breath but started unhitching the caravan anyway, each movement radiating reluctant compliance.

As Luke’s attention swivelled back to me, his question sliced through the dust-hung air like a thrown blade. "I can’t go through your Portal, and you can’t go through mine, right?" His tone was brisk, but his eyes carried that restless glint—the same one that usually preceded either a brilliant insight or a reckless disaster.

"Right," I said slowly, my eyes narrowing. I could feel the remnants of Sophie evaporating, leaving only Beatrix—the one who had to deal with the fallout of Luke’s chaotic choices. My mind began bracing itself, as if tugging on metaphorical gloves before a bout.

"So, what if that also means that I can’t open my Portal if you have yours open, and vice versa?" he continued, leaning in slightly, like a conspirator eager to share a dangerous secret.

It was a hypothesis with teeth, and for a moment I just stared at him, my brain ticking over. Then—

"The router!" The words shot out of me, sharp and sudden. The memory slammed into place—the stubbornly open Portal, the Wi-Fi experiment, and Luke’s conspicuous absence. The pieces locked together with unpleasant precision.

"Exactly!" Luke’s voice carried the kind of smug excitement that made you want to both congratulate and throttle him. "I’m pretty sure my Portal Key wasn’t working at the same time you had your Portal active with that blasted router." His irritation over the router sat there, simmering under the satisfaction of being right.

"Shit." The word left me on a breath, flat and low, as dread settled in my chest like a lead weight. This wasn’t just a minor operational hiccup. This was a vulnerability—a single point of failure in our only reliable line between here and home. And of course, it wasn’t just theoretical. It had already happened.

Just another complication to add to Guardian life, I thought sourly, as if the job description didn’t already read like a laundry list of hazards, logistical nightmares, and existential crises.

Luke’s instructions came rapid-fire, the kind of clipped, decisive delivery that suggested his mind had already raced three steps ahead. "I have a small truck with fence supplies to bring through. Beatrix, go somewhere safe on Earth and wait for two minutes. Give me enough time to get this truck here. I’ll leave my Portal active for another few minutes and in that time, you keep trying your Portal Key," he rattled off, the words tumbling over each other with the urgency of someone who couldn’t afford to pause.

"Yeah, good idea," I said, keeping my voice level even as a restless thrum of anxiety and determination coiled tight in my chest. This wasn’t just Luke indulging one of his endless “what if” theories—this was a test that could redraw the map of what we thought we knew about the Portals. A test that might one day mean the difference between making it to safety or being stranded in a hostile world.

And that thought was enough to conjure a vivid, unwelcome image: a shadow panther slipping silently from the dunes, muscles coiled, eyes catching the light in a cold, green flash. If Luke was right, if I happened to have my Portal open while his was active, I might be stuck here—cornered prey in an empty dust-bowl. A single point of failure, dressed up as an experiment.

"What about the internet?" Paul’s question cut through, a complete derailment from the razor-thin line of focus Luke had drawn. His tone was almost casual, as if Wi-Fi speeds were the pressing matter of the day.

"Not now, Paul," Luke snapped, not even looking back. The finality in his voice made the air feel heavier. Without another word, he stepped through the Portal, his figure dissolving into the whirling, liquid light, leaving behind a strange stillness—a charged gap, like the moment after a lightning strike.

I turned to Paul, searching his face for some clue as to what exactly Luke had just set into motion. He met my gaze with a shrug that was half bafflement, half resignation. And in that shrug was the unspoken truth: this was Luke’s way—drop a theory like a grenade and vanish before anyone could stop him.

"I have another caravan appointment to get to," I said, letting the words double as an excuse and a reminder—to Paul, to myself—of the endless conveyor belt of tasks still waiting. Guardian life didn’t pause for experimental whims.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the caravan still hitched behind Jamie’s car. "Unhitch it for me, will you?"

Paul looked momentarily startled, as if he’d forgotten the caravan even existed. Then, with a sigh and a half-hearted nod, he wandered over to the tow bar. I watched him fumble with the latch, his movements reluctant and imprecise, like someone performing a task mid-thought. He muttered something under his breath as the coupling came loose with a metallic clunk, the caravan rocking slightly as it settled into place.

Satisfied, I slid back into the driver’s seat. The leather sighed under my weight, the faint scent of dust and engine oil clinging to the upholstery. I turned the key, the engine grumbling into life, and let the low rumble drown out the static of half-formed worries. A caravan to see, a deal to strike—Sophie would need to make an appearance. My jaw tightened. At least Sophie didn’t have to wrangle with Portal theory or shadow panthers.

As the tyres crunched against the dry, brittle ground, I steered the car toward the shimmering Portal. That familiar ripple of vertigo began to rise in my chest, the strange pull and push of worlds trading places. Somewhere between Bixbus’ bone-dry air and Earth’s denser chill, I let Sophie slip over me again like a tailored coat—straight spine, easy smile, nothing to see here.

Still, Luke’s theory lingered at the edges of my thoughts like a splinter I couldn’t quite dig out. If he was right, it meant more than inconvenience—it meant vulnerability. The idea of being caught in that no-man’s-land between worlds, the Portal dead and useless in my hands, was enough to make even Sophie’s calm crack. I gripped the steering wheel tighter as the light of the Portal swallowed me, vowing to push that thought aside, at least until the next negotiation was done.