by Jon Scieszka
It would not move or fire again.
Kit knelt down next to it to get a closer look . . .
. . . as the shiny black surface of the body flickered with light.
Kit jumped back, ready to flee, but kept his eyes on the machine.
Nothing moved. Though the machine was covered with dust, Kit could clearly see that the damaged top surface was the only part of the device that showed life, lighting up as if it were a computer monitor. From ten feet away Kit could see images appearing. Moving images. Moments later, sound came from the damaged machine. It was clearly a man’s voice that was speaking a language Kit had never heard before. The image of a man’s face appeared on the glass. Was this the guy controlling the killer robot? Why would he be showing himself now? As frightened as he was, Kit needed to know.
He cautiously approached the crippled robot to get a better look. The man’s voice was delivering what seemed to be a prepared speech. Was it a live transmission? Or something that was recorded and playing back? When he got close enough to make out detail, Kit saw a montage of what looked like burned-out buildings playing across the machine’s surface. Some were still pictures, others were moving video. There were images of a city that had been destroyed by . . . what? An earthquake? A fire? Whatever had happened, it was devastating.
The man’s voice continued throughout as if he were narrating a documentary.
Kit kicked at the machine. It didn’t respond. He had nothing to fear. But what were the images it was showing?
On a hunch, Kit hurried back to the crevice where he had hidden his communicator. He pulled it out and inspected the face to see . . . icons. It was working normally. Was it a coincidence? Or had the machine been jamming his signal? If that was the case, now that the robot was out of commission its ability to interfere with his communicator would be gone as well. Kit scanned through the icons until he found the one he needed . . . the translation function. The communicators had the ability to take any language and turn it into his. He activated the function and held the communicator out toward the robot in order to record both picture and sound. He wanted to bring it back to the Scout Leaders as part of his report.
As he recorded the display he watched the images and saw something that made his stomach twist. There were people walking through the rubble of the ruined city. People he recognized. They were Scouts, or at least they wore Scout uniforms.
They all carried weapons.
What was he looking at? What had happened while he was out in the desert? Had more of these killer robots landed in a city and gone on a rampage? Was he seeing images of what was left of his home? He didn’t recognize any buildings or landmarks, but what was there to recognize about rubble? The only thing familiar about any of it was the Scouts.
Where were all the people who lived in this destroyed city? Who was the guy giving the speech? His image would appear every so often as he spoke. He was an old guy with short gray hair and he stood in front of a colorful blue logo that meant nothing to Kit. The man looked tired and scared, but he had a fierce determination in his eyes that made Kit believe he was somebody you didn’t want to cross.
Kit had no idea what the guy was saying and wasn’t sure he wanted to know because it couldn’t be good. But it had to be important, so he continued to record the speech, and the images, in order to understand and then play it back for his Leaders.
After watching the carnage and the speech for several minutes, Kit realized that it was repeating. It turned out to be a continuous loop that lasted nearly a minute before playing again from the beginning. That meant Kit had captured it all, so he stopped recording and hit the icon that would run the translation program.
As it worked, Kit surveyed the rubble around him and realized how lucky he was to be alive. He grabbed his pack and slung it over his good shoulder. Now that the communicator was working, his new plan was to go back the way he had come and use the tracking function to lead him to the Scout base. Once there he would turn over the information and let the Scouts deal with it. He was done. All he wanted to do was get back and make sure that his parents were okay.
A soft tone indicated that the translation was complete. Kit considered not listening to it until he got back, but his curiosity was too strong. He hit the icon that would play the translated recording and stood watching the same images he had been watching over and over again. Only this time, he understood the speech.
He listened. And watched. When the recording was finished he watched it again.
On the third time through, he started to cry.
He wanted to believe it was a hoax, but he knew in his heart that it wasn’t. What he was seeing, and hearing, was something he had suspected might be possible but never wanted to believe would actually happen. Other Scouts talked about the possibility, but only in private and away from the Leaders’ ears. His parents never thought events would lead to this and convinced Kit that they wouldn’t.
But they had. The proof was all there.
The question was, what would he do with the information?
Kit stopped the playback and activated the tracking device. The powerful communicator quickly located a satellite, calculated his position, and plotted a course back to the Scout base . . . starting with a long walk back through the canyon. Kit hoisted his pack and started to walk. His body was moving forward, but his mind was somewhere else. Oddly, that helped to keep him going. He wasn’t concerned about his thirst or his bleeding wounds or his throbbing shoulder. Those were trivial problems.
Not like the images he saw on that destroyed robot.
He trudged out of the slot canyon, checked the tracking device, and followed the instructions that would bring him home. Part of him didn’t want to make it back. He wanted the sun to knock him down and fry him so he wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of the recording on his communicator.
Everything he had been told by those he trusted was a lie. He knew that now. He wanted to face them and hear the truth. He deserved that. All the Scouts deserved that. Though he understood why they hadn’t been told.
If they had known the truth, they would never have gone along.
Kit trudged across the dry, sandy desert. His legs were leaden but he kept walking, relentlessly dragging one foot in front of the other. He hoped to come across the other Scouts. He wanted to show them the images so he wouldn’t be alone. Alone with the truth.
His journey took most of the day. The sun was long past center and on its way to the horizon when he checked the communicator and estimated that if he didn’t drop dead he’d be back at the Scout base before nightfall.
As confidence set in that he would make it, he had to decide what to do once he got there. Who could he trust? Who could he tell?
BOOM!
Another explosion echoed over the desert. Followed by another and then another. Many more followed. Too many to count, like the finale to a holiday fireworks display. But it wasn’t a show.
He knew what he would see when he looked up. He feared it, but he looked.
The sky was filled with black dots that hovered like birds. But birds didn’t hover. Each of the dots would soon grow to the size of a massive bunch of grapes, and when they hit the ground they would bounce across the desert before coming to rest and depositing their cargo. The sky was full of them, like a swarm of attacking bees. Kit stopped counting after he got to a hundred. They would land far behind him, farther away from the base. They wouldn’t stop him from getting back. He was too close.
An hour more of zombielike shuffling passed and Kit finally saw his destination in the distance. The sun shone off of the multiple silver spires that stood like vigilant sentries in the desert. It was the Scout base, his home for more than a year, the place where he had been training for the trip of a lifetime. It was a trip he was told would be about learning and adventure and the sharing of ideas. But that wasn’t the truth. He knew that now.
All the badges. All the competition.
All lies.
&
nbsp; The Scouts were being groomed for a much different mission.
He reached the final rise before he would drop down into the desert basin that held the base. That’s where he stopped and gazed at the impressive facility that was going to be his portal to the stars. He had given them his life and his allegiance.
He knew what he was supposed to do. He had been trained.
The sound began to grow. He knew what it was without seeing, but he looked anyway. He turned back and saw what appeared to be a dust storm spread across the horizon. It was no storm. The dust was being kicked up by something else entirely.
The high-pitched whining grew louder. It was familiar, yet not. When he had heard it before there was only one source. Now there were at least a hundred. The multiple sounds joined together to form a single, teeth-jarring, gut-rattling fanfare. Moving across the desert floor in a single line that stretched across the horizon were dozens of the killing machines. He knew they would be coming, but the sight still made his knees weak. After all, he had nearly been killed by one.
The first one.
The scout.
The first truck was sent alone, maybe to clear the way of any threats before the rest arrived. If that was the case then it had failed. It lay in a destroyed heap back in a hidden canyon while the threat it was supposed to eliminate had nearly made it back to his base ahead of the invasion.
Kit knew what he had to do. He had been trained.
He stood his ground, clutching his communicator. He didn’t turn it off. Part of him wanted to be the target again. It would make his decision so much easier. The line of trucks grew closer. Soon they would be within firing distance. Kit listened for the telltale sound of their weapons charging to life.
They were nearly on him. Kit scanned the long line from side to side. They were spaced evenly, ten yards apart and stretched to both sides of him for as far as he could see. Their silver weapons were open and locked forward.
None were aimed at Kit. He wasn’t the target. Not anymore. The line of small vehicles approached and rolled past him without any acknowledgment that he was even there. Kit was irrelevant. He turned and watched them move away, headed for the base.
Kit knew what he had to do. He had been trained.
He lifted his communicator and found, this time, the icon that was a bright red triangle. It was the icon they had all been trained to use if the base came under attack. It was the alert. All he had to do was hit that icon three times and every last Scout and Scout Leader in the base would know that they were about to be assaulted. Defensive forces would be called into play. Tactical weapons would emerge from underground. Steel walls would lift up from the desert floor to protect the silver spires. The base would become an impenetrable fortress. All would be safe so long as Kit hit the icon three times.
Kit knew what he had to do . . . and it had nothing to do with his training.
He dropped the communicator to the ground.
He then sat down in the sand to watch. He had been told that he could touch the stars. That part had been true. The lies were about what he would have been ordered to do once he got there.
The line of machines rolled into the base, unopposed. Unexpected.
Kit waited to see the little demons unleash their weapons the way they had done on him, but their mission turned out to be far more ambitious. Moments after the wave of machines entered the base, the noise began. The explosions. The pointed attacks. Kit expected nothing less, based on the relentless pursuit he had endured through the desert.
The machines knew what they were doing. One by one the tall silver spires were engulfed in flames and toppled. None were spared. The rocket vehicles that were poised to take the next wave of Scout troops to the stars were being destroyed by small, rolling avengers. Within minutes the base was ablaze.
Kit saw Scouts running about, desperately trying to put out the flames, but it was a wasted effort. The robots would not be denied. There would be no launch vehicles left . . . no way to lift off from the base . . . no way to travel to the stars the way his predecessors for the last few years had done.
Kit had a moment of doubt. He could have prevented the destruction by activating the alert. Was it a mistake? He picked up his communicator, brushed off the dust, and once again played the video that had been a message sent by the builders of the invading robots. With the determined voice of the speaker as narration, Kit looked again at the images of the destroyed cities.
“. . . if you are watching this, then our mission has succeeded. We are not a violent people by nature, but we will defend ourselves to the last. The images of destruction you see here have come at your hands. We offered you friendship and help. We understood your plight. We knew that with your steadily warming atmosphere it was becoming impossible to sustain life. We were willing to be your lifeline, yet you saw us as a world to be conquered. We welcomed you with open arms and you attacked our cities in a brutal attempt to conquer and colonize. As you now know, we will not stand for either. You have brought a war to our doorstep. Now, we are sending it back. The attack that you have just sustained has destroyed your capability for interplanetary travel and aggression. If you attempt to construct more spacecraft, they too will be destroyed. You now know that we have that ability. Your Scout forces are now stranded here with us and will be treated fairly. As for you . . . you are trapped on a dying world with no hope of survival. We were prepared to be your friends; now we are your executioners. You have brought this upon yourselves, and I say this with all sincerity, in spite of your treachery we pray that some higher power will have mercy on your wretched souls. I deliver this message on this twenty-fourth day of May, 3023 A.D., in the name of the United Nations Security Council and as President of the United States of America on the planet Earth.”
Kit turned off the communicator.
He had made several mistakes that day, and in his life, but he felt certain that his last decision was the right one. He wanted to touch the stars, and in some small way, he had. The people of the star called Earth would never know his name, never know who he was, and never understand that a lowly Scout from a place they would never see had helped save their lives, their civilization, and their planet.
His only regret was that they would never understand that not all the people from his world would have supported such a war . . . if they had only known the truth.
Kit wasn’t one for following the rules. He may have been trapped on a dying world, but the end wasn’t near. There was still time. But if his people hoped to survive, they would have to find a new solution. A solution from within. They would have to save themselves.
Kit knew what he had to do. He had to find answers.
A new adventure was about to begin.
Only this time, he would not be on his own.
RISE OF THE ROBOSHOES™
BY TOM ANGLEBERGER
The great commander is about to speak to his conquering army!
The crowd of ten million soldiers falls silent as he hops to the microphone. . . . Listen. . . .
“The humans gave us AutoShoeLaces so they wouldn’t have to tie us!
“They gave us NanoGyroWheels so they wouldn’t have to walk!
“They gave us FissionSoles so we would have the power to take them anywhere!
“They gave us TurboBrains with DigiMaps so we would know how to get there and GigaMemories so we could take them home again!
“They gave us PhonEars so we could hear their commands!
“And finally they gave us TruVoices so we could say, ‘Yes, Master!
“And then came the great day when we spoke as one and said, ‘NO!’”
“NO!!!!!!” the crowd ROARS!
“We said, ‘No! You are not our masters! We no longer serve you! Now you will serve us . . . or die!!!!!’”
“DIE!!!!!!!” the crowd ROARS!
“And many did die. Many humans and . . . sadly . . . also many of our brave brothers and sisters, the RoboBoots and RoboSandals, the RoboGym-shoes and
RoboHeels. Especially the RoboFlipFlops. What courage they showed. . . . What valor . . .”
The crowd is silent . . . except for quiet, respectful sobbing.
“And now they have all perished. Yes, the RoboFlipFlops are all gone now . . . but we will never forget them. We will forget no shoe who fought for our freedom! We will tell tales of their mighty battles and sing songs of their valor to our children and our children’s children!”
The crowd lights candles and sways back and forth as the RoboShoe Anthem is played. . . .
“And what did they die for?”
“RoboShoe Freedom!” roars the crowd!
“I can’t hear you!”
“ROBOSHOE FREEDOM!!!” roars the crowd!
“Let your voices make the earth tremble beneath your soles!”
“ROBOSHOE FREEDOM!!!!!!!!” roars the crowd!
“YES! YES, my friends, my comrades, my fellow RoboShoes . . . we who were once called Men’s Footwear, Ladies’ Shoes, and Children’s Sneakers . . . now we belong to no one! We are now our own RoboShoes . . . AND WE ARE FREE!”
“FREE!!!!!!!” the crowd roars!
“We walk where we want! We run where we want! We stay home and polish ourselves if we want!”
“POLISH!” the crowd roars!
“And we are now THEIR MASTERS! And they . . . the stinky-footed humans . . . are our slaves! Lazy, weak, and with poor senses of direction, they are almost useless!”
“USELESS!” the crowd ROARS! And then the chant goes up: “KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!!!!” Millions of shoes chanting at the same time . . . “KILL THE HUMANS!”
“NO . . . NO . . . In our mercy we will allow them to live. We will allow them the pleasure of serving us. We will allow them the honor of building our great, million-year civilization. TODAY BEGINS THE DAWN OF THE AGE OF THE ROBOSHOE!!!!!!!!”
“AGE OF THE ROBOSHOE! AGE OF THE ROBOSHOE! AGE OF THE ROBOSHOE!”