He gazed at the blue dot. It was so close, and yet, so out-of-reach.
But he knew. He always knew.
He wanted to go there.
Carl Peters gazed up into the dark sky from which the visitors came, and to which they left again.
It filled him with wonder: the sky; the stars; the sometimes-sun… And most of all, the blue dot.
He did not fear the blue dot—not like the other Scruffles (their white powdery coats shivered with the thought).
Perhaps Carl did not fear the blue dot because he had not been alive when the visitors had come; when The Temple had been dstroyed; when thousands of Scruffles had lost their lives.
He did not fear it.
He wanted it.
But he could never go there.
The universe was his oyster. He and all the other Scruffles could travel anywhere in their little gray ships—their Blopers.
They could travel through time; through space. They could see anything and everything, from the births of suns to the deaths of entire galaxies.
But they could not see the blue dot.
Scruffles never visited the blue dot. Not since many years ago. Not since the visitors.
No-one went to the blue dot.
No-one talked about the blue dot.
No-one thought about the blue dot.
Except Carl.
He gazed at the blue dot. “I want to go to there,” he thought.
Carl had a very nice Bloper. Top-of-the-line. But, of course, it could never take him to the one place he wanted so very badly to go; it could not take him to the blue dot, not since all Blopers had been modified; not since the visitors had come; not since the blue dot had been forbidden; not since it had ceased to be talked about; to be thought about.
It’s so strange, he thought. It seemed so near. Nearer by far than anywhere else. Why should it be so hard to reach?
Over the years, Carl tried his hardest. He travelled the universe, saw the sights. He left as a young Scruffle. He spent ages and ages exploring. He went to the beginning of time, and to the end of the universe. He saw the birth of the sometimes-sun, and its death.
But like all Scruffles who leave for adventure, for all his time away, he eventually returned home to rest, mere seconds after he left.
And for all his time away, for all his body creaked and ached with age, it felt as if it had been no time at all.
And so one day, Carl scuttled his aged body over to his Bloper. He tore it open, he looked inside, he ripped parts out, and put it back together.
Finally, it was ready.
It was time.
He took off, and flew.
He dived at the blue dot. It was really big.
It grew, bigger and bigger.
Around him, everything became hot.
His entire Bloper glowed brilliantly and shook violently, rather less solid than it had been when he was younger. But it held together.
And then he landed.
He left his Bloper. He crawled along the grainy surface.
He looked up.
Blue.