by Jon Scieszka
Seeing that tiny speck of light moving through the sky fired Kit’s imagination. There was life out there. He knew that. Everybody knew that. Reaching out to it was something he had dreamed of since he was old enough to put his eye to a telescope. That ambition still burned, and it took a simple moving light to remind him of that . . . and to question his thoughts about quitting the Scouts. As much as he didn’t appreciate their methods and rigid regulations, they offered him the best chance to touch the stars.
His thoughts were suddenly alive with possibilities, which made falling asleep next to impossible. But that was okay. Kit liked thinking through challenges, and there was no better time to do it than while he was alone, staring at a sky full of stars. He lay back, let his mind float up to the heavens, and eventually drifted off to sleep.
He might have slept through the night and well into the next day if it hadn’t been for a loud explosion that shattered the tranquility of the desert. Kit sat up immediately, crashing his head into the branches of his shelter. What was that? He hadn’t dreamed it, for he could still hear its echo drifting over the barren landscape. It was morning. The sun had barely crept over the mountains, so the temperature had yet to begin its inevitable climb. He shivered. His campfire had long since burned out, and his thin Scout uniform did little to provide warmth.
The slight discomfort was the last thing on his mind. He scrambled to his feet and quickly climbed onto the rock where he had built his lean-to. He stood on top and scanned the desert, doing a slow 360, looking for anything that might have created the boom. There was nothing to see but miles of scrub and sand and rock. He waited and listened in case another explosion followed. He heard nothing but the wind and the far-off cries of birds in search of their morning meal.
He shrugged and was about to jump down when his eye caught movement. Not on the ground; in the sky. A dark speck appeared that at first looked like a hovering bird. But birds didn’t hover. He watched with curiosity and soon realized that it was growing closer. Fast. Whatever it was, it was falling. It didn’t appear to have aerodynamic capability. Or power. Whatever it was, it was freefalling . . . and headed for Kit.
There was less chance of getting hit by a falling meteor than getting struck by lightning, but Kit wasn’t taking chances. He jumped down from the rock and pressed against it for protection.
The mysterious mass grew larger. Kit realized that if it were indeed a meteor, the explosion could have been the sonic boom it created when it tore through the atmosphere, faster than the speed of sound.
As it dropped ever closer to the ground, Kit could make out detail . . . enough to prove that it was not a meteor after all. Its shape was too perfect. It looked to be made up of several uniformly round spheres that were connected together to form a mass that resembled a bunch of grapes. That meant it was manmade. The realization brought him back to the point of light he had seen moving through the night sky. Was this the object he had seen? The plummeting device could be a satellite whose orbit had decayed enough for gravity to grab hold and pull it back home.
The object was going to miss him by a few hundred yards. Confident that he wasn’t in danger, Kit climbed back up onto the rock to get the best view of the descent. He wondered if the other Scouts were watching . . . wherever they were. They had to have heard the sonic boom.
The falling mass was seconds from crashing. Kit braced for a violent impact followed by total destruction. He wondered if the spheres would break apart and scatter across the desert floor, and he tensed up, ready to dive out of the way in case any exploded debris came his way.
There was a brief whistling sound . . . and then it hit.
The object didn’t break up. It bounced. The entire mass was launched back into the air, intact. The collection of spheres spun wildly, the force of impact sending it twisting and turning. It looked more like a child’s toy than a mysterious object that had fallen from space. It sailed impossibly high before gravity took hold once more and pulled it back to hit the ground and bounce again.
Kit jumped down from his observation platform and took off running toward it.
The object continued to bounce, each time hitting with less energy and getting less height. It soon stopped launching altogether and tumbled wildly over the uneven desert floor. When it was finally close to settling, the object bounced off a sheer wall of rock and rolled into a wide, dry riverbed . . . falling down and out of sight.
Kit sprinted across the scrubby sand, leaping over small rocks and dodging gnarled trees. He no longer cared about using energy or wasting precious fluid. His curiosity had blasted those worries out of his head. After running flat out for nearly five minutes, he slowed when he neared the edge of the culvert where the object had disappeared. The thought struck him that if it were a failed spacecraft there might be toxic fumes or spilled fuel or any number of other dangerous substances that he would be wise to avoid. He had learned all about such things as part of his training. He slowed to a walk, then crept forward and peered cautiously over the edge.
The craft, or whatever it was, lay jammed against the far edge of the deep, dry riverbed. There was no hiss of escaping gas or metallic ticking from a cooling engine. The large device appeared to be as low-tech as could be, still looking like a massive bunch of grapes. Each of the dark-gray spheres was two feet in diameter, making the overall size of the wreck close to that of a small truck. There were no markings or identifying numbers printed anywhere. Two of the spheres had been damaged during the crash and hung like deflated balloons. That spoke volumes. This device was designed to do exactly what it had done . . . bounce. The shredded spheres showed that they were fabricated out of something soft but durable. They dangled like limp rags in front of an opening that had been torn apart during the tumultuous crash.
Kit slid down the near-vertical side of the culvert until he was on the same level as the wreck. It appeared much larger and more daunting than when he had been looking down on it from above. Kit made his way slowly, cautiously, toward the mass and the gash in its side that would reveal its contents. He didn’t expect there to be a living person inside. Nobody could have survived such a violent landing.
Kit continued to move closer, staring at the gaping black opening. He stopped a few feet away, knelt down on one knee, then leaned over and peered inside.
Black. That’s all he could see. He leaned forward and reached his hand out to touch one of the spheres. It was indeed soft, but rugged.
A single green light flashed on inside. Kit jumped back in surprise, landing on his butt. He quickly crawled away backward, afraid of . . . what? An alien creature with a scrambled brain that might reach out and grab him? A moment later he heard the slight whine of a machine powering to life. Something was inside. Kit was torn between fear and curiosity. Both prevented him from moving.
The whirring sound grew louder. Whatever was in there, it was firing up.
There was a loud metallic clicking sound followed by the complete self-disassembly of the craft. It was as if a latch had been released that had been holding the spheres together. The balls that were clustered together simultaneously fell away and tumbled across the dry riverbed, rolling and bouncing every which way. One rolled up to Kit, and he instinctively kicked it away. They seemed harmless, but he couldn’t be sure. They bounced off each other and rolled like oversize toys, scattering across the culvert until they eventually came to rest.
What remained of the wreck was a rigid wire frame.
Inside the skeleton, on the ground, was a large toy.
It was a miniature truck, but like nothing Kit had ever seen before. It stood about two feet high with six wire wheels that looked as though they could handle most any terrain. Above the wheels was a flat, black, rectangular slab that was roughly eight inches thick. The top surface was shiny smooth. Surrounding the body were silver tubes, stacked three high, running the length of each side. The green light glowed from beneath the body, above the array of wheels.
It was a miniature all-
terrain vehicle.
Kit sat in the dusty culvert, staring at the small truck. Where had it come from? Was it a military experiment gone awry? Was it part of the survival training? Or was there something more incredible going on? Had this come from deep space? If so, why did it crash here? Was it intentional or a mistake?
The device didn’t move. Neither did Kit. He had plenty of questions and not a single answer . . . but he knew how to start asking. He reached into the cargo pocket on his thigh and pulled out his communicator. The Scouts had been told to use the device only in an emergency. Kit wasn’t sure if this qualified and didn’t care. He pressed and held the power button, waiting for the device to boot up. His plan was to report the crash to the Scout Leaders back at base and request that they send out a team to investigate. They could use the signal from his communicator to pinpoint his position.
As far as he was concerned, the survival exercise was over.
Kit glanced at his communicator, expecting to see the display of icons that led to its various functions. What he saw instead was static. He shook the device. It didn’t help. There was power, but no function. He was about to turn it off and on again . . .
. . . when the whirring sound of the little machine’s engines grew louder. The wheels remained stationary as the body above them slowly rotated forty-five degrees, then stopped. The silver tubes that ran along the two longer sides pivoted away from the body until the three ends on one side were facing forward and the opposite three were facing back.
The three facing forward . . . were facing Kit.
Kit stared into the dark mouths of the tubes.
There was a short, sharp whine as if the machine were powering up.
Those few seconds saved Kit’s life.
He reacted more out of instinct than training. He dove to his right as a focused blast of energy erupted from the device’s front-facing tubes, sending out an invisible salvo that hit the wall of the culvert behind the spot where Kit had been sitting, creating an eruption of dirt and rock that blew high into the sky.
Kit lay on his belly, shocked and paralyzed with fear as dirt and debris rained down on him. The machine slowly rotated, once again aiming its silver tubes at him . . . tubes that had revealed their true nature: They were weapons. This time Kit made a conscious decision to move and rolled away quickly. The short whine of energy built again and the machine fired. The powerful blast hit the spot Kit had just vacated, creating a geyser of sand that left a gaping wound in the ground . . . that could as easily have been in Kit.
Kit didn’t stop to analyze what was happening. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted to his right, kicking the loose spheres out of his way. He drilled one toward the weapon at the exact moment it fired again. The blast hit the sphere, vaporizing it.
There was no time to marvel at the machine’s capabilities or wonder why it was attacking him. The training expedition had suddenly become a fight for his life.
He ran for the wall of the culvert, desperately scanning for a spot where he could climb quickly and escape from the death trap. Behind him he heard the sound of the machine powering up to fire again. He instantly launched to his right as the truck let loose with another lethal blast of energy. It barely missed him, though he felt its power tickle his skin as the charge flashed by on its way to blow out another section of the culvert wall.
The few seconds the machine took to recharge its weapon, and the sound it created, were helping to keep Kit alive. After each shot there was a short window of time for him to move. He sprinted for the side of the culvert, jumped onto a boulder, and launched up to grab the edge.
Behind him, the weapon was powering up. The window had closed.
Kit let go of the edge and dropped as the weapon unloaded and blew out a chunk of the wall where he had been hanging seconds before. The deadly shots may have been telegraphed, but they were always on target.
Kit had his few seconds, so he jumped right back up onto the rock, launched himself up to the lip of the culvert, and managed to pull himself out. Figuring that another shot was on its way, he quickly log-rolled away as the inevitable blast nailed the spot where he had climbed out, missing him by only a few feet.
He was out and safe. The machine no longer had a clear shot at him. Kit took a chance and crawled back to the edge on his belly to see what the machine would do now that he had escaped. His hope was that he was being targeted because the infernal truck perceived him as a threat, and now that he was out of the culvert, the machine would stop shooting at him.
He peered cautiously over the lip and saw, as he hoped, that the device had stopped firing. He could breathe again. The machine no longer felt threatened, and neither did Kit. Cautiously, he reached for the communicator in his thigh pocket. He needed to alert the Scout Leaders. He moved slowly. The last thing he wanted to do was put himself back into the sights of the mechanical monster. He slipped the communicator out of his pocket and saw that the screen was still filled with static. How could that be? His communicator had never failed like this.
The machine’s engine whined to life. Kit looked quickly back into the culvert to see the device’s wheels begin to turn. It rolled slowly out of the skeletal frame that had held the protective spheres and onto the sand. Once clear, it lurched forward with surprising speed and rolled across the dry riverbed . . . toward Kit.
How was that possible? Who was controlling it? His hope that the machine had only been defending itself was gone.
It was on the attack.
The efficient all-terrain vehicle sped along the arid river bottom, headed for the culvert wall. Kit was sure it would be a short journey. The wall was too steep. He relaxed, knowing that the mysterious weapon was trapped.
He was wrong.
The rolling machine hit the wall. Its six wheels dug into the sand and the truck effortlessly climbed the near-vertical rise.
The machine couldn’t be stopped . . . and it was coming for Kit.
Kit didn’t stick around to marvel at the device’s climbing abilities or wonder about its motive. In seconds it would be back on his level and shooting again. All he could do was run. He took off, headed back toward the camp he had made the night before. It was as good a direction as any, and he needed his water and survival supplies. Minutes before, he had no intention of using any of them; now he feared his life might depend on it.
The sun was growing higher and the day was getting warm. Kit hardly noticed. His entire focus was on putting distance between himself and the miniature ATV weapon. He didn’t even glance back to see if it was following him. There was only one thing on his mind . . . get back to the Scout base. Surely the Leaders would know what the marauding machine was about.
Kit made it back to his small camp without having another shot fired at him. He grabbed his pack and sat down to catch his breath and take a swig of water. It was going to be a long day. The last thing he wanted to do was pass out from exhaustion while trying to outrun the killer machine. He was going to have to be crafty. He took a single long pull of water, then grabbed his communicator.
As before, the screen was filled with static. It defied logic, for he had definitely checked it before leaving the Scout base. What could have happened between then and now? Not only was he out of contact, he couldn’t use the tracking function to find his way back. Without that ability, he was lost. He had to force himself to calm down, catch his breath, and think.
BOOM!
The rock he was crouching behind exploded above his head. He jumped forward, flying through a storm of rubble that had blown out from the point of impact. He hit and rolled, then looked around quickly to see where the machine was.
It was nowhere to be seen. How was that possible? How could it have targeted him so precisely without a clear sight line? He couldn’t afford to underestimate the abilities of this machine because its intent was clear: It was hunting him.
Kit grabbed his pack and took off running while threading his arms through the straps. His sole focus was on findin
g a place to hide. He rounded a high mound of boulders and stopped to look back. Peering from around a large rock he saw that the truck was several hundred yards back . . . and closing. Its wheels spun quickly, kicking up dust in its wake as it moved impossibly fast over the desert floor, directly toward him.
Kit quickly took off in another direction. He was faster than the machine. He could outrun it, but for how long? Eventually he would run out of gas and the hunter would catch its prey.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two explosions ripped the ground to Kit’s right. The mechanical demon had recalculated his route and was lobbing salvos at him, forcing him to dodge back and forth to make a difficult target. He knew he couldn’t keep that up for long. He had to hope that whatever power source was driving the monster would run out before his own did.
Far ahead the desert gave way to the foothills of the towering mountains that ringed the desert. He ran that way with the hope of hitting terrain that would offer a place to hide.
The barrage ended. Kit didn’t think for a second that it was because the machine had given up. A quick look over his shoulder showed it was still speeding after him. Kit reasoned that he was either out of range or the machine was rationing its own energy. He didn’t question his luck, he just kept running. There was at least a mile to cover before he would hit the trees, but as long as the machine wasn’t shooting, he’d make it. Kit was in good shape. The endless sprints he had done while training with the Scouts were paying off. Maybe the leaders knew what they were doing after all. If he hadn’t been so highly trained, he would be dead. With plenty of reserve left he poured on the speed.
As he neared the foothills he scanned ahead, looking for an escape route. He was about to reach trees and the uneven terrain that led to the mountains. As fast and agile as the machine was, the rugged terrain would force it to slow down. That gave Kit an advantage. He knew where he was going; the machine didn’t. His hopes began to rise . . .
