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Jake stared straight up at the real Cronkite. The future of the human race depended on him killing this creature. Everything else was secondary.

“Where am I?” Jake asked. Sure, it was a cliché, but it seemed like an appropriate conversation starter.

“Take a look.”

Everything in the sphere disappeared, even his body. He had a 360-degree view of the stars in all directions. Jake jumped and grabbed the invisible edges of his couch then groped a few parts of his body and waved his hand in front of his face. Disorienting.

“You can see your sun there and the huge thing on your right is Mars.”

The sun was smaller than it appeared from Earth. Mars was a huge dusky-red globe. “Where’s Earth?” Jake asked.

“Homesick? It’s right here.” A shimmery, red circle appeared off to one side of the sun. The dot within the circle looked like a dim star. “Earth is over on the other side of your sun right now. We’re taking the scenic route today.”

The star view faded out, replaced with the suede-like surfaces and objects in the sphere.

“What just happened?” Jake asked.

“You mean the star display?”

“No, I mean back on Earth.”

“You and your government tried to kill me and missed. Did you really think I was such a
bozo
I wouldn’t know what you planned?” Screen-Cronkite raised his eyebrows.

“Sir Cronkite, can we start over? Hi, I’m Jake Corby.”

“Save it, Bozo.”

Until the moment that Jake could find a way to kill this creature—and how hard could it be? The thing was only a few feet tall—he was going to have to engage it in dialogue, understand it, and be diplomatic. Could there be a worse person for this mission?

Cronkite continued. “When I saw the missiles on their way, I simply pulled you in with a tractor beam, and we got the hell out of Dodge. I handled it pretty well, don’t you think?”

Jake nodded then froze.
What’s going on here? Cronkite wants my approval. An alien with self-esteem issues. How do I use that? Make him work for my approval?
“I guess so.”

Jake addressed the screen as if this were a normal videoconference and the weird ladybug thing just happened to be in the room. Jake was seeing him from “above,” so Cronkite’s appendages were mostly out of sight. One of the delicate arms would flick out now and then, but the larger worm-like appendages couldn’t be seen from Jake’s perspective. They were probably wrapped around the gooey railroad track.

Delicate stalks protruded from the two well-defined spots on the top of the body. They moved independently. Usually, one was pointed at Jake, and the other at Cronkite’s screen. Eye stalks probably.
If I could grab one of those …
But they could flash back into the body with lightning speed.

“You guess so? Do you know how precisely I had to time our departure so that they wouldn’t realize we’d escaped?”

“I’m guessing the sphere did the heavy lifting.”

“The propulsion?” Screen-Cronkite frowned and tilted his head. Physical-Cronkite pulled his eye stalks in briefly.

“No. I mean that the sphere did all the work. You just told it what to do.”

Cronkite ignored him. “Back on Earth, they think they’re finally free of me. They’re celebrating the destruction of the mean old alien, as well as their suicide bomber. I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when I make my triumphant return. Want to see the coverage?”

Jake said nothing. Another screen popped up showing CNC coverage. Times Square was mobbed with dancing, cheering revelers.

“Interesting that your country vilifies suicide bombers, but when the need arises—”

“We vilify suicide bombers who kill innocent bystanders to spread terror.”

“Whatever. You wanna drive?”

“The sphere?”

“No, Bozo, the Titanic. Of course, the sphere. Do you want to try driving it, yes or no?”

“Sure. I’m guessing it isn’t difficult.” Jake yawned. Was he being too obvious?
If Cronkite has to work to impress me, will condescension increase his fixation on me? Is that a good thing?

“Let’s just set down on Mars and I’ll give you the wheel.”

Jake got out of his couch, stood up, and stretched. The couch morphed back into the floor. He tried a few jumping jacks then walked around the interior of the sphere over toward Cronkite’s side. A wall popped up in front of him.

The walls of the sphere were now transparent, but he his body and the “furniture” were visible. They hovered just above the surface of Mars. The scenery was familiar due to the NASA Mars images, and, in fact, one of the rovers was visible ten feet away. The rover popped straight up then smashed back down onto the surface.

“Tractor beam,” said Cronkite.

Jake held up his index finger and twirled it around. “Whoop-de-do.” His virtual self waved its eye stalks around.
I’ve had dreams much less bizarre than this.

An automobile bucket seat formed out of the floor, and Jake sat down. “Is there a joystick or something?”

“No. You’ve got the conn.”

“Don’t I need a—”

“Just think, Bozo.”

It couldn’t have been easier. He pictured the sphere moving forward, and it did. Left, right, up, down, there was no learning curve. It just worked. Beyond that, he could think “Go over to the back of that big rock,” and the craft would handle all the details.

“Having fun?”

Jake was now zipping through canyons and over mountain peaks. With only his body and the bucket seat visible, the sense went beyond just flying. It was like he was one with the environment. The forces of acceleration were there but damped down significantly. Just enough to give feedback. Had the normal laws of physics prevailed inside the sphere, he’d have been thrown around like a ping pong ball in a paint shaker.

“You know,” Jake said, “managing Earth isn’t going to be as easy as this.”

“I’ll get the hang of it. It’s not the first time I’ve done this, you know.”

Jake talked as he piloted the craft up a mountain. “What are your plans?”

“First thing, I kill off all the world leaders. That will get people’s attention.”

“Cronkite, you already have people’s attention. Killing the leaders will just eliminate the ones who can help you most.”

“Bullshit. I kill the leaders, then everyone knows exactly who is in charge.”

Jake took the sphere up a mile and thought “Fly into the surface at maximum speed.” The craft obeyed but stopped at the surface.

“Nice try, Bozo.” Cronkite shook his head as if disappointed. “Why are you always so predictable? Lesson over.”

* * *

When Mars receded, Jake asked where they were heading but got no answer.
Hello? Anybody home?
Cronkite appeared to be in a dormant state. The screen-Cronkite had his head down on the news desk, with drool extending from the corner of his mouth to his forearm.

Cronkite’s movements and appearance made Jake believe he could kill him if he just could get his hands on him. Maybe that was wishful thinking. Four of the appendages seemed delicate, and Jake hadn’t seen any teeth or horns. How would it feel to rip out one of those eye stalks?
Pretty good, I’ll bet.

Jake tried to get around the sphere to the alien but was thwarted each time by a wall or other barrier. He tried to think them out of the way but had no luck. He removed one shoe and threw it at Cronkite with all his strength, but a gravity anomaly apparently kept it from getting past the center of the sphere. It fell back and hit him on the head.

When he ran out of ideas, he sat back in the couch and admired the view. He was sure they were still within the solar system, yet none of the planets were large enough to be distinguished from the millions of stars. The brief astronomy unit in his high-school physics class wasn’t helping much here.

Cronkite came out of his trance and said, “May I introduce … DJ1.”

To his right, a spacecraft, indeed diamond-shaped, appeared to slide up to the sphere. This craft looked like your typical science-fiction battle cruiser in that it had multiple protrusions and indentations in the hull. The one large, flat surface however, was mirror-smooth and reflected the stars.

“What is it? Are there creatures inside?” Jake asked.

“That’s right, you have no idea what this is, do you?”

Jake said nothing.

“This is the object that caused everyone on Earth to sneeze.”

“Why? Why did it do that?” Jake asked.

“It was simply—”

DJ1 snapped around such that the mirrored surface faced them. Jake sneezed and Cronkite did a little hiss-bark thing. Simultaneously, of course.

Cronkite rotated the sphere rapidly—the star field shifted—but DJ1 stayed with them. A humming or vibration from the sphere that hadn’t been there before flowed into Jake’s body. The noise got louder and louder.

“What are you doing?” Jake gripped the edges of his couch.

“I’ve got the damn tractor beam on it, but it won’t … Goddamn, son of a bitch …”

The temperature rose. In front of him a red square flashed, and a female voice said, “Warning. Tractor beam overload. System failure imminent.” In front of Cronkite, a blue circle flashed, and unpleasant rasping sounds filled the sphere. Was Cronkite trying to destroy DJ1?

Jake yelled, “What’s going on?”

“You’re witnessing a duel. A mano-a-mano fight to the death between DJ1 and me. The most noble form of combat. I am King Arthur and he is the Black Knight. I will—”

“Cronkite, stop. I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, but it’s not working. We’re going to explode or …” Hold on. Maybe that would be a good thing.

Everything went black, and gravity disappeared.

Here’s my opportunity!
Jake pushed off from the interior surface of the sphere, blindly. If he could grab Cronkite, he might be able to kill him or at least inflict some damage. They were probably doomed anyway, since the life support system was certainly off. One small death for a man, one giant save for mankind. But power could come back, and then it would be too late.

He flailed around as he floated in the darkness then moved his arms to break his impact with the other side. Too late. The top of his head hit first, and his neck bent back as if landing forehead first on a trampoline. With the power off, the surface of the sphere was about as soft as stainless steel. Pain knifed through him.
I’m getting too old for this.
His chest hit next. He bounced back into the center of the sphere, drifting slowly.

Cronkite made a snivel-grunt just off to his right. Jake had no way of changing direction in midair. He reached out blindly and grabbed a handful of coarse bristles. At the same time a delicate hand fastened around his wrist. He grabbed it with his other hand and snapped it off. Like snapping off the claw of a huge, cooked lobster.
Excellent. Now we’re getting somewhere.

A mule kick landed in his stomach, and pain seared his thigh. Both fighters roared.

Jake struggled to inhale. He released his grip on Cronkite’s hair, and the two of them drifted apart. Jake stuffed the lobster arm into a pocket. He waited for the feel of the floor. Much of his momentum had been absorbed by his encounter with Cronkite. Jake got his wind again and prepared to bounce back to finish the fight. He shivered. The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees already and the air tasted stale.

He hit the floor with hands and feet together. He pushed off to head straight back to the action, but he only got four feet when the artificial gravity snapped on. He fell with a thud. The lighting was back, too. Maybe he’d have a few seconds to get to Cronkite. Breathing hard, he ran along the sphere’s surface. Too late. A wall sprang up and Jake ran right into it. Cronkite was in control again.

The universal translator screens morphed into existence once more. On the screen, Walter Cronkite, the world’s most famous news anchor, was crying and had a bloody stump where his left arm had been.

Jake rested on his hands and knees, taking hard, rasping breaths. He pulled Cronkite’s severed arm out of his pocket and smiled. He brought it up to his face and turned it over. If a huge cricket had hands, this is what they’d look like. The black exoskeleton on the wrist and palm transitioned to tender ape-like fingers with retractable claws.

The shell of the sphere once again turned transparent, with the furniture and occupants still visible. DJ1 shrank to a pinpoint in seconds.
Now where are we going?
He held Cronkite’s wrist and waved bye-bye with it. He looked up at Cronkite. The two eye stalks turned his way. Would taunting be a good idea or bad?
Fuck it.
He waved the dismembered hand the way the queen of England waves.
Greetings, Sir Cronkite.

* * *

During the long trip back to Earth, Jake tried to engage Cronkite in conversation without success. Jake watched the star field change and Earth increase in size. At one point, they zipped past an asteroid.
Now what?
Was Cronkite just going to drop him off at the White House? Have a nice day!