Solvable Problems

"Efficiency is a kind of anaesthetic. Focus on the logistics long enough, and you forget you're the one causing the damage."

The ute roared to life, a thunderous sound that shattered the afternoon quiet, startling the several geese that had ambled up from the small pond behind the house. Their flapping wings and indignant quacks added unexpected comedy to the scene, and I found myself smiling at their hurried retreat. Strange, how normal this felt. How ordinary. As if I hadn't just pushed a man through a dimensional gateway against his will. As if this were simply another Saturday.

The engine hummed with satisfying power beneath my hands—Nial kept his vehicle well-maintained, the kind of reliable workhorse that would prove invaluable for transporting materials between worlds. I made a mental note to thank him for that, though perhaps "thank" wasn't quite the right word for the relationship we now had.

As the engine settled into a steady idle, my eyes performed another sweep of the property, absorbing the scene with the calculating gaze of someone cataloguing assets rather than appreciating scenery. The thick native Tasmanian trees encircling the land cocooned it in natural privacy, warding off the possibility of curious neighbours. Perfect. The isolation that had made this location ideal for opening a Portal also meant I could work without interruption, could load and unload supplies without anyone asking inconvenient questions about why I was emptying a stranger's home.

In this moment, amidst the rustling leaves and the geese settling back to their aimless wandering, a peculiar tranquillity blanketed everything. The sun filtered through the canopy in golden shafts, and I took a moment to simply breathe it in. Beautiful spot. The Owens had excellent taste—though they'd appreciate Clivilius even more once they'd had time to properly explore it. Virgin wilderness, untouched ecosystems, species that perhaps no longer existed on Earth. For environmental conservationists, it was paradise.

I'd done them a favour, really.

The thought arrived without irony, without the self-awareness that might have made me pause. I believed it, in that moment. Or at least I believed I believed it, which amounted to the same thing.

"I love this spot," I whispered to myself, genuine appreciation warming my voice. And I did love it. The property would make an excellent staging area for future operations. Remote enough for privacy, close enough to Hobart for easy access—not that proximity mattered much anymore, now that I was growing the network of sites directly accessible from Clivilius.

The ute sat heavy on its suspension, packed to the brim with supplies collected from the Owens' house. The loading had been thorough—Chris's tools arranged by type, Karen's equipment secured properly, boxes of preserved food stacked to maximise space. Everything the settlement would need, all in one trip. A peculiar satisfaction settled within me as I surveyed the loaded vehicle. Productive work. Tangible progress.

I was getting quite good at this.

The realisation should have disturbed me. It didn't.

Ready to face Nial now, though part of me hoped someone else had already taken him to camp, shown him around, started the orientation process. Paul, probably. Paul had that solid, reassuring presence that helped people adjust. Made them feel like everything was going to be alright, that this was all perfectly normal—which it was, if you squinted at it from the right angle. People relocated for work all the time. The fact that this relocation was involuntary and inter-dimensional was merely a matter of degree.

But practicalities demanded attention. "But I need him to tell me where his office is," I sighed, though it was more a sound of mild inconvenience than genuine distress. With the key still nestled in the ignition, I extracted it from its chain—a well-worn key ring that spoke of years of professional use, of morning drives to job sites and evening returns to a home where someone waited for him.

I stuffed the remaining keys into my pocket, felt their weight settle against my thigh. His house keys, probably. His office. Maybe a storage unit. Each one representing access to exactly what the settlement needed.

Triffett Fencing Solutions would have everything. Industrial post-hole diggers. Rolls of heavy-gauge wire. Corner braces and tensioning equipment. The specialised tools that made professional fencing possible rather than amateur improvisation. With access to Nial's inventory, the settlement's defences could be properly established within days instead of weeks. Fences that would actually withstand a shadow panther's assault. Secure perimeters.

Safety for Henri.

That was what mattered. That was what justified all of this.

The Clivilian dust erupted into a plume as I drove through the Portal, a dramatic entrance that never got old. The transition hit with that familiar vertigo—reality folding in on itself, physics taking a holiday—and then the solid thump of tyres on packed earth. The settlement sprawled before me, my settlement, growing larger every day. More tents, more structures, more people contributing to something genuinely important.

And to my surprise, Nial was standing nearby, engaged in conversation with Kain. Good. Kain was adapting well—the young man had that practical construction worker mindset that translated perfectly to settlement building. He'd been resistant at first, naturally, but he was coming around. They all would, eventually. Once they saw what we were building here, once they understood the scope of the project, the initial reluctance would fade into something approaching acceptance. Perhaps even enthusiasm.

"Why is he here?" Kain demanded the moment I emerged from the ute. His voice carried that edge of challenge, but it was weaker than it had been initially. The sharp corners of his anger were smoothing out, worn down by the reality of his situation and perhaps—I allowed myself to hope—by growing appreciation for what we were creating.

"He owns a fence construction business," I replied curtly, keeping my tone matter-of-fact. The necessity was obvious. We needed fences, he built fences. The settlement's requirements dictated the solution. Individual circumstances were secondary to collective need.

Kain nodded, and I felt a small thrill of satisfaction. He was starting to see it, starting to understand the bigger picture. The settlement needed skills, needed expertise, needed people who could contribute to something larger than themselves. I wasn't kidnapping people—I was recruiting essential personnel for a civilisation-building project of unprecedented scope.

The rationalisation slid into place so smoothly I barely noticed it happening.

"These include your office keys?" I turned to Nial, presenting the keys with a casual jingle.

Nial looked at them, his face cycling through expressions—confusion, disorientation, the particular blankness of someone whose reality had been fundamentally upended. The adjustment period was always difficult. He'd come around.

"Yeah," Nial replied, his voice uncertain but not hostile. Also progress. The absence of active resistance was the first step toward acceptance, and acceptance was the first step toward contribution.

Kain can deal with Nial's introduction to the camp, I decided, the thought bringing relief. Kain could show Nial the tents, explain the basics, answer the inevitable questions about where they were and how they'd gotten here and whether they could go home. Division of labour. I had other tasks that required attention, and standing around managing people's emotional adjustment wasn't the best use of my time.

There would be time for that later. Or there wouldn't. Either way, the settlement's needs came first.

"Where's your office?" I inquired, cutting to practical matters. Time was valuable. Henri still needed protection, the fences wouldn't build themselves, and I had a narrow window to access Nial's inventory before anyone noticed his absence. His wife would start to worry eventually—I'd need to send those text messages I'd mentally composed, buy myself a few more days of operational freedom.

"It's a home office. Why?" Nial questioned, his brows furrowing.

Home office. Even better. Residential area meant neighbours who'd be at work during the day, a wife who might have her own job or errands to run. I could time my visit for maximum privacy, load up the ute with equipment, and be back through the Portal before anyone noticed anything amiss.

"Great. The key is still in the ignition," I informed the two men, gesturing toward the loaded ute. They could unload it, distribute the supplies, make themselves useful. The settlement ran more smoothly when everyone contributed, when people had tasks to occupy their hands and minds.

Without further ado, I walked through the Portal, already mentally cataloguing what I'd need from Triffett Fencing Solutions. Industrial equipment, definitely. Materials in bulk. Whatever specialised tools Nial used for his professional work. The settlement deserved proper infrastructure, not makeshift improvisation.

The transition back was smooth, practised. I'd crossed between worlds dozens of times now, and the disorientation barely registered anymore. Just a momentary lurch, a ripple of impossible colours, and then I was standing in my home study again, the Portal closing behind me with barely a whisper.

The house was quiet, peaceful. Sunlight streamed through the windows, painting everything in warm wintry gold. I looked down at Nial's keys in my palm.

This was working. The plan was actually working.

Phase three complete: confirm the resources location (and Nial's well-being, I suppose). Phase four… the office.

The thought structure was automatic now, the way I'd started organising my actions into phases and objectives and deliverables. Like a project plan. Like a business strategy. Not like kidnapping and theft, which is what it actually was, if you stripped away the euphemisms.

But I didn't strip away the euphemisms. I was learned that maintaining the right mental framework was essential for maintaining forward momentum. Call it what it was, and the guilt would creep back in. Call it strategy and logistics and resource acquisition, and it became manageable. Necessary. Even admirable, in its way.

I pocketed the keys, my mind already shifting to the next task. Triffett Fencing Solutions—I'd need to find the address, probably a quick search online.

Details. Logistics. Solvable problems.

The settlement was growing. People were adjusting. The defences would be built. Henri would be safe.

Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.

And if a small voice somewhere in the back of my mind whispered that I was becoming something monstrous, I'd learned to stop listening to it. That voice didn't understand necessity. That voice didn't understand what it meant to protect the people you loved.

That voice still thought morality was more important than survival.

I knew better now.