The Kansas sky had turned the color of dull steel by the time Ethan Mercer realized that he was running out of options.
He stood beside the enormous combine parked at the edge of the western wheat field, staring at the machine as if staring hard enough might convince it to start.
It didn't.
The combine was nearly new. Its price tag had been just under nine hundred thousand dollars, a number that still made Ethan uncomfortable whenever he thought about it. It was supposed to be the machine that carried Mercer Farms into a new generation of farming.
Instead, it had become the most expensive object on the property that couldn't do the one thing it had been purchased to do.
Harvest wheat.
Ethan wiped sweat from his forehead even though the evening air had begun to cool.
Beyond him, thousands of acres of wheat moved like waves beneath the wind.
His father had planted most of those acres.
His father had also died before he could see the harvest.
That thought had become Ethan's private source of strength and pressure.
He had promised his mother that he would keep the farm going.
He had promised himself that he would finish what his father had started.
And now a machine worth nearly a million dollars was sitting motionless beside a field that needed to be harvested before the weather changed.
A pickup truck rolled slowly across the dirt road.
Two men stepped out.
Blake and Lucas were factory-certified technicians from the dealership that had sold Ethan the combine.
Both looked exhausted.
They had been working on the machine for most of the afternoon.
Lucas carried a diagnostic computer.
Blake had a toolbox in one hand and a tablet in the other.
"Tell me you've got something," Ethan said.
Blake gave him a tired smile.
"We've got information."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," Blake admitted. "It isn't."
They climbed into the cab.
Ethan followed.
The interior looked more like the cockpit of an aircraft than a farm machine. Multiple screens covered the dashboard. Sensors monitored almost every system imaginable.
Lucas connected his diagnostic computer.
"All right," he said. "Let's run it again."
Ethan sat in the driver's seat.
He turned the key.
The engine came alive.
For three seconds, everything sounded perfect.
Then the engine stumbled.
A warning flashed across the screen.
Another appeared.
Then another.
The engine shut itself down.
Lucas stared at the diagnostic display.
"Same problem."
"What problem?" Ethan asked.
Lucas hesitated.
"That's the problem."
Ethan frowned.
"You've been telling me that all day."
"I know."
"Then tell me something different."
Blake leaned over the console.
"We replaced the primary pressure sensor. We checked the fuel system. We tested the communication network. We inspected the hydraulic controls. Nothing is giving us a clean failure."
"So why won't it run?"
"We don't know."
Silence filled the cab.
Ethan looked through the windshield.
The western horizon was darkening.
A weather system was moving toward them.
The forecast gave them less than two days.
Maybe less.
"How long until you need to take it back to the shop?" Ethan asked.
Blake looked at Lucas.
"That's not really an option."
"Why?"
"Because transporting a machine this size isn't simple. And even if we get it back, we'd be guessing."
Ethan climbed down from the cab.
He walked around the combine.
His father had always believed machines talked to people who knew how to listen.
Ethan had laughed when he first heard that.
His father had never explained what he meant.
Now Ethan wished he had.
He crouched beside the enormous front tire.
There were fresh marks in the dirt.
Deep tracks.
Uneven tracks.
He touched the ground.
It was harder than concrete in some places and strangely soft in others.
"Ethan."
He looked up.
Blake was standing above him.
"What?"
"You aren't thinking about digging under it, are you?"
Ethan stood.
"No."
"Good."
Lucas laughed.
"We're dealing with electronics, not ghosts."
Ethan looked at the machine again.
"Maybe."
"What?"
"Nothing."