After Earth

by Peter David

  It was quiet. Too quiet. He tried to focus on his surroundings, but Virginia’s face kept materializing in his mind. He had to stay alive and apologize. Or own up to losing her.

  His nose wrinkled in disgust, interrupting the reverie and warning him a second before a roar confirmed his sense of smell.

  The still-invisible Ursa bellowed once more to attract his attention but mostly to strike fear into him. The more pheromones he released, the easier it was for the creature to lock in on his position. It struck the tree with its talons.

  His arms wrapped around the tree as it shuddered with every stroke. Kincaid realized, as his flesh pimpled with goose bumps, that it intended to shred the tree until it collapsed and he fell.

  He held tight with the artificial arm and began shifting his feet on the branch so that he could make the leap to the next tree over. He had no desire to be the Ursa’s victim and started scrambling as far from the creature as possible, taking it deeper into the park and away from the people hidden close to the park’s edge.

  It didn’t take him long to travel six trees away from where he had started, although he could feel how weak his right side was getting. The Ursa, now fully visible in all its ugliness, dutifully followed, stinking and thundering and clawing the entire way. Running out of trees and out of steam, he considered his options. He had the cutlass, not that he really understood what to do with it; he had two pulsers, one almost out of charge; he had an artificial arm that might outlast one or two swipes of those claws. But that was about it. Peering past the monstrosity, he saw that no help was coming his way.

  This might actually be the end.

  His mind drifted back, and he considered what he had accomplished. Within the last few hours, he had saved some lives and kept an Ursa from harming others. He had served the corps with distinction, saving that man from the fire among other heroic acts. He’d laughed; he thought he might even have loved, even if he had screwed it up earlier that day. If it ended right now, it would be seen as a good life, one that honored his debt and respected the Kincaid family tradition even out of a Ranger uniform. If he was to die here and now, he could accept that.

  The first Ursa had chased all the fear from him years before.

  Following the Primus’s teachings, he prayed to the creator of the heavens and the universe, thanking the being for giving him a good life, one that honored his family name. He prayed that the creator would look after his parents and sister and that humanity would continue to thrive on Nova Prime.

  His mind was so busy preparing for his imminent death, it took him a moment to realize it had gotten very quiet and his immediate world had stopped shaking. The Ursa was done with the tree and was skittering in a semicircle, seeking something. At first, Kincaid thought that help was coming and the creature had sensed it first.

  But no, it was something else.

  The creature seemed to have lost his scent, just as earlier it had turned right at him and hadn’t reacted. This was his chance to escape to safety. But that would mean the creature would be free to stalk some other living being, and that did not sit well with him.

  Instead, he lowered himself branch by branch to the ground. The Ursa never noticed, intent on figuring out what had happened to its prey. Kincaid stalked the Ursa from the rear. He moved dangerously close, holding his breath from the stench.

  There was no sweat, no fear.

  The beast turned toward him, unaware of how close the human had come.

  Kincaid held a pulser in his right hand and was hefting the hook-shaped cutlass in the other. He had been studying the creature and saw several spots that looked more vulnerable than others. He could strike from the rear. Although it would be inelegant and far from fair, this was war, and in war, fairness was a luxury.

  Swinging with all his might, he hooked the end of the cutlass into the Ursa’s hide and yanked. Through the creature’s blood he could see a hint of tissue, and he pulled harder while firing a series of point-blank bursts from the pulser. The cutlass continued to tear into the creature’s hind leg joint, searing the purplish muscle and tissue. As the Ursa screamed in a tone that spoke of its pain, Kincaid turned and ran with whatever strength he still possessed. He did not look back, nor did he drop the weapons, clutching them for reassurance. The Ursa tried to run after him but was badly hobbled.

  Kincaid kept running the way he had come, back past the trees and out onto the street. Looking left, he saw the street was clear, and then he looked right and spotted a Ranger speeder landing in the middle of the avenue.

  Eight Rangers, cutlasses at the ready, were leaping out of the vehicle as it still kicked up dust.

  “I wounded one of them in the park,” he said between gasps. They nodded in silent acknowledgment and rushed past him. Stretching out his artificial arm, he rested against the side of the speeder, sucking in warm air and trying to calm himself.

  He remained where he was for several minutes, his breathing and mind calming down in unison. At last, a female Ranger emerged from the park, spotted him, and flashed a thumbs-up.

  “We have it contained,” she said, smiling at him. “Lieutenant Divya Chandrark.”

  “Anderson Kincaid. Did you kill it?”

  “They’re working on it,” she admitted. “What happened?”

  Kincaid gave her a report as if she were McGirk and he were delivering a formal after-action statement. She nodded, eyes widening now and then.

  “You’re saying the thing looked right through you? And then lost track of you later? Ursa don’t do that. You do that to them. Sounds like you ghosted, just like the OG.”

  “OG?”

  “The Original Ghost. Cypher Raige. Made himself so disconnected from fear that the Ursa couldn’t find him. He was the first to take one out single-handedly.”

  He had, in fact, known that, but he had failed to apply the notion to himself because it had seemed so distant to him. He’d been so busy trying to stay alive that he simply hadn’t questioned how he was doing it.

  “Well, the OG still has one up on me. I just stuck it and ran.”

  “Still, you got close enough to do that.”

  He just nodded in amazement. Apparently the competition between families was still ongoing.

  After the debriefing with the Rangers, they went their way and he headed back to headquarters. Along the way, he ran into comrades who already had heard about his accomplishment. He swore gossip traveled by smart fabric.

  When he entered the locker room, Virginia stood by his locker, freshly showered and dressed in a clingy pale purple sundress.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” she replied, her tone neutral. He couldn’t read her expression and had no sense if they were lovers, partners, or even friends anymore.

  For a moment he paused and looked deep within. He’d been doing that all day, looking for answers, and this must have been his lucky day because the solutions were magically appearing.

  “I’ve been a jerk,” he said.

  At that, her eyes twinkled and she replied, “But you’re a talented jerk.”

  “You’ve made me so happy, but I only realized that when I thought I’d chucked it away to go die fighting the Ursa. I risked you, risked us, to possibly die.”

  “But you lived. Better than that, you ghosted. That is so freaking amazing.”

  She hurled herself at him, and he caught her in his arms, letting the enhanced arm help lift her high off the ground. They laughed together as he twirled her about.

  After he placed her back on the ground, they smiled at each other. “I need a shower,” he said. “Then we can go celebrate.”

  Slipping out of the dress, she said, “I’ll scrub your back.”

  Days later, there was a knock at his door, and Kincaid, recuperating from his injuries, answered it in his casual shirt, clutching a beer. Marquez, in a silk robe, lounged on the couch.

  Cypher Raige, in his snow-white uniform, stood in the doorway, and his eyes rose and fell, taking in the sight
. Kincaid nearly dropped the bottle as he snapped to attention.

  Raige stood patiently in the doorway until finally the younger man realized what was going on and stepped back, gesturing for the Prime Commander to enter. He stole a glance over his shoulder to see Marquez frozen in place, unable to dash out of sight.

  “Prime Commander Raige, may I introduce you to Virginia Marquez,” he said as formally as possible.

  She clutched her robe tightly closed as she rose with as much grace as was possible and stepped forward, shaking the man’s hand. “A pleasure,” was all she could muster. Raige merely nodded in her direction. She then demurely took up a position on a chair, still within earshot of the men. Raige seemed fine with that although Kincaid was certainly feeling awkward, as if he were violating some rule he had forgotten.

  “I hear you ghosted,” Raige said, his eyes now taking in the apartment, which Anderson was pleased to have kept neat. Not white glove neat, but good enough.

  “So I’m told.”

  “Nice work. Anderson … May I call you that?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Anderson, ghosting is a rare ability. We’ve counted only a few who have managed it. Three during the recent Ursa attack, yourself included. That’s pretty elite company to be in.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kincaid said, suddenly feeling years younger and burning once more with a desire to wear the uniform.

  “We owe you a debt. Your actions kept people safe and allowed the Rangers to perform their duty.”

  “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “Nova Prime City owes you a debt of thanks. We’d like you to join the Rangers.”

  At last, he thought.

  And then a moment later, he realized it was a fine offer but a late one. It was all he had wanted—all he had needed—for so long. But now he had what he needed: a home, a career, and someone to share his life with.

  Kincaid shut his mouth and took a deep breath.

  Raige remained ramrod straight, his face unreadable.

  “Your cousin Atlas asked me to preserve and protect this society when he left Nova Prime,” Cypher Raige said thoughtfully. “Of course, those rules were probably written before the Ursa even showed up here. Maybe even predating the Skrel. Things were very different back then.”

  “Yes, sir, they were.”

  “The rule, all the rules, I think, need a fresh review. Ones like this need to be looked at with our current society and its requirements.” Raige paused, letting the comments sink in.

  “Thank you, Prime Commander,” Anderson said slowly, fighting to find the right words and to meet the man’s piercing gaze. “But I respectfully decline the invitation. The rules remain the rules, and they forced me to give up a little boy’s dreams and find a man’s dream instead. I found it, forged a path for myself, and I am content.”

  Raige let that sink in and then looked directly at Marquez, who immediately blushed but was grinning with pride. He nodded once.

  “You’re standing on your own two feet, and your accomplishments certainly allow you to make your own choices for the future. It’s a shame the Rangers will lose a ghost, but it’s the Defense Corps’ gain. Maybe one day the Rangers can steal you back.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Kincaid said.

  He paused, looked past Kincaid’s shoulder at Marquez, and nodded her way in farewell. “Good luck, Anderson.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “A word of advice,” Cypher said. “The next time you answer the door, see who it is first so you’re both properly attired for the visit.”

  As Raige stepped out into the night, Kincaid looked down to see he was still standing at attention wearing just a shirt and boxer shorts.

  Marquez looked at him and smiled.

  “White would’ve looked good on you.”

  Jon doesn’t know where he is. All he knows is that he’s awake and that there’s a face looming over him. A familiar woman’s face.

  How long has it been there? He can’t say. Maybe a long time, maybe not.

  A name breaks the surface of his mind. “Doctor Gold,” he says, his voice sounding strange—thin and coarse—in his ears.

  Her expression changes, her mouth turning up at the corners and her cheeks bunching under pale green eyes. “Yes,” says Doctor Gold in a voice like music, “it’s me, all right. Do you remember your name?”

  “Blackburn. Jon Blackburn.”

  “Excellent. How do you feel, Jon?”

  It isn’t easy for him to comprehend the question, though it should be. It’s not a difficult question. It’s what people ask one another every day.

  “How do I feel?” he echoes.

  “Are you uncomfortable?”

  “My brain’s wrapped in cotton. Everything seems … I don’t know. Vague.”

  Doctor Gold tucks something behind an ear. “Good. That’s how you’re supposed to feel.”

  Supposed to …? Why? Jon hasn’t always felt this way, has he? “What’s happened?” he asks.

  “You’re in the North Side Medicenter,” says the doctor. “You had a procedure. Do you remember anything about it?”

  He doesn’t.

  “What kind of procedure? Was I injured?”

  “No.” Doctor Gold points to the holographic screen on Jon’s left, a black one with bright gold lines undulating across it. “We did some work on your amygdalae. You remember what those are?”

  Jon thinks for a moment. “Parts of the brain.”

  “That’s right. And why would we work on those parts?”

  Again Jon concentrates. But he can’t come up with anything. Just a flash of something big and pale moving across his field of vision.

  The doctor’s expression changes again. Her mouth returns to its original shape, and her eyebrows come together in a knot of flesh above the bridge of her nose.

  “It’s all right, Jon. We’ll talk about it later. For now, just get some rest.”

  Jon starts to protest, but Doctor Gold holds up a hand, her fingers long and slender.

  “No talking,” she insists. “Rest.”

  Then she does something at the side of Jon’s bed, and suddenly Jon’s very sleepy. He watches the doctor’s face shiver like a reflection in a wind-struck pool. Then he feels himself dropping into a deep, echoing darkness.

  The next time Jon wakes up, he knows where he is and has a better idea of why he’s there. Doctor Gold isn’t present at the moment. But there’s a nurse in the room, a big dark-haired man, walking over to take a look at him.

  “It’s all right,” Jon says. “I’m fine.”

  “Terrific,” says the nurse, though he looks concerned. “I’ll get your doctor.”

  “Go ahead,” Jon says.

  The nurse goes as far as the entrance to the room, stands half inside and half out, and calls to someone down the hall. A moment later, he comes back inside.

  “It’ll be just a minute,” he says.

  “All right,” says Jon.

  Funny. He doesn’t feel the vagueness anymore, but he still feels different. Lighter somehow, as if a burden had been lifted from him.

  Suddenly the nurse is back in the room. “Sorry. Turns out it’ll be more than a minute. Do you mind waiting?”

  Jon finds that he doesn’t mind at all.

  He leans back into the pillow and wonders how long it will be. Not that he cares. He just wonders.

  Despite what the nurse has said, it doesn’t take long for Doctor Gold to show up. She has long blond hair. She tucks some of it behind her ear as she sits down on the edge of his bed.

  “Feeling better?” she asks.

  This time he knows how to answer. “The cotton’s gone.”

  “That’s good. Do you remember anything more about your procedure?”

  “I remember that you operated on my amygdalae.”

  “Not me, actually. That was Doctor Nizamani. But yes … your amygdalae …”

  “The amygdalae control fear.” He recalls having heard someone
say so.

  “That’s true.”

  “You wanted me to be unafraid.” He recalls that, too.

  “You wanted it as well, Jon. That’s why you volunteered for the procedure.”

  “I … volunteered?”

  Doctor Gold tilts her head to one side. “Do you remember the Ursa, Jon?”

  He sees the flash of something big and pale again. As pale as a fish’s belly. “Yes. They kill people. They’re predators.”

  “They are. And we’ve been dealing with them for hundreds of years on and off. We get rid of them, and then a new wave appears, each one more difficult to exterminate than the last. Does this sound familiar?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. You also recall that the Ursa in this wave are better hunters than the ones we’ve dealt with in the past. That’s because they have an ability they never had before. They sense our fear.

  “Lately we’ve discovered that there are people who can elude the Ursa—people who don’t experience fear under certain circumstances. We call them Ghosts. Unfortunately, there are only a handful of them, and they can’t be everywhere—which is why there were hundreds of lethal Ursa attacks in the last year alone.”

  Was that a lot? Jon didn’t know.

  “Then we asked ourselves, ‘Why not explore the possibility of creating Ghosts?’ In other words, taking away the ability to experience fear. We experimented with a number of ways to do this, but none of them completely eradicated the fear response. That left us with just one approach: the one we pursued in your case.”

  “A procedure.”

  “Yes.”

  “On my amygdalae.”

  “It was Doctor Nizamani’s idea. He knew that the amygdalae process sensory information and react by instilling in the brain what we know as fear. And he’ll tell you that they do so for good reason. Without fear, our ancestors would never have been spurred to flee from saber-tooth tigers and other predators.