Murphy secured every interior lock to his food truck’s many doors and panels with a series of metallic clicks and clanks. He unrolled his sleeping bag on the floor of the vehicle and placed upon it a pile of computerized gear, all by the light of a tiny battery-powered lamp. He paused at a rustle outside and turned off his lamp to listen and confirm no one approached his vehicle.
Caution was his first priority when parked out in the wilderness, even if he was surrounded by senior citizens in RVs as neighbors in a county campground. He nibbled a pumpkin seed in silence as the world outside his locked food truck only played out as wind and rustled leaves.
Murphy turned off his flashlight and sat on his sleeping bag alone in the darkness for long minutes to be certain no lights leaked in from the outside world. The same went in reverse, that no lights he turned on would betray him as being awake with electronics.
He fired up seven small tablets and assembled them in an arc around himself. They booted up to a security suite which allowed them all to act as a series of firewalls as well as signal spoofers to make his presence and location harder to track. They each displayed a set of glowing blue runes against a dark scan line pattern.
“You can always count on Murphy the technomancer to track down your ghosts.” Murphy smiled and waved his hands around as if he performed an arcane ritual.
The tablets sensed his motions above them and showed a strong signal status with each other. Each one’s runes morphed into the image of a unique dragon’s face with glowing eyes.
“Dragon firewall team assembled.” Murphy untangled a cluster of wires and pulled a virtual reality helmet out of the mess. “Time to don my mystical armor.”
He shoved the helmet over his head and nothing above his neck showed in the eerie glow of tablet light. Status lights blinked where access ports met with different types and thicknesses of wires, but layers of duct tape repairs obscured most of their intensity. To the outside world, he might have appeared to wear a diving helmet made of electronic trash. He pressed an on switch which would have been in front of his eyes, then slumped in place. His hand flopped down into his lap. Most of his brain’s commands to move his body were transferred to the virtual setting.
Murphy stood in a foggy forest in a blue robe covered in gold runes. He adjusted his wide-brimmed wizard hat and marched through the virtual woodland, a place of trees that went infinitely tall and all had hollow trunks with faint white glowing portals inside. It was nothing like the real world he left behind just moments ago.
The wizard wrapped his hands around an invisible orb in front of himself and a user interface flickered into being, displaying apps and update messages. He rotated his hands and wiggled his fingers rather to command his messenger app. He loaded the link he’d sent himself earlier in the day and thrust his hands out to the nearest tree.
The spherical UI vanished and the tree lit up as if on fire. The portal’s glow intensified to a yellow hue which was blinding in the thick fog.
“As you seven hear my words,” Murphy said to the seven baby dragons which circled overhead through dead tree branches. “May it be angels and not demons who hear my thoughts.” He collected his racing storm of thoughts which were mostly panic and excitement. “Time to meet a ghost.”
He stepped into the bright light inside the tree trunk and the dragons followed.
Murphy never expected to load into a cozy recliner next to a stone fireplace. His chair was in the middle of a semi-circle of ten other identical chairs. Behind him, as the glow of medium yellow flames fell off to darkness, rows of tall bookshelves hinted that the room was massively wide and long, like a giant library. A stack of classic poet anthologies was on a small oak stand beside Murphy’s chair, as well as a steaming cup of mint tea. The place smelled of burning wood, old paper, mint, and a hint of honey.
Murphy’s pulse chilled at the sight of printed books, and the idea anyone would have a non-encrypted fantasy about them. He calmed himself and set his thoughts on other aspects of the room. He recalled conversations about tea with Miss Serra and how he learned mint was her favorite. He lifted himself out of the old recliner and the chair creaked as if it was an animal with years of complaints. The scent of old fabric and cat dander joined the room’s medley.
“You’re here?” Norton’s nasal and somewhat high-pitched voice echoed from the darkness above.
A lantern revealed a rail at least three stories up in the same room and hinted through reflections at a glass dome a few more stories above that. Feet pattered through slippers against hardwood floors, then a series of creaks and the lowering lantern gave away a rolling ladder that allowed Norton to get down to the first floor.
Murphy turned to meet the server’s host and smiled to see a familiar face, but the askew nature of his lips betrayed his surprise over Norton’s ability to shuffle around on his legs.
Norton, the portly, middle-aged man, paused when his lantern illuminated the silhouette dressed in a floppy wizard hat and robe.
“You’re not Jackie.” Norton’s mouth hung open and his tongue curled in desperation to form another word, but all he could manage was a rattled gasp.
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