Chapter Eight
Khyber the Fox
GEORGE opened his eyes. He was lying in the dirt by the large boulder. The sky and trees and hills were a blur. What happened to me? He shook his head and the world came into focus. “I remember now. No babies, no grumpy gardeners, but I still got swatted.” He groaned. “Swatted by a yak.”
He checked over his hardware.
Power actuators at maximum—check.
Internal sensors at maximum—check.
External sensors at maximum—check.
“I’m okay. I think,” he whispered.
Suddenly, the eyes of a fox appeared above him. GEORGE launched into the air in surprise.
“What are you doing?” the fox asked.
GEORGE flew up to the fox’s eye level and observed the dark outlines around its eyes.
“I’m GEORGE,” GEORGE said. He hoped he sounded confident, even though he wasn’t.
The fox said, “It appears as though you have been swatted by a yak. Are you all right?”
“I think so,” GEORGE replied. “My internal hard drive seems to be working.”
“Internal hard drive? Interesting. All over the mountainside, humans leave behind magazines and newspapers. You must be the one I read about, the only micro-robotic fly in the world.”
Why did he have to bring up that awful word, “only”? GEORGE wondered. It made him feel so lonely.
“Yeah, sure,” GEORGE said sadly. “That’s me. One of a kind.”
The fox nodded politely. “Khyber the Fox here. I’m honored to meet you, GEORGE. I read how you would be sent on missions all over the world. Splendid. What brings you to these parts?”
GEORGE explained his mission.
At once, the hairs on Khyber’s neck bristled. “You will never get that camera!” he said with a growl. “My ancestors found it a hundred years ago, and they made it part of our den.”
GEORGE squared his metallic shoulders. “My mission is to take a photo of the camera. That’s all. My boss will send a team later to get it, but they only need the film. They want to develop the photos to see if Irvine and Mallory made it to the summit. I’m sure my boss will let you keep the camera, if you’d like.”
He wasn’t at all sure, actually. But he hoped she would.
“Humans are not to be trusted,” Khyber said. “And if they remove the camera, my whole den will collapse. The den has been in my family for many generations. I won’t let anything happen to it!”
“I’m sorry,” GEORGE whispered. “I have no choice.”
He activated his power actuators. And in the blink of an eye, he zipped past the fox and flew into the den.
Outside, he could hear Khyber growl. “Where did he go?”
Inside, GEORGE scanned the dimly lit den. Then he saw them.
Fox cubs!
The den was built of carefully balanced rocks, and right in the middle, three baby foxes slept in a fluff of fur and tails. Behind the sleeping cubs, the pocket camera was wedged tightly into the wall.
Every stone was necessary to hold up the fox’s den…and so was the camera. Was it even possible for the Fly on the Wall Inc. team to retrieve the camera without making the rocks unstable? Even if they could, was it worth the risk?
GEORGE flew back outside.
The sun hung low in the sky. By a patch of berry bushes, Khyber the Fox sniffed about. He poked his nose up into the air and took a long whiff.
GEORGE hovered nearby, close enough to hear the fox mutter, “Micro-robots are difficult to track. He must be somewhere.”
GEORGE landed on a berry. “I’m here!”
Startled, the fox looked up. “Where did you go?” he asked. “It’s like you disappeared.”
“I found the camera,” GEORGE said, “and you’re right. The camera is helping to support the base of the rock. If it’s removed, your whole den will likely collapse.” Another new and bothersome feeling—dismay—swept over GEORGE as he whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”
Khyber the Fox lowered his eyes. His shoulders drooped. “I can’t hunt you. I can’t catch you. You’re too fast. There is nothing to be done. If you bring humans back here, our family home will be gone.” He looked at GEORGE. “What will you do?”
GEORGE rested his head on one metal limb. “If I don’t take a photo of the camera and send the GPS location to my boss, I will be going against my programming. I’ll fail my mission.”
Khyber sat back on his hind legs. “Well, son, what do you consider failing? Is doing the right thing failing?”
A blistering heat crawled up GEORGE’s neck. He checked his internal heat sensors. They seem okay, he thought. Why am I so warm? Was this yet another unpleasant new feeling?
“I don’t know.” GEORGE’s computer brain whirred and hummed and clicked. “I just… don’t know.”
