Page 27 of Artificial Moon

“Be safe, Ms. Moon.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait!” he shouts. “I want to come with you, if possible.”

“Are you sure?”

“I want to... talk to him. Talk to it.”

“Okay, hold on.” I summon the single flame, and see within it the small control room Norm had been using. Except, it’s empty. The desk he had been using, along with the thick laptop, is gone. “He’s not there,” I report. “Sorry.”

“You can see that?”

“I can, yes.”

“Fascinating. Can you take me to the room anyway?”

“Yes.”

“Will you teleport there, like you just did in here?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Okay, hold on. Is it... painful?”

“Not for me.”

“Okay, I can work with that. I’m ready when you are.”

I nod and come around his desk and place a hand on his shoulder. Next, I summon the flame again, and focus again on the empty space in the middle of the control room, exactly where I had landed before... and, in my mind, step toward the flame, even as it rushes to me.

“Oh, shit!” says Andrew next to me.

I stifle a smile and continue the process of teleporting, which starts as mental and soon turns into physical. True to form, Andrew’s chair doesn’t make the leap with us, though his clothing does. So does mine. Having been sitting pre-teleport, Andrew finds himself in a sitting position upon arrival in the room, and is about to topple backward, when I catch him and help him to his feet.

“Um, thanks.”

“You bet.”

“We’re here?” he asks.

“This is where I found him last time.” I take in some unnecessary air, and can’t help but note the cleanliness of it. No damn silver. I can actually look around this time—wait, why is my inner alarm clanging? I don’t know, but something is up.

“I’m in danger,” I say.

“Just you?”

“Maybe you, too. We need to get out of here.”

Andrew had already run over to the desk to study the set-up (I presume). “Damn. He took the laptop. God only knows what he was able to do down here. At the least, we paused whatever plans he had.”

Meanwhile, the stale scent of damp concrete and old circuitry fills my heightened senses. The room is small, just large enough to house a rickety desk, a tangle of cables strewn about like a spider’s web, with the faint hum of electrical currents running through the walls.

Meanwhile, Andrew’s wild eyes glint with a sort of crazed curiosity, looking a bit like a maniacal mastermind—which he very well might be. He steps over a fallen chair—the only chair in the cramped room. When he speaks, his voice carries an almost boyish excitement, despite the gravity of the situation. “Looks like he skipped out in a hurry.”

I don’t move from my spot. Something is wrong. My inner alarm is ringing steadily.

“What’s this?” Andrew reaches for a small box on the desk, about as big as a pack of gum.

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