“It’s not bad, this.” Mary-Anne undressed.


    They were back at the hotel. Their bed sat in the corner, with striped sheets. A cushioned chair faced the plain wooden desk by the window, where Mary-Anne lay each article of clothing as she pulled it off.


    “Tired, Mikey?”


    “I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to.” Mike yawned. Then he got up, off the bed, and fiddled with the things on his desk.


    The keys, his watch, his clothes. He picked up his shirt and refolded it a second time.


    Then he lay down in bed and, as an afterthought he took the ring out of his pocked and set it on the nightstand. Then he took a sip of water and rolled into the sheets.


    Mary-Anne turned the lights off crawled into bed with him.


    “Mike.”


    He must have drifted off.


    “Mikey.”


    “What?” He sat up.


    “You’re hoggin the blanket.”


    “Sorry. Sorry.”


    She pulled the blanket off him.


    “Hey.”


    She was snoring already, fast asleep. Naked, he lay for a while and stared at the ceiling. Moon beams fell on the desk below the window, and on the ceiling.


    “Why not,” he breathed. Then he sat up and took a sip of water.


    The glass was colder than he remembered.  When he put it back, he missed the nightstand. He lunged forward to grab it and missed. The glass shattered.


    He rolled over. The ring had fallen too. It was on the ground, spinning quietly. Almost, Mike thought it was a trick of the light. No. The ring was floating on the surface of the spilled water, and spinning very slowly.


    He reached for the ring and grasped it with two fingers. Then he grabbed what was left of the glass. Air hissed between his teeth when it cut his finger. Then he Stepped around the broken glass and tiptoed to the bathroom.


    Mike kept the bathroom light off but he lifted the shade. Moonlight poured in. The handles on either side of the faucet read Hot and Cold in very faint letters. He filled the glass as high as the jagged edge, and dropped the ring inside.


    It floated.


    Mike pushed it down with one finger and blood billowed from his finger.


    He let go. The ring popped to the surface and spun slowly in a circle. Mike watched in awe as it clinked against the side only to recourse and bounce off another side, slow and trembling. “What the hell.”


    Mike put the ring in his pocket. Then he dried his hands and wrapped a piece of toilet paper around his finger. He stole a glance at the bed. She was sound asleep.


    The hallway outside was silent. Mike had never been out this late at the Kennedy Center, but he knew the route by heart. The lab would be dead empty at this hour—no, because they were launching tomorrow. He paused in the stairwell. Them he turned back upstairs.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    There was a small lab on the top floor. Only the emergency lights were on. He fumbled for the key, and slipped inside.


    The whole room was glowing green.


    Mike took some needle nose pliers from the tool shelf, a pair of magnifying glasses, one large and one small. Then he hunched over a bench and pried the green stone from his ring.


    It came easily. In two beakers, Mike placed the ring and the green stone. The ring sank. The stone floated.


    “What are you?”


    Fumbling among the shelves, he found a box stuffed between two rows of manila folders. It was a tackle box, with a sticker label on each compartment, and a small rock inside each. Mike took a few rock samples and ran them along the green stone, trying to scratch it. Each rock was harder than the last. Nothing worked until the quartz.


    “What the hell are you?”


    Directly above Mike, beyond the skylights, hung the moon. For some reason its light appeared green tonight. All the clouds around it were rimmed with green, like the hills of a vast meadow at twilight. The stone spun wildly in its beaker.


    Mike didn’t notice that the moon was green. His optic nerves absorbed the light, but his mind refused to accept the fact that it was green. The moon was not green. There was nothing green about it, and nothing green on it. But it stuck with him, somewhere under the surface of his conscious mind. He had seen these things, and he could not un-see them, but neither could he accept them as real.


    With his brow still furrowed, he took the needle nose pliers, replaced the stone on the ring, took a small chain and hung the ring around his neck. Then he got a broom and dust pan from the custodial closet and tiptoed back to his bedroom. There, he cleaned the broken glass off the floor. When he had dumped it in the bin, he took one last look out the hotel window, and crawled into bed next to Marry-Ann. But it was a long time before he fell asleep, and when he did, he dreamed many strange dreams, and remembered none of them.


    <hr>


    Gene punched the comms. “This is Ground control.”The line crackled evenly. A voice came through. “Been awhile.”


    “Niel?”


    “Yessir. This is Niel Amrstrong.”


    Gene let out a breath and leaned closer to the mic, loosening his collar. “Fuel consumption’s up, Niel. I think. What’s the readout on your end?”


    “Hang on.”


    Murray leaned over the desk and peered up at the sky through the window. There was a long pause. Somewhere up there, the astronauts were checking out their dials.


    He sat back down at the consol. “Damn it’s cold in here.”


    Gene cracked a smile. “It’s colder up there.”


    The comms came to life. “Hey ground control. Yeah, we’re burning fuel too fast, but it’s not bad. What can we do?”


    “I’m working on it. And tell Mr. Collins to turn his comms back on.”


    “Will do. Mike—” Niel was talking away from his mic.


    “Mike, turn your comms on. GC’s trying to reach you.” Niel floated at the threshold of the command module.


    Michael reclined at his desk, strapped in and scanning the dials methodically. He was fingering his neck. His skin was red where the chain hung around it. The closer they got to landing, the heavier it felt. It was his imagination. The small, illogical part of his brain—or maybe the big illogical part, wondered: What if the moon''s gravity trapped them all, and he never got home to Mary-Anne?


    He looked up. “Comms?”


    “Yes. GC''s trying to reach you. We’re going burning fuel too fast. A bit too fast. Nothing crazy.”


    The ship lurched. Niel’s eyes bugged out. He fumbled for a handhold and banged his head against the metal flooring.


    “Mike.” He struggled to his feet. Faintly, he became away the moons gravity was acting on them. The ship had entered the atmosphere. Too early. Just a bit too early by Niel''s estimation.


    A gurgling sound came from the chair. Neil righted himself. He was halfway floating halfway crawling, slowly to the height of the chair: Mike lay in his chair, not moving. His head thrown back. Niel climbing up on the chair and shook his crewmate. A red mark was around his throat where a thin, metal chain pulled against his Adams Apple. Niel, furrowed his brow and looked closer. The chain snapped, as he did, and a small ring with a green stone clattered to the floor


    Neil’s eyes followed the stone. He glanced at Mike. Then his eyes returned to the stone.


    Outside, the moon was green. Or something green was on the moon, or between the Moon and Earth.


    The stone fell toward the moon with incredible speed. The Apollo, of course, came with it. When the ship crashed, it crashed into a field of green moss. Green moss on grey stone.


    Somewhere on the moon, someone laughed.