Free Laughing Wolf by Nicholas Maes

agreed, with the tiniest smile. A grimmer expression quickly returned, “More to the point, the news from earth is very worrying. The infection rate stands at sixty-eight percent — it has increased by ten percent these last six hours. Not too many victims have died, but that will change within a week at most. I don’t mean to pressure you, son, but you’ve got to find that flower. Otherwise …” The general left this sentence hanging.
    There was nothing else to say. Felix accompanied General Manes the rest of the way in silence.
    A mere two minutes later, he and Carolyn were poised in front of the TPM. He felt like a sailor on the shore of the sea: on one side was the tranquil present; ahead was the future’s choppy expanse.
    Carolyn stood behind him. He could see her reflected in the TPM’s dome: her palla was a perfect fit and she was utterly composed: she reminded him of the goddess Diana. Her father was watching from a distant console, with the same detachment and self-control. He was possibly about to kill his child, but his gaze was unwavering and his features calm. Even as he envied them their ERR, Felix suspected that they’d been robbed of something crucial.
    A flashing light disrupted these thoughts. The TPM was primed and it was time to enter. With nods to the general, doctor, and professor, Felix inhaled deeply and crossed the threshold. His nose was itchy and wanted scratching but even as he raised his finger, a light burst forth and an electrical surge ripped through him.
    In the hollows of the TPM, Felix Taylor was no longer to be seen.

Chapter Seven
    T eleportation was usually a humdrum affair. The process was so blindingly fast that the passenger hadn’t time to feel his atoms dissolve, travel through space, and reassemble elsewhere. But Dispersion Portals were one thing, the TPM was something different.
    While the machine’s operations were lightning-fast, they seemed to transpire in slow motion. As a result, Felix saw his surroundings “melt” into a single point, the TPM, the space station, the earth, the sun, the solar system, and Milky Way. A storm of sound engulfed him, a mix of roars, cries, laughter, and eruptions, as worlds were born and destroyed in an instant, coming to be and expiring in a flash, like an infant’s puny wail of frustration. A million points of light tore at his “fabric” and spread it over an impossibly great distance, kilometres — no — light years in length: his limbs, his torso, his head ran on and on, all connected to each other still, but stretched like taffy over time and space. His senses were intact and he controlled his movements, even as a force ushered him forward, along a path of light that was wobbling like jelly. His index finger was still in front of his nose and was long enough to reach the sun as well as every other star at large.
    And then it was over. Like a stretched elastic snapping back to normal, his atoms reassembled in the blink of an eye. He inhaled deeply, coughed once or twice, and felt his limbs over to check that he was … solid.
    It was dark around him. Before he could puzzle his surroundings out, he was struck from behind. Stumbling forward, he bumped into a smooth, hard surface. What …?
    â€œFelix?” Carolyn gasped. “Where are you?”
    He started at the sound of her voice, and realized just as quickly he was glad to hear it. Reassuring her he was there, he again looked his surroundings over. By now his eyes were adjusting to the dark and the object in front of him was coming into focus. It was a statue as far as he could tell, a female with a helmet and…. His body tingled.
    â€œIs that what we’re looking for?” Carolyn asked.
    â€œYes,” Felix croaked. “It’s a statue of Minerva.”
    â€œThe Roman goddess of wisdom,” she said.
    â€œWe’re in a cella ,” Felix said, ignoring the scorn in her voice.