Chapter Twenty-One: The Past is Never Far
April 14, 2010
Silver City, NM
Marc typically awoke right before sunrise. It’s a habit he had developed in the other world, and after taking some time to adjust to life back in his original world, one that he quickly reacquired. He enjoyed watching the morning sun slowly banish the dark and shadows.
Each morning he would get up, do some basic warm-up exercises, see to the greenhouse, feed the chickens, check for eggs, then wash up and make a simple breakfast to start the day. Two or three times a week he would bake some bread in the brick oven he had built next to the greenhouse.
Marc was quite proud of the home he had made for himself up in the hills above Pinos Altos. He was able to live here on his own year-round with few issues. He had made a concession to Shiela by having the phone and power lines pulled up at a significant expense, but he also had a backup generator that could handle his meager power requirements easily. Gravity-fed cisterns supplied by rainwater took care of his water needs as well as the greenhouse, although in dry months he had needed to call up a truck from the city to refill them a few times over the years.
Almost everything about his home he had repaired, remodeled, or built from scratch by hand, including the large greenhouse and blacksmith forge. He had consulted with tradesmen from the city on things like the power system and grey and black water management. For extra manpower, he would lure some of his classmates from the same department at the University to help him with some of the bigger tasks, with offers of beer and handmade pizza. Most of them had also majored in Environmental Studies as he had, and quite a few of the ideas for his off-grid abode had become topics for class discussions.
He had put off bringing the internet up to the cabin so far. He also didn’t have a television. Once or twice a week he would head to the Silver City Public Library and use the computer there to check on the website that another student had made for him to manage his consulting and blacksmith businesses. Both of the businesses managed well enough without much work.
Marc had earned himself a good name in the area as a predator management consultant. While hunters would come in and kill coyotes and mountain lions for a bounty, Marc preferred to work for a set fee. Learning the habits of the local animals had been easy, drawing on his hunter experience from the other world. The local wildlife and ecosystem were relatively stable, so by managing the land and correcting imbalances that occurred due to environmental changes, Marc had been able to help keep the local ranches safe with very little actual killing of wildlife needed. Although the local hunters didn’t quite agree with his methods, his results had been enough to earn him some substantial loyal clients, as well as the respect of many of the local landowners in just a few years of operation.
As for his blacksmithing, that was more of a hobby, at least to outward appearances. He quickly learned that both the techniques and tools used here were different than what he had learned in the other world. The lack of Mana and the difference in materials requiring many subtle differences to his own technique that he had to get used to. Mr. Maeda had been a great teacher and had helped him to connect with other smiths in the region. He would often meet him at art markets and fairs in the area and they still kept in touch regularly.
Marc didn’t get much work as a smith. He would occasionally get a job mending some farm equipment or providing farrier services for custom horseshoeing. Still, he was starting to get a name in the local art markets for his metalworking. Combining the skills and experience he gained from all of his teachers in both worlds, Marc had been able to come up with a unique style that had been noticed by a few local collectors.
What was not known publicly, was the collection of weapons that he had smithed, nor the reason he had started remaking the weapons he had used hunting beasts in the other world. Located a short distance from his cabin, further into his land was a small, well-hidden cave. Marc had discovered it shortly after taking over the property while exploring his new home. It appeared that it might have been a stash for bandits or prospectors back in the earlier days of the region. He found a few old tools and signs of use, but more importantly, he had a place to store some of his more interesting possessions.
Here was where Marc stored the wide variety of traditional and exotic bladed weapons that he had been able to fabricate over the years. It was also where he kept the remains of some of the strange predators that had appeared in the area over the years.
The cave was not large, but he had been able to fit a few small tables into cavern near the entrance. On one table were the dissected carcasses of half a dozen animals that appeared in no Earth biology textbook. Vorpal rabbits, a goblin, and a young dire wolf. After examining the bodies, Marc had been able to determine that they were not from Earth through one piece of seemingly incontrovertible evidence. On the table beside some of the bones was a dish that contained several small crystals. There was no question that they were Mana crystals.
Marc had completed his morning ablutions and was making a simple breakfast of fruit, bread, eggs, and coffee. He was happy that he finally had some decent strawberries to add to the much easier to cultivate blackberries from his garden. As he ate, his thoughts kept his eyes focused on the newspaper sitting on the couch that Shiela had left behind.
Marc was sure that he had finally located the missing God. But he had no idea what that meant. Was this the same Mary that he had spoken to? Was she a God? Or some kind of avatar? How had she changed history and disappeared from this area without a single trace, despite his memories of her having a family and a job?
Since returning, Marc had been given small hints. Things that were too much of a coincidence to be unrelated. His father’s death. His accumulated memories of another lifetime and thousands of years more, trapped in the tower, The appearance of lifeforms from the other world appearing randomly in the desert. He had slivers, but no idea what the shape was that made any of this make sense.
He had thought his existence in the other world would simply end. Once Mary had what she needed to repair the world, she would discard his body there, and if she kept her word, she would bring his old self back to life, but without any of the memories of his time there. Considering all the things he had seen and done, he had been at peace with that plan in the end. Instead, something entirely different happened.
To make things even more confusing, the Mary he had known seemed to not exist at all. But now he had this photograph. CEO of KamiGames? That had been the company that made the game Marc had worked for back then. He thought they went bankrupt.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Coincidence is God’s way of remaining Anonymous.”
Marc recalled the quote from Einstein that he picked up during a philosophy class he had taken and WNMU. He now recalled it in an entirely different light. He needed to find out more about this. He needed to stop by the library later and check the internet to see what he could find out.
Before that, he needed to take care of some of his contracts. He had forgotten to call Bill Roberts from the Sturges Ranch the night before, so after cleaning up, he gave the man a call. He warned Bill about the wolf, and to keep watch on the southern fence-line for a while just in case it decided to venture in closer. After promising to check out the creek later, Marc ended the call.
Dressing more casually than normal, Marc grabbed a couple of hard-boiled eggs and walked outside. As he walked over to the storage shed, he shelled the eggs, dropping the shells as he walked. He was still amused that the chickens seemed to like eating the shells, but he had long learned not to question the sense of your average chicken.
“Hey, Torren!” Marc called out.
Within seconds, the dog appeared. Marc had picked up Torren at a farmers market in Las Cruces a few years back. A rare breed known as a Goldenmute, Torren was actually a mix of grey and white, similar to his sire. The breeder was showing off the Malamute/Golden Retriever hybrids, but his daughter had been so enamored by a metalwork sculpture of a Kobold that Marc had been displaying that the breeder had pressured Marc into making a trade for one of the pups. Marc was initially hesitant, but the breeder was adamant and promised that Goldenmutes were known for making great farmdogs. It also helped that the puppies were devastatingly cute. That night, Marc drove back with “Torren” sleeping soundly in a box on the floor of his pickup. The name was picked arbitrarily as the grey-white face reminded Marc of an aged, stuffy Guild official of his acquaintance. It didn’t take long for Marc to learn that everything had been a lie. Marc’s new roommate was neither Golden nor mute and was more catlike in his work ethic than a guard dog.
When there was food to be had, however, the dog could move like a pixie. At the sound of his name, Torren was in front of Marc looking at him expectantly.
“Heading into town. Watch the place while I’m gone.” Marc ordered, tossing one of the eggs at the dog’s head. A quick snap of the jaw and the egg disappeared.
“Guard the chickens you lazy…”
Torren just tilted his head and blinked.
Marc tossed the second egg and like its predecessor, it disappeared in an instant. Torren barked once and was gone, likely to find a place in the shade to sleep.
“You lazy son of a…” Marc shook his head, then walked over to the side of the shed and pulled the tarp off of his pride and joy.
Wheeling the motorcycle onto the dirt road, Marc checked to make sure everything was in order. He had been forced to machine a lot of parts himself to refurbish the antique vehicle, but after months of work, he had nursed the pre-WWII era motorbike into working condition.
The BMW R5 was almost 85 years old and Marc had found it in an ancient smugglers tunnel just outside of El Paso. He had been helping a cousin of one of his regular clients clean out some caves they had found on the property. It had turned out the caves were far more extensive than anyone thought, cutting directly under the city and over to the Juárez side of the border. Luckily there were no signs that it had been used by smugglers recently, but they did find several caches of items that seemed to date back to the early 70’s. They found some Chinese newspapers and clothing as well as some antiques.
The client mentioned that was an old story about a smuggler’s tunnel that connected the Chinatown in El Paso with Mexico that had been rumored to exist. Amongst the items they found were the remains of this motorcycle. It had been in pretty poor shape, so the client was more than happy to let Marc take it, provided he could keep his mouth closed about the other antiques they discovered. It turned out that Marc actually got the better end of that deal.
The Motorcycle was a rarity, with only a handful ever leaving Europe. How this one had ended up in a cave on the Southwest US/Mexico border must have been an amazing story in itself. That said, getting replacement parts was practically impossible. Marc had written to the BMW headquarters in Germany asking for information, and after months with no response, his letter had been picked up by a sympathetic old engineer who had managed to find an old manual with part descriptions. Marc had corresponded with the man for several years as he painstakingly rebuilt the antique.
After he had finally finished, the motorcycle was magnificent. The low-profile boxer two-cylinder 500cc engine only output 24 horsepower, but was years ahead of its time. Having rebuilt the bike by himself, Marc was able to improve a few points as well, pairing the hydraulic front suspension with a more modern rear suspension giving a more comfortable long-distance ride.
Marc had hoped that Karl Braun, the engineer who had been his partner on the restoration, would have been able to see it completed, but sadly he had received word shortly before a planned visit to the United States that the man had passed away due to cancer. His family had expressed thanks for allowing the man to share his passion once more before he left.
Marc primed the engine, stepped down on the kickstarter and the engine immediately roared to life. On a whim, and in a somewhat uncharacteristic gesture of vanity, Marc had purchased a vintage leather motorcycle helmet with aviator-style goggles that he had found at a flea market. It was not a legally approved safety helmet, but Marc enjoyed the feeling of history while riding around like this.
Practical, this was not. Even with the enhanced suspension, Marc could feel every single pebble on the rough backroads to Silver City. But for something this cool, he was willing to endure some discomfort. It also felt a little nice to catch the surprised and sometimes envious looks of people on the road as he entered town.
Unfortunately, the trip to the library turned out to be a dead end. While there was quite a bit of information on the new video game Pl@y3r, there was precious little about the CEO, Mary Lopez. She appeared to have been working for the company for many years, and after several hours of searching, the best Marc was able to do was find a better-looking photograph. There was no question. This Mary Lopez was the exact same person who had sat in the HR office seven years ago.
He left the library frustrated. He had no idea where to go next. It was also going to be inconvenient to keep researching using the public computers. The library closed at 6 PM most days. There were labs at the University that he might be able to access as an alumni, but he realized he finally needed to do something he had been avoiding for a while.
Getting on the motorcycle again, Marc drove to the edge of town. He parked in the giant parking lot in front of an enormous square warehouse-shaped building. He avoided going here as much as possible, but for what he needed now, there was really no other option short of driving all the way to Las Cruces.
Entering the building, Marc was greeted by an old man wearing a bright blue vest.
“Welcome to Walmart!”
Marc smiled and nodded at the man, then proceeded to walk towards the back of the cavernous store.
Arriving at the electronics section, Marc walked past the rows of giant television sets and video games and over to the cellphones. No sooner had he stepped into the section when a familiar voice called out from behind him.
“What do we have here? I thought I told you never to show your greasy face in this place ever again.”
He turned around to see a young man in another bright blue vest with a wolf’s smile on his lips.
Marc sighed.
“Hey, Ryan.”
Marc made sure to reach out with his left hand. Ryan’s face broke out into a giant smile as he grasped Marc’s tightly.
“It’s been ages man! How ya doing? What brings you here to my domain?”
Marc carefully avoided looking at the scars on Ryan’s face and the mess that was once his right hand. Instead, he stared into his eyes.
“Sorry to bother you like this, but I kind of need your help.”