After Earth

by Peter David

  The rescue ship arrived as if by magic, a feat of Lightstream engineering he was curious to learn about, but for now he was just glad they had come and gotten to his father first. He was hours from death, and their emergency medical section allowed the Rangers to stanch the blood loss and repair the damage. Cypher had done much to help his own condition, but now the medics had to worry about infection and repair. It would be some time before they knew the full extent of his injuries and recovery time.

  Kitai was just happy to have his dad alive.

  Walking through the main corridor of the class-B ship, he watched as Rangers did their duty with precision and little chatter. Then he came across a technician studying a monitor that appeared familiar. Before the man was a silver device that was physically connected to the console. It had to be the recorder that every ship contained, filled with all pertinent data and logs for just such occurrences. On the screen he recognized the image: the unaware Ursa. Kitai slowed down and watched in fascination, barely remembering what he’d endured. The creature really had had no idea where Kitai was, had truly lost the scent.

  Sensing he was no longer alone, the technician, an older man, turned and studied Kitai. He looked once at the screen, then looked back at Kitai. The teen saw a shift in the man’s expression. He was clearly impressed by Kitai’s efforts on Earth. Curiosity was replaced with something else.

  Respect.

  It was only after he was rescued, after some sleep and hot soup, that Kitai had a chance to reflect on all he had done. He had wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, wanted to be a Ranger. What he never had anticipated was that he would become a Ghost, too. He was the eighth, part of an elite group.

  Kitai continued to move through the ship until he reached the small room where his father, the Original Ghost, rested on a cot, attended by two medics. He looked better than he had before they’d left Earth’s surface, which pleased Kitai. Still, he was paler than usual, a look of pain on his face that no drug could treat. Under the blankets, Kitai knew his mangled leg was healing but might never recover fully.

  They were checking vitals and generally fussing over him, so it took Cypher a few moments before he realized his son was standing in the entrance. When he did, he interrupted them and spoke.

  “Stand me up.”

  The medics looked from one to another and then down to the man on the cot. It pained Kitai to see his father so helpless. So normal.

  “General …” one of them said.

  “I said stand me up!”

  Without waiting, Cypher started to sit up, prompting the medics to swing into motion. They helped him rise, and that was when Kitai realized it was both legs that had been so badly damaged. They were encased in braces that helped administer painkillers, stimulate cellular regeneration, and provide support. The medics helped him swing the braced legs to the deck, and then each took an arm and helped Cypher rise to his feet. The effort took a lot out of his father, who winced but gritted his teeth and made it to an upright position.

  Father and son studied each other for a long, silent moment.

  Cypher raised his hand and crisply saluted his son.

  Kitai was stunned and pleased in the same instant.

  Kitai returned the salute just as neatly and then broke into a smile as he ran forward and gently embraced his father.

  Close to each other for the first time in what felt like forever, Kitai reached his father’s ear and whispered, “Dad …”

  “Yes.”

  “I wanna work with Mom.”

  Cypher chuckled a little at the joke. Kitai realized his sense of humor still needed work, but this was a good moment. Neither wanted to let go, but the medics respectfully separated them and lowered his father back to the cot.

  As the ship left Earth’s orbit, preparing the powerful engines for the trip home, Kitai studied the monitors, taking a last look at the planet. It was raining when they took off, a fresh, cleansing rain that would replenish the pools and lakes that sustained life.

  The jungle would endure. The cycle of life would continue.

  A different monitor showed the ocean, and to Kitai’s surprise, there was something breaking the surface. It was the size of a whale but looked like no whale he had ever seen before.

  Kitai stood over his father’s sleeping form. Cypher was going to be like that for most of the trip home, healing.

  The planet being left behind was also slowly healing, and life would continue to evolve.

  Eyes still on the vanishing green and blue planet, Kitai took a chair and sat by his father’s side.

  Soon the ship had cleared the solar system and engaged the Lightstream engines, propelling them into wormhole space and back to Nova Prime.

  One would not blame Kitai if he spent the entire journey home lost in daydreams of the accolades and adoration he, the youngest Ghost, was certain to receive once he set foot on Nova Prime. But his only concern was the man lying quietly before him.

  Cypher Raige was many things to so many people—the Original Ghost; the Prime Commander; the reason Skrel were no longer winning the war—but, to Kitai, Cypher had only one name: Dad.

  And he was his son.

  To Bob and Mike, two of my best friends ever

  Acknowledgments

  This book exists because of Will Smith and Caleeb Pinkett. I would also like to thank Gaetano Mastropasqua, Clarence Hammond, and Kristy Creighton for their input. At Random House, editor Frank Parisi and publisher Scott Shannon showed grace under impossible pressure.

  BY PETER DAVID

  After Earth: A Perfect Beast (with Michael Jan Friedman and

  Robert Greenberger)

  Fable

  Fable: The Balverine Order

  Fable: Blood Ties

  Fable: Reaver

  Fable: Theresa

  Fable: Jack of Blades

  Movie Adaptations

  Battleship

  Transformers: Dark of the Moon

  Spider-Man 3

  Spider-Man 2

  Spider-Man

  The Incredible Hulk

  Fantastic Four

  Iron Man

  The Camelot Papers

  Tigerheart: A Tale of the Anyplace

  Knight Life

  One Knight Only

  Fall of Knight

  The Hidden Earth Chronicles

  Book 1: Darkness of the Light

  Book 2: Heights of the Depths

  Sir Apropos of Nothing

  Book 1: Sir Apropos of Nothing

  Book 2: The Woad to Wuin

  Book 3: Tong Lashing

  Book 4: Pyramid Schemes (forthcoming)

  Blind Man’s Bluff (Star Trek: The New Frontier)

  Year of the Black Rainbow (with Claudio Sanchez)

  Cypher Raige was the first to ghost, making him an Ursa-killing machine and Nova Prime’s new hope for survival.

  Kitai Raige, his son, became the eighth human to exhibit such amazing self-discipline.

  In between were six incredible individuals who also found themselves able to mask their presence from the Ursa.

  Here now are three of their amazing stories.

  The remaining three tales can be found in the book After Earth: A Perfect Beast by Michael Jan Friedman, Robert Greenberger, and Peter David, available now in print or as an eBook from Del Rey Books.

  The sun was warm as usual, but not oppressively so, and Anderson Kincaid wanted to play in the sand. His mother took a rare afternoon off to bring the seven-year-old to the park. Accompanied only by the boy’s baby-sitter, she left word that she was not to be disturbed for anything short of a supernova. This was strictly family time, a rarity given her responsibilities for the population’s medical needs.

  She smiled as Anderson rushed from her grasp to the mounds of sand before him. Given how dusty Nova Prime City could get, it never ceased to amaze her that the boy still asked to go play in the sandpit. She briefly worried that he would inhale the fine particles and choke, but Norah shook her hea
d at the maternal instinct to want to protect her child. It was this sense of protecting life in all its myriad forms that tied her to the people.

  Rather than swallow the sand, he stomped around on it with white sandals and then planted his rump and squirmed, indenting the space until he was comfortable. His baby-sitter, a young man named Jason, stepped over and handed him a cloth bag filled with tools to shape the sand. Anderson patted the faded red shovel atop the sand and giggled. He delighted in this, and the sound reminded her of what she herself had been like as an infant, first encountering the sand. Anderson began digging with a purpose that attracted the attention of boys and girls of various ages. Soon five children were busily constructing some sort of fort or castle.

  Norah Kincaid was content to sit and watch. Life on Nova Prime was never easy, but the people were enjoying a nice respite. Their alien enemies, the Skrel, had not been heard from in decades, and their vile creations, the rampaging Ursa, had been largely wiped out. The last attack had been around thirty years ago, and all but a dozen of the Ursa had been killed. Those remaining beasts were elsewhere on the planet, and every night, as part of her prayers, she asked that the United Ranger Corps or age would destroy them and keep her people safe.

  Those prayers appeared to have been answered—there were very few such sightings in the last handful of years.

  As a result, the people once more were gazing up at the stars, wondering what else was out there. The news was filled with word that the latest anchorage, Avalon, had been successfully opened for business out in the next spiral arm. The planet Tau Ceti beckoned nearby, and Norah’s cousin Atlas had been captivated by the notion since he was a boy. Such thoughts were good ones, but the actions they might lead to were a constant source of concern. Humankind had fled Earth nearly a millennium ago and, hundreds of years after that, learned they were not alone in the universe. There were dangers out there, including but not limited to the Skrel. She had understood the warnings against tempting the fates and the hand of the creator, but there remained those who wanted to explore. It was human nature, and rather than fight it, she sought ways to embrace the yearnings while tempering them with grounded reality.

  Anderson stood up, grinning at her and waving the shovel. “Come see!” he commanded.

  She rose and took three steps toward him to admire the formation of a massive structure. There were towers clustered together and several smaller buildings in a semicircle. Clearly, he was the architect and had convinced the others to build from his ideas.

  “All you need now is a moat to protect the village,” she said admiringly.

  “What’s a moat?”

  Before she could answer, sirens broke the sounds of play. She knew that sound all too well. She reached out and grabbed Anderson, who was in the process of covering his ears, his eyes clenched in disapproval.

  “What is it, Mama?” he shouted.

  She didn’t answer him as her eyes darted from side to side, seeking some sense of the alarm’s source. Jason looked at her, and she nodded in confirmation: an Ursa sighting. He reached into a satchel and removed a communications device. She might have taken the afternoon off, but her oath meant she could never shed its responsibilities. She took the comm unit from him and spoke into it.

  “This is Dr. Kincaid. What is happening?” she asked.

  The voice on the other end replied, “At least six Ursa have entered the city. One is by the main market, the other heading toward the park! You said that’s where you were going; if you’re there now, get out of there. Rangers are in pursuit.”

  “I’m coming in,” she said, Anderson squirming in her arms. She handed the device back to Jason, who already had collected the toys. “Emergency protocols should already have begun. If not, someone is going to be flogged.” People were screaming and rushing about, children wailing almost louder than the siren. There was so much noise that she didn’t yet register the commotion at the other end of the park. A squad of eight Rangers had rushed in through the far gate, their shape-shifting weapons—called cutlasses—configured into swords.

  Norah swiveled her head around. Where was the Ursa?

  The octet of Rangers also seemed confused, forming a loose ring back to back, scanning the park. People continued to flee.

  She studied the men and women, noting just how young and nervous they appeared. No doubt they grew up on tales of the genetically engineered monsters that the Skrel sent to the planet with frightening regularity, all in a vain attempt at ridding the world of life for some unknown reason.

  They stood their ground, uncertain where to go. If they weren’t moving, neither was she. She tightened her grip on Anderson, who studied the Rangers in their brown smart fabric uniforms with fascination. He knew what a Ranger was; after all, her older cousin Lucius was Prime Commander, and Anderson, even as an infant, was drawn to the uniform. It was in the Kincaid blood and had been for many generations.

  One Ranger heard something and looked up. Norah followed her gaze and looked at the brown- and yellow-leafed tree.

  That was when she heard it: the unearthly, ferocious cry of an abomination. It became visible amid the foliage, bellowing in a horrible tone. Her nightmares had manifested, and she had to flee. In the rush of activity, Anderson squirmed free and rushed across the sandpit, away from her. She cried out to him, but with the siren and the other noises, her words were swallowed and the boy, unaware of the danger, headed right for the Rangers.

  The moving target was all the Ursa needed, and it leaped from the tree toward the boy.

  Time slowed for Norah as her heart slammed against her chest, each beat drowning out all other sounds.

  Anderson finally stopped moving and watched the Ursa in the air. He was paralyzed with fear.

  One of the Rangers also leaped into action, trying to draw the Ursa’s attention, but the monster had other ideas.

  The last thing Norah saw before her world went black was the Ursa’s maw opening to devour her son as the Ranger’s bladed weapon swung through the air.

  The boy woke up hours later. Norah never left his side. She was accompanied by her husband, Marco, a slightly paunchy man with dark, slicked-back hair and a mustache that once had been fashionable but now seemed oddly out of place. Anderson was groggy, blinking repeatedly as he looked around the room before focusing on his parents.

  “Where … am I?” he croaked.

  A nurse, also present, leaned over and gently squeezed water from a yellow bulb into his mouth. He swallowed, sputtered, swallowed again, and seemed to be becoming more alert rapidly.

  “Hi, love bug,” Norah said, tears streaming down both cheeks.

  “You’re in the hospital, Andy,” his father said. “How do you feel?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno … sore. What happened?”

  Anderson drifted off before he could hear the answer. Over the next few hours he could only hazily recall snippets of conversation. None of it seemed real to him, but it all sounded scary, so he took comfort in sleep.

  He heard his father ask, “Can it be reattached?” His mother sobbed. The doctor started talking about prosthetics and how far they had progressed through the years.

  Anderson also heard his parents arguing, and that hurt him in ways different from the ache in his shoulder. He heard his mom saying, “I never should have stayed in the park.” His father was agreeing but sounded very angry.

  As he fully woke up, he wasn’t sure what to expect. All he knew was that he ached all over and was very thirsty.

  “Mom?”

  Norah turned to look at her son, and he saw that her eyes were red. His father was right behind her, his hand on her right shoulder.

  Shoulder. He turned to look at where he ached. All he saw was a huge bandage and beyond that … nothing.

  “Mama! Where’s my arm?!”

  “The Ursa was about to kill you, but the Ranger stopped it …” she continued.

  “The creature took your arm,” his father said as gently as possible. “It co
uld not be reattached.”

  Anderson blinked, his left shoulder under thick white bandages shuddering in response. “But I feel it. Mama, you’re a doctor; can’t you put it back on?” The question sounded so reasonable, and it was, if you were seven. Norah Kincaid, though, knew that there were limits to what medical science could do.

  Just then, a middle-aged man of Asian descent entered the room, followed by a different nurse with a rolling cart. Atop it was a readout of Anderson’s vital signs that the man consulted before looking at the boy.

  “My name is Dr. Zeong, Anderson. How do you feel?”

  “What about my arm?” he asked, ignoring the question. “Mama’s the best doctor on Nova Prime. Can’t you put it back on?”

  “The arm was too badly damaged at the base for successful grafting,” the doctor explained in a low voice. “I’m sorry, son, but it couldn’t be saved.”

  There was some talk about prosthetics, which he knew meant a fake arm, and that didn’t interest him. As he lay back in the bed, he tried to recall what had happened. He remembered the sandpit, then the siren. And he remembered the Ranger who ran toward him.

  “Mama,” Anderson said, breaking the silence. “What happened to the Ranger who saved me?”

  She sighed heavily and kissed his forehead. “She died doing her duty to protect you.”

  He nodded at that and thought a lot about the Rangers as the adults chattered among themselves about things he couldn’t follow or care about.

  Year after year, Anderson grew up, training himself to qualify for the Rangers. Every few years, as his body continued to grow and develop, he would visit the hospital, where a new arm had to be attached. There were weeks of clumsiness as he adjusted to each new prosthetic; this usually was accompanied by some depression and frustration as the simplest tasks proved difficult.