If Aliens Met Humans by Samuel Masten - HTML preview

CHAPTER FIVE

For one hundred years, the pencil drifted through the cold, silent emptiness of space. It was a tiny speck of wood and graphite, a forgotten messenger from a distant world. It tumbled slowly, end over end, as it traveled through the vast darkness between the stars. It passed through shimmering clouds of colorful gas and dust, and it flew by giant, lonely stars that burned with a brilliant, white light. The universe was full of wonders, and the pencil was a silent witness to them all.

After its long journey, something began to change. The pencil, which had been traveling in a straight line for so long, started to curve. A gentle, unseen force was pulling on it, guiding it in a new direction. It was the pull of gravity, a force that the pencil had not felt since it had left its own solar system so long ago. A new star, and a new family of planets, was nearby.

The pencil was being drawn into a new solar system. The star at the center of this system was a little larger and a little more orange than Earth's sun. It cast a warm, golden light on the planets that circled it. There were seven planets in this system, some large and gassy, others small and rocky. The pencil was being pulled towards the third planet from the sun.

From a distance, this new planet looked peaceful and inviting. It was a beautiful swirl of blue, green, and white. It had vast oceans, just like Earth, and large continents covered in what looked like green forests. White clouds drifted lazily through its atmosphere. It seemed like a perfect place for life to exist, a calm oasis in the vast desert of space.

The pencil's speed increased as it got closer to the planet. The pull of gravity grew stronger and stronger, pulling the tiny object out of the darkness and towards the light. The pencil was no longer a lonely wanderer. It was now an incoming visitor, an alien object about to enter a new world. Its century-long journey was finally coming to an end.

As it drew nearer, the pencil’s clear protective tube glinted in the light of the new sun. The tube was not as clear as it once was. It was covered in tiny pits and scratches from micrometeoroids, the dust of space that had pelted it for a hundred years. But the tube had done its job. Inside, the bright yellow pencil was still perfectly preserved.

The moment of entry was near. The pencil was aimed at the planet's upper atmosphere, a thin blanket of gas that protected the world below. For any object coming from space, this was a dangerous moment. The friction from moving through the air at such high speeds could create intense heat, enough to burn a small object to ash in seconds.

The pencil hit the atmosphere and began to glow. First, it was a dull red, then a bright orange, and finally a brilliant white. It became a shooting star, a fiery streak of light blazing across the alien sky. The protective tube took the brunt of the heat, its outer layer beginning to melt and char, but it held together, protecting its precious cargo.

The tube, now glowing like a hot coal, slowed as it fell through the thickening air. It passed through the upper layers of the atmosphere and continued its descent. The fiery glow faded as its speed decreased. It was no longer a meteor, but a falling object, tumbling gently towards the surface of the strange, new world below.

Finally, the pencil landed. It did not crash or explode. It fell into a large, soft patch of purple moss, landing with a soft thump. The journey was over. The pencil, a simple creation from a world far away, had arrived. It lay there in the strange, purple landscape, waiting to be found. The first part of its mission was complete.