July 20th marked man’s first step on the moon—and a single step for humankind.
The moon rock comes to sunny Singapore in this story.
And goes missing.
And it’s up to our intrepid, empathetic Detective Boon to find out where it moonwalked to.
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Everyone crowded around Apollo 11: Legacy of the Moon at the Singapore Expo–it seemed like the only exhibit worth noting.
Perhaps it was.
Expo Hall 6 was indistinguishable from the rest–grey tiles, white walls, and air conditioning set to glacial temperatures.
So it was funny how people looked at moon rock under glass–as though it would bolt.
The moon had been successfully trapped in a fishbowl.
Even Boon.
Stoic.
Singaporean.
Human.
He leaned in once–pretending it was for safety.
That shouldn’t have been unusual. But it was because–the case was empty.
Vacant. Where a piece of history should have been.
Someone, presumably the intrepid thief, had laid claim to the rock–it had disappeared as if memory had slipped it in the wrong file.
The hall had been fitted with the latest in CCTV equipment–Singaporean perfectionism.
No help.
No camera star.
But there WAS a single footprint.
Clear.
Striking against the light grey cement.
With accidental characteristics that were an investigator’s gem.
Reversed, as if walking out of the hall.
Boon began his stoic interviews of the exhibit staff.
“Zhan lan guan zhi hou, you kan dao ren he ren ma ( Did you see anyone after the exhibit closed)?” He queried a cleaner, whose eyes darted about as if fleeing from Changi Prison’s solitary wing.
“Mei kan dao, bu guan wo de shi! (I didn’t see anything! It’s not my business!)” She turned away from Boon faster than Kitt on Knight Rider.
Then, a tentative tap on his shoulder.
He whirled around. It was the exhibit’s manager. She shifted from foot to foot faster than Jackson’s moonwalk.
“Dr. Teo, our geologist. He’s missing.”She swallowed. Too loud. Too anxious. She fingered her pendant, almost twisting it off.
It wasn’t every day that one spoke to an investigator.
Boon shook his head, then reached for what the manager held out to him.
A cryptic memo.
Dr Teo’s handwriting.
“We stopped walking when we stopped wondering.”
The thief hadn’t just dodged lasers–he ignored them like rules meant for small thinkers.
Which left the typically unflappable Boon scratching his head.
He sat, chewing the same curry puff bite like an unsolved clue.
Over.
And over.
He reviewed the Expo’s security footage–again.
And again.
Then, a second moon landing.
Boon’s, not Neil’s.
The detective realised that the footprint was–
reversed.
The thief had entered the hall.
Not left.
He re-read Dr. Teo’s intruiging note, digesting each word as if he was savouring kaya.
“We stopped walking when we stopped wondering.”
Then, Boon’s third Moonwalk.
“Zhi dao le ( I know). He banged the table.
The note wasn’t metaphorical.
Teo hadn’t stolen the lunar rock. He’d surrendered–to wonder.
He had followed it.
Where would one find great sources of power?
The Expo’s restricted power room.
He stepped into it and tensed.
A pulse.
Something.
Alive.
Awake.
The rock.
It wasn’t just a rock– it was a homing beacon. A compass. Coming back for what?
Its kind.
The rock’s pulse was too strong. Too regular.
Boon sensed–and respected–its sentience.
Like Dr. Teo.
The rock had the right–
To watch.
For its own.
He decided not to report any theft or disappearance.
A few weeks later, the rock had moonwalked–to become part of a science exhibit in the primary school where Boon had studied, Khaji Primary.
It was now accessible, not watchful.
The detective watched as curious parents and children asked questions.
“What happened on Apollo 11?”
“Is this the actual rock Neil Armstrong brought back with him? Can’t be. It’s just a rock!”
Boon smiled to himself, quietly sipping his Kopi.
One small step for Boon.
A quiet truth.
Sometimes, small steps are the ones that return us to ourselves.
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