Today I would have been fully grown. His jaw clenched. I must get up. I must move. I must enjoy this time.
But he didn’t move. He felt his blood pump sleepily from chamber to red chamber in his heart, on down and around through his dead body, to be purified by his folding and unfolding lungs.
The ship grew warm. From somewhere a machine clicked. Automatically the temperature cooled. A controlled gust of air flushed the room.
Night again. And then another day.
He lay and saw four days of his life pass.
He did not try to fight. It was no use. His life was over.
He didn’t want to turn his head now. He didn’t want to see Lyte with her face like his tortured mother’s—eyelids like gray ash flakes, eyes like beaten, sanded metal, cheeks like eroded stones. He didn’t want to see a throat like parched thongs of yellow grass, hands the pattern of smoke risen from a fire, breasts like dessicated rinds and hair stubbly and unshorn as moist gray weeds!
And himself? How did he look? Was his jaw sunken, the flesh of his eyes pitted, his brow lined and age-scarred?
His strength began to return. He felt his heart beating so slow that it was amazing. One hundred beats a minute. Impossible. He felt so cool, so thoughtful, so easy.
His head fell over to one side. He stared at Lyte. He shouted in surprise.
She was young and fair.
She was looking at him, too weak to say anything. Her eyes were like tiny silver medals, her throat curved like the arm of a child. Her hair was blue fire eating at her scalp, fed by the slender life of her body.
Four days had passed and still she was young . . . no, younger, than when they had entered the ship. She was still adolescent.
He could not believe it.
Her first words were, “How long will this last?”
He replied, carefully, “I don’t know.”
“We are still young.”
“The ship. Its metal is around us. It cuts away the sun and the things that came from the sun to age us.”
Her eyes shifted thoughtfully. “Then, if we stay here—”
“We’ll remain young.”
“Six more days? Fourteen more? Twenty?”
“More than that, maybe.”
She lay there, silently. After a long time she said, “Sim?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s stay here. Let’s not go back. If we go back now, you know what’ll happen to us . . . ?”
“I’m not certain.”
“We’ll start getting old again, won’t we?”
He looked away. He stared at the ceiling and the clock with the moving finger. “Yes. We’ll grow old.”
“What if we grow old—instantly. When we step from the ship won’t the shock be too much?”
“Maybe.”
Another silence. He began to move his limbs, testing them. He was very hungry. “The others are waiting,” he said.
Her next words made him gasp. “The others are dead,” she said. “Or will be in a few hours. All those we knew back there are old.”
He tried to picture them old. Dark, his sister, bent and senile with time. He shook his head, wiping the picture away. “They may die,” he said. “But there are others who’ve been born.”
“People we don’t even know.”
“But, nevertheless, our people,” he replied. “People who’ll live only eight days, or eleven days unless we help them.”
“But we’re young, Sim! We can stay young!”
He didn’t want to listen. It was too tempting a thing to listen to. To stay here. To live. “We’ve already had more time than the others,” he said. “I need workers. Men to heal this ship. We’ll get on our feet now, you and I, and find food, eat, and see if the ship is movable. I’m afraid to try to move it myself. It’s so big. I’ll need help.”
“But that means running back all that distance!”
“I know.” He lifted himself weakly. “But I’ll do it.”
“How will you get the men back here?”
“We’ll use the river.”
“If it’s there. It may be somewhere else.”
“We’ll wait until there is one, then. I’ve got to go back, Lyte. The son of Dienc is waiting for me, my sister, your brother, are old people, ready to die, and waiting for some word from us—”
After a long while he heard her move, dragging herself tiredly to him. She put her head upon his chest, her eyes closed, stroking his arm. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. You have to go back. I’m a selfish fool.”
He touched her cheek, clumsily. “You’re human. I understand you. There’s nothing to forgive.”
They found food. They walked through the ship. It was empty. Only in the control room did they find the remains of a man who must have been the chief pilot. The others had evidently bailed out into space in emergency lifeboats. This pilot, sitting at his controls, alone, had landed the ship on a mountain within sight of other fallen and smashed crafts. Its location on high ground had saved it from the floods. The pilot himself had died, probably of heart failure, soon after landing. The ship had remained here, almost within reach of the other survivors, perfect as an egg, but silent, for—how many thousand days? If the pilot had lived, what a different thing life might have been for the ancestors of Sim and Lyte. Sim, thinking of this, felt the distant, ominous vibration of war. How had the war between worlds come out? Who had won? Or had both planets lost and never bothered trying to pick up survivors? Who had been right? Who was the enemy? Were Sim’s people of the guilty or innocent side? They might never know.
He checked the ship hurriedly. He knew nothing of its workings, yet as he walked its corridors, patted its machines, he learned from it. It needed only a crew. One man couldn’t possibly set the whole thing running again. He laid his hand upon one round, snoutlike machine. He jerked his hand away, as if burnt.
“Lyte!”
“What is it?”
He touched the machine again, caressed it, his hand trembled violently, his eyes welled with tears, his mouth opened and closed, he looked at the machine, loving it, then looked at Lyte.
“With this machine—” he stammered, softly, incredulously. “With—With this machine I can—”
“What, Sim?”
He inserted his hand into a cuplike contraption with a lever inside. Out of the porthole in front of him he could see the distant line of cliffs. “We were afraid there might never be another river running by this mountain, weren’t we?” he asked, exultantly.
“Yes, Sim, but—”
“There will be a river. And I will come back, tonight! and I’ll bring men with me. Five hundred men! Because with this machine I can blast a river bottom all the way to the cliffs, down which the waters will rush, giving myself and the men a swift, sure way of traveling back!” He rubbed the machine’s barrellike body. “When I touched it, the life and method of it burnt into me! Watch!” He depressed the lever.
A beam of incandescent fire lanced out from the ship, screaming.
Steadily, accurately, Sim began to cut away a riverbed for the storm waters to flow in. The night was turned to day by its hungry eating.
The return to the cliffs was to be carried out by Sim alone. Lyte was to remain in the ship, in case of any mishap. The trip back seemed, at first glance, to be impossible. There would be no river rushing to cut his time, to sweep him along toward his destination. He would have to run the entire distance in the dawn, and the sun would get him, catch him before he’d reached safety.
“The only way to do it is to start before sunrise.”
“But you’d be frozen, Sim.”
“Here.” He made adjustments on the machine that had just finished cutting the riverbed in the rock floor of the valley. He lifted the smooth snout of the gun, pressed the lever, left it down. A gout of fire shot toward the cliffs. He fingered the range control, focused the flame end three miles from its source. Done. He turned to Lyte. “But I don’t understand,” she said.
He opened the air-lock
door. “It’s bitter cold out, and half an hour yet till dawn. If I run parallel to the flame from the machine, close enough to it, there’ll not be much heat, but enough to sustain life, anyway.”
“It doesn’t sound safe,” Lyte protested.
“Nothing does, on this world.” He moved forward. “I’ll have a half-hour start. That should be enough to reach the cliffs.”
“But if the machine should fail while you’re still running near its beam?”
“Let’s not think of that,” he said.
A moment later he was outside. He staggered as if kicked in the stomach. His heart almost exploded in him. The environment of his world forced him into swift living again. He felt his pulse rise, kicking through his veins.
The night was cold as death. The heat ray from the ship sliced across the valley, humming, solid and warm. He moved next to it, very close. One misstep in his running and—
“I’ll be back,” he called to Lyte.
He and the ray of light went together.
In the early morning the people in the caves saw the long finger of orange incandescence and the weird whitish apparition floating, running along beside it. There was muttering and moaning and many sighs of awe.
And when Sim finally reached the cliffs of his childhood he saw alien peoples swarming there. There were no familiar faces. Then he realized how foolish it was to expect familiar faces. One of the older men glared down at him: “Who’re you?” he shouted. “Are you from the enemy cliff? What’s your name?”
“Lam Sim, the son of Sim!”
“Sim!”
An old woman shrieked from the cliff above him. She came hobbling down the stone pathway. “Sim, Sim, it is you!”
He looked at her frankly bewildered. “But I don’t know you,” he murmured.
“Sim, don’t you recognize me? Oh, Sim, it’s me! Dark!”
“Dark!”
He felt sick at his stomach. She fell into his arms. This old trembling woman with the half-blind eyes, his sister.
Another face appeared above. That of an old man. A cruel, bitter face. It looked down at Sim and snarled. “Drive him away!” cried the old man. “He comes from the cliff of the enemy. He’s lived there! He’s still young! Those who go there can never come back among us. Disloyal beast!” And a rock hurtled down.
Sim leaped aside, pulling the old woman with him.
A roar came from the people. They ran toward Sim, shaking their fists. “Kill him, kill him!” raved the old man, and Sim did not know who he was.
“Stop!” Sim held out his hands. “I come from the ship!”
“The ship?” The people slowed. Dark clung to him, looking up into his young face, puzzling over its smoothness.
“Kill him, kill him, kill him!” croaked the old man, and picked up another rock.
“I offer you ten days, twenty days, thirty more days of life!”
The people stopped. Their mouths hung open. Their eyes were incredulous.
“Thirty days?” It was repeated again and again. “How?”
“Come back to the ship with me. Inside it, one can live forever!”
The old man lifted high a rock, then, choking, fell forward in an apoplectic fit, and tumbled down the rocks to lie at Sim’s feet.
Sim bent to peer at the ancient one, at the raw, dead eyes, the loose, sneering lips, the crumpled, quiet body.
“Chion!”
“Yes,” said Dark behind him, in a croaking, strange voice. “Your enemy. Chion.”
That night two hundred men started for the ship. The water ran in the new channel. One hundred of them were drowned or lost behind in the cold. The others, with Sim, got through to the ship.
Lyte awaited them, and threw wide the metal door.
The weeks passed. Generations lived and died in the cliffs, while the scientists and workers labored over the ship, learning its functions and its parts.
On the last day, two dozen men moved to their stations within the ship. Now there was a destiny of travel ahead.
Sim touched the control plates under his fingers.
Lyte, rubbing her eyes, came and sat on the floor next to him, resting her head against his knee, drowsily. “I had a dream,” she said, looking off at something far away. “I dreamed I lived in caves in a cliff on a cold-hot planet where people grew old and died in eight days.”
“What an impossible dream,” said Sim. “People couldn’t possibly live in such a nightmare. Forget it. You’re awake now.”
He touched the plates gently. The ship rose and moved into space.
Sim was right.
The nightmare was over at last.
ABOUT GUYS READ
Guys Read sci-fi and fantasy stuff. And you just proved it. (Unless you just opened the book to this page and started reading. In which case, we feel bad for you because you missed some pretty awesome stuff.)
Now what?
Now we keep going—Guys Read keeps working to find good stuff for you to read, you read it and pass it along to other guys. Here’s how we can do it.
For ten years, Guys Read has been at www.guysread.com, collecting recommendations of what guys really want to read. We have gathered recommendations of thousands of great funny books, scary books, action books, illustrated books, information books, wordless books, sci-fi books, mystery books, and you-name-it books.
So what’s your part of the job? Simple: try out some of the suggestions at guysread.com, try some of the other stuff written by the authors in this book, then let us know what you think. Tell us what you like to read. Tell us what you don’t like to read. The more you tell us, the more great book recommendations we can collect. It might even help us choose the writers for the next installment of Guys Read.
Thanks for reading.
And thanks for helping Guys Read.
BACK AD
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
JON SCIESZKA (editor) has been writing books for children ever since he took time off from his career as an elementary school teacher. He wanted to create funny books that kids would want to read. Once he got going, he never stopped. He is the author of numerous picture books, middle grade series, and even a memoir. From 2007–2010 he served as the first National Ambassador for Children’s Literature, appointed by the Library of Congress. Since 2004, Jon has been actively promoting his interest in getting boys to read through his Guys Read initiative and website. Born in Flint, Michigan, Jon now lives in Brooklyn with his family. Visit him online at www.jsworldwide.com and at www.guysread.com.
SELECTED TITLES
THE TRUE STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE PIGS
(Illustrated by Lane Smith)
THE STINKY CHEESE MAN AND OTHER FAIRLY STUPID TALES
(Illustrated by Lane Smith)
The Time Warp Trio series, including SUMMER READING IS KILLING ME
(Illustrated by Lane Smith)
The Spaceheadz series
TOM ANGLEBERGER (“Rise of the RoboShoes™”) began writing his first novel in eighth grade, but never completed it. Since then, he’s been a newspaper reporter and columnist, a juggler, a weed boy, a lawn-mower-part assembler, and a biology research assistant. This bestselling author insists he’s not really all that creative—“I’m more of a puzzle-putter-together.” You can visit him online at www.origamiyoda.wordpress.com.
SELECTED TITLES
The Origami Yoda series, including THE STRANGE CASE OF ORIGAMI YODA
HORTON HALFPOTT
FAKE MUSTACHE
When he was twelve years old, RAY BRADBURY (“Frost and Fire”) met a carnival magician, Mr. Electrico, who touched him with his sword and commanded: “Live forever!” Ray later said, “I decided that was the greatest idea I had ever heard.” He immediately began writing every day, and continued to do so for the rest of his life—nearly seventy years—writing hundreds of short stories and close to fifty books.
SELECTED TITLES
DANDELION WINE
THE ILLUSTRATED MAN
THE MARTIAN CHRONICLES
br /> SHANNON HALE (“Bouncing the Grinning Goat”) began writing at age ten—mostly fantasy stories where she was the heroine. She never stopped. She writes bestselling books for kids and adults and also writes graphic novels. Her book PRINCESS ACADEMY was named a Newbery Honor Book in 2006. Shannon lives with her family near Salt Lake City, Utah. You can visit her online at www.squeetus.com.
SELECTED TITLES
The Books of Bayern, including THE GOOSE GIRL
BOOK OF A THOUSAND DAYS
CALAMITY JACK
(With Dean Hale, illustrated by Nathan Hale)
D. J. MACHALE (“The Scout”) is a bestselling author and is also a director, executive producer, and creator of several popular television series and movies. He lives in Southern California with his family, where they spend a lot of time backpacking, scuba diving, and skiing. You can visit him online at www.djmachalebooks.com.
SELECTED TITLES
The Pendragon series, including THE MERCHANT OF DEATH
The Morpheus Road trilogy, including THE LIGHT
The SYLO trilogy, including SYLO
ERIC NYLUND (“The Warlords of Recess”) is a New York Times bestselling and World Fantasy Award–nominated author of fourteen published science fiction, fantasy, and YA novels. His latest is a science fiction series for young readers, The Resisters. Eric also works for Microsoft Studios, where he makes video games.
SELECTED TITLES
The Resistors series, including TITAN BASE
The Mortal Coils series, including ALL THAT LIVES MUST DIE
The Halo series, including THE FALL OF REACH
KENNETH OPPEL (“The Klack Bros. Museum”) got his first encouragement as a writer when a story he wrote at age fourteen made its way to Roald Dahl, who in turn sent it to his own agent, who took Ken on as a client. Since then, Ken has written many award-winning and bestselling books. He lives with his family in Toronto. You can find him online at www.kennethoppel.ca.
SELECTED TITLES
AIRBORN
SILVERWING
THIS DARK ENDEAVOR:
The Apprenticeship of Victor Frankenstein
RICK RIORDAN (“Percy Jackson and the Singer of Apollo”) is a bestselling author of adventure books for kids and mysteries for adults. Rick is also a former middle school teacher who taught mythology every year. You can visit him online at www.rickriordan.com.