After Earth: A Perfect Beast

by Peter David Michael Jan Friedman Robert Greenberger

  Unfortunately, they had about reached the end of the roof, and there was no way they could leap over to the next one—not across the width of a whole street. All the Ursa had to do was leap up and take them. Frank couldn’t let that happen. But what could he do? He couldn’t scoop the kids up, and he couldn’t stop the creature with his fusion-burst fire.

  That left him one option.

  Banking again, he came around for another pass—just in time to see the Ursa do what he had feared it would do. With a push of its powerful back paws, it propelled itself onto the roof, the human corpse still in its mouth.

  The kids crowded the edge of the roof, screaming. But if they jumped, it would be to their deaths. In no hurry, the Ursa advanced on them.

  Frank knew what would happen to him if he carried out his plan. He did it anyway.

  As the Ursa gathered itself to do to the kids what it had done to its first victim, Frank aimed his flier at it. Then he plowed into it at full speed.

  The thing was heavier than it looked but not so heavy that the impact didn’t sweep it off the rooftop. Frank braced himself for the crash that he knew would follow as he and his flier hit the ground, a crash he couldn’t reasonably expect to survive.

  But as he fell along with the Ursa, the creature hugged the flier to its pale, sinuous breast. And as luck would have it, the Ursa took the brunt of the fall.

  Still, the collision with the ground nearly snapped Frank’s neck. Too dazed to move, he watched the Ursa shove the flier off it, get to its feet, and toss its head. Up close, it was even more alien, more terrifying. Frank tried to get out of the flier, but he couldn’t. Its cockpit hatch was jammed, no doubt a result of the fall.

  The Ursa tilted its eyeless head as it approached him and roared so loudly that he thought his eardrums would burst. Then it smashed the cockpit, driving shards of shattered plastishield into his face and arms and chest. Consumed by pain and barely able to move, Frank had no illusions about what the thing meant to do with him. Its maw opened, and it smelled worse than the worst rotting meat Frank had ever had the misfortune to smell.

  But he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Pulling out his pulser, he set it for maximum force and fired directly into the creature’s maw. But nothing happened. The weapon didn’t discharge.

  Frank looked at his pulser. Must have been damaged in the fall. It figured.

  Then the thing came at him a second time, and this attack was more successful. Before Frank knew it, the Ursa’s talons had ripped his chest open. He was spurting blood like a fountain.

  I’m done, he had time to think.

  His only consolation was the knowledge that he might have saved the kids from the same fate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Conner stood in Prime Commander Wilkins’s office. Commander Hāturi loomed over Wilkins’s desk, looking too big for it by half.

  His words fell like hammer blows: “I didn’t think it was fair for you to wait until Prime Commander Wilkins came back.”

  Conner nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Your father was a brave man, Conner. He didn’t go without a fight.”

  Dad …

  Conner nodded, feeling his eyes fill with tears. “Yes, sir.”

  “When we notified your aunt Theresa, she said she would hold a memorial service. Not just for your father but for your uncle and aunt as well.”

  Conner drew a ragged breath. His mom was strong. She had known there might be a day like this.

  Later, he would sit with her and they would grieve together. But for now, she would want him to help the colony. His dad would have done the same thing if their positions were reversed.

  “My place is with my squad,” he told Hāturi.

  The Commander’s brow knit. “Permission to remain with your squad is denied. We need you, but we need you with a clear head. Go home. Clear it. Then come back to us.”

  “Sir—”

  “That’s an order, Cadet.” Hāturi’s tone left no room for disagreement.

  “As you wish, sir,” said Conner.

  It was only when Cecilia drew close enough to the mining colony to see the razorbeaks pinwheeling in the air that she realized her most dire imaginings were far more than just worst-case fantasies.

  The razorbeaks were analogous to Earth birds called vultures. However, their skin was far more leathery, and their wings, more bat-shaped than birdlike, were about six feet long from tip to tip. On seeing them for the first time, Novans had named them for the obvious reason that their beaks were exceptionally sharp. They rarely attacked humans, or at least healthy humans. But when they did, they could be nasty, even dangerous.

  She spotted the first corpse, or at least what was left of the corpse, at the perimeter of the colony. A razorbeak was picking at it with the point of its beak. It noticed Cecilia coming its way but seemed indifferent to her.

  Cecilia felt her gorge rise as she saw it nibbling on its putrid treat. Forcing the nausea back down, she pulled out her pulser and fired. Her hand trembled, but it didn’t matter. If she hit the thing, fine. If she didn’t, the bursts would be enough to scare it away.

  At least that was her theory.

  The actual practice of it worked out a bit differently. Her blast kicked up dirt to one side of the razorbeak. The creature leaped upward with an alarmed squawk, its wings beating the air, and then it angled around and barreled straight at Cecilia, its beak aimed at her like a spear.

  She backpedaled, unleashing a silver-blue barrage. The razorbeak darted swiftly around it with ease. Aw, crap, Cecilia thought as she swung the pulser back and forth in a continuous arc.

  Her inability to keep her hand steady turned out to be her salvation. It added a randomness to her shots that the bird could not anticipate, the result being that it flew right into one of her pulse streams. It clipped the razorbeak on the right wing, and the creature spiraled out of control, then hit the ground not ten feet away from Cecilia.

  It skidded past her, and before it could leap to its clawed feet again, Cecilia opened fire at point-blank range. Even her trembling hand was up to the task of finishing off a downed razorbeak. A minute later it was nothing more than a twitching mass of flesh.

  She heard a distant caw in the sky and looked up. Three more razorbeaks were heading her way. Quickly Cecilia backed up, keeping the pulser leveled as best she could at the incoming creatures. The razorbeaks angled downward but displayed no interest in Cecilia whatsoever. Instead they landed atop the fallen razorbeak and started devouring it.

  Nice to know they don’t discriminate, she thought with grim amusement, and holstered her pulser.

  As she made her way into the mining colony, it occurred to her that the Ursa responsible for the carnage was still somewhere in the camp. If it came leaping out at her, she should have her weapon at the ready. But she decided to keep it holstered, confident in her ability to draw it quickly. After all, she’d been the fastest draw in the Corps. Her hand might tremble, but she hadn’t lost a second off her ability to pull a weapon and have it ready. If, however, an Ursa leaped out at her and startled her, she could very easily lose her hold on the gun if it was in her hand. Thus, holstered was preferable.

  The mining colony was deathly still. Nothing more than a collection of ramshackle shelters. Most significantly, there were spatters of blood everywhere. If there had been the slightest doubt in Cecilia’s mind that an Ursa had torn through there like a sandstorm of destruction, there was no longer any left. Bits of bone, muscle, and internal organs were on view everywhere. She forced herself to detach her mind from the devastation she was witness to. Give the devil its due: The creature’s thorough, she thought grimly. There was clearly nothing left alive in the whole—

  “Don’t move.”

  She started at the command but instantly regained her cool.

  “Turn around,” came the next order.

  She swallowed once and then spoke in what she hoped sounded like a conversational tone. “Can’t exactly do both
,” she said reasonably. “Want me not to move? Or should I turn around?”

  She heard a low and slightly confused exchange of hushed voices. More than one. Okay. Then one of her new friends said, “Just turn. And keep your hands where we can see them.”

  Cecilia obediently kept her hands raised as she turned to face the people standing behind her. There were three of them, three men dusty and scruffy from the road. And one of them was holding a knife within a couple of inches of her throat.

  She knew the type: vagrants, nomads who preferred to live outside the laws of Nova Prime. They had no interest in contributing to the commonwealth; instead, they kept on the move, grabbing what they could, thinking only of themselves.

  It was an attitude that disgusted her. Had they learned nothing from the lessons of the past? Didn’t they understand that humanity’s only hope of survival was pulling together, everyone striving toward the shared goal of keeping humankind alive? That every man for himself was an outdated mode of thinking?

  Obviously not.

  Their hair and beards were unkempt and caked with dirt. They looked as if they hadn’t showered in weeks, if ever. “Are you miners?” she said, already knowing the answer.

  “No,” said the tallest of them, who might well have been the leader, assuming creatures such as these had leaders. “No, we’re not from around here.” He chortled softly at that, and the others followed suit. Then, more seriously, he said, “We found the supplies here fair and square. So you keep your hands off ’em, understand?”

  Supplies. Of course. The miners would have had foodstuffs and such of their own. With the place devoid of life, that would have left it easy pickings. And apparently these three had decided to settle in.

  “I don’t care about your supplies,” she told them. “Keep them, enjoy them, choke on them. All the same to me. All I care about is the thing that did this,” and she tilted her head toward the remains of one of the miners. “You seen any sign of it?”

  “You mean an Ursa?” The leader wasn’t stupid, so that was something. He laughed nastily. So did the man with the knife, with a funny catch in his laugh that made Cecilia wonder if he was more than a little crazy.

  Great, she thought.

  “Don’t rightly think we’d still be alive if one of those things was wandering around,” said the leader.

  She hated to admit it, but what he was saying made sense. Rather than hanging around an area, it seemed more consistent with what they knew of the Ursa for the creature to destroy whatever it encountered and then keep going.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted. “The fact that you’re still alive is as convincing an argument as anyone’s going to find. So I’ll just keep going, then. Have fun … or whatever it is you do.”

  The leader’s eyes drifted down to the pulser on her hip. As far as Cecilia could tell, they weren’t packing anything like it. “Pretty nice gun you have there,” he said. “Mind if I take a look at it?”

  Right, because I’m sure you’ll hand it right back. “Rather not.”

  “I’d rather you did,” said the leader.

  The guy with the knife touched its point to her throat and pressed ever so gently.

  “Take it slowly out of the holster,” said the leader, “and toss it on the ground. Oh, and whatever else you got in that pack. We want that, too.”

  “That’ll leave me nothing,” said Cecilia. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

  “We’re the law around here, sweetheart,” said the leader. “We’re the ones who decide what’s fair and unfair. Now give it here. Now.” When she didn’t react immediately, he repeated—louder and more threateningly—“Now!”

  The knife point pressed harder into her skin, maybe hard enough to draw some blood.

  Without a word, Cecilia pulled the pulser from her holster. She didn’t have time to raise it and point it at the leader, so she did the next best thing. She shot downward at what she thought would be the vicinity of the knife wielder’s foot.

  Of course, if she missed, it would probably mean her life. But she had resolved to adopt a more positive attitude, hadn’t she?

  “Eyeaaghh!” cried the knife guy, hopping backward in pain.

  That gave her all the room she needed to take out the leader. As he flew backward, a bag of broken bones propelled by the force of her pulser burst, the third guy went for her throat. He was quicker than he looked—quick enough to get within a few inches of her before she caved his face in with her next shot.

  That left the knife wielder, who was still hopping on one foot, clutching at the one Cecilia had broken. As she watched, he fell down, raising a puff of dust around him. Then he lay there on the ground, his eyes wide, no doubt wondering how she planned to kill him.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said. “You’re going to stay there and not move a muscle. I’m going to go over to where the provisions are and take what I want. I will then leave a booby trap so that if you try to raid them, you’ll be blown to bits. I will also inform the Rangers of the situation out here so that they can give your poor-bastard friends a proper burial.

  “By that point, you will be long gone. If you have to crawl, crawl. That’s entirely up to you. Do we understand each other?”

  He managed a nod.

  “Then go.”

  He started crawling.

  Cecilia sat down and watched him, careful not to look at the two corpses she had made. She waited until he had crawled over a ridge and was out of sight.

  Then she went to her knees, leaned her head forward, and vomited violently. The contents of her stomach, as meager as they were, exited with velocity, and it took a few minutes to recover her composure. Finally she managed to do so, but her throat remained raw. She rubbed it delicately and then took a gulp of water to try to ease the pain. She was only partly successful, but partly was better than nothing at all.

  Cecilia staggered to her feet and then went to find the storage bins. When she found them, she stocked up on everything she could comfortably carry. She didn’t really have anything to rig a booby trap with, but she supposed that fear alone should be enough to keep raiders away from the rest of it. She also found a few other things in the stores of the miners that she felt could be of use and tucked them away carefully in her pack.

  Finally she put out a general call to the Rangers without identifying herself. She hadn’t hesitated to grab some of the stuff for herself, but she reasoned that the rest should go into the general stores to help everyone on Nova Prime.

  Just before she left, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the metal surface of one of the canisters. Her hair was disheveled; her eyes looked sunken, as if she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. Which was more or less accurate. Blood was spattered on her right cheek, and she hadn’t even realized it was there. She wiped it away as best she could, but there was still a faint red tint.

  She wondered whether when she came back from this trip, her family would even recognize her.

  Then she realized that her coming back from the trip was itself more of an if than a when but immediately dismissed that from her mind. Think positively, she reminded herself.

  Music came up, mournful and dignified. It was a signal that resounded throughout the Great Hall.

  Conner, who was sitting next to his mother, felt her slender hand slide into his. He grasped it, the same way she used to grasp his when he was little and needed comforting.

  Conner’s hand wasn’t as big as his father’s had been. But then, no one’s was—literally or figuratively. There had been only one Frank Raige. And he’s gone, like Uncle Torrance and Aunt Bonita and all the others.

  It was hard for Conner to comprehend, hard for him to wrap his mind around the concept. Gone. And they’ll never be back. And if we don’t figure out how to beat the Ursa, the rest of us will be gone, too.

  Hundreds of years earlier, the arks had settled on the red sand of Nova Prime, embracing a bright promise and a new world. Had the people who d
isembarked from the arks ever envisioned a time like this? Had they ever imagined that the human species, which had survived in space for a hundred years, would be erased from existence by a few dozen alien beasts?

  As Conner pondered the question, a robed figure came out onto the platform. It was wearing a brown robe, not the dark blue of the Primus. Aunt Theresa.

  Part of Conner was angry. The Primus had conducted so many memorial services. And after Conner’s father, his aunt, and his uncle had given their lives for the colony …

  But another part of him was glad it was Aunt Theresa who would be conducting the service. After all, she was family. Coming from her, the words that were spoken would mean something.

  Conner’s aunt looked out at what must have seemed like a sea of mourners. But she didn’t seem daunted by the sight. She seemed as comfortable as if she were standing in her own kitchen with a few good friends.

  She didn’t say or do anything right away. She just stood there and smiled. Then she raised her hands, the sleeves of her robe sliding back to reveal her arms almost to the elbows. Almost immediately, the talk in the hall hushed to a whisper and finally to nothing at all.

  Aunt Theresa put her arms down. “Today,” she said, her soft voice filling the hall, “I’m not just an augur leading a memorial service—I’m also the sister of the deceased. So when I say I know how you feel, I do. I know exactly how you feel.

  “I feel cheated of the years I wanted to share with my brothers and my sister-in-law. I feel lost without their wisdom to guide me. I feel empty, scoured out inside, as if my life will never be the same.”

  She drew a deep breath, let it out. “Though I’m supposed to give you solace and perspective and lend meaning to what happened, I find it hard to do so. For all my learning, all my faith, I’m not sure I can find solace and perspective even for myself. And meaning? Well, I’ll do my best.

  “Our brothers and sister have been taken by a higher power. I know that with the same certainty that I know the suns rise in the west. I know it as surely as I know the beating of my own heart.