After Earth: A Perfect Beast

by Peter David Michael Jan Friedman Robert Greenberger

  They had yelled like everyone else, distracting the Ursa, because that was what Wilkins’s squad had failed to do. The Prime Commander had been so focused on taking advantage of the creature’s olfactory blind spot that she had forgotten that it had other senses.

  A sense of hearing, for instance. The kind that would allow it to detect someone sneaking up on it from behind even if it couldn’t smell that someone. The kind that had discerned Norman’s approach while her squad mates watched silently, holding their collective breath.

  But if an Ursa’s sense of hearing was confused as well, Conner’s plan could work. And it had. And because of that, the cadets had won. They had eliminated one of the monsters that had been slaughtering their people and, more important, confirmed that there was a way to eliminate others.

  But, Conner asked himself as he gazed at McKinnon and Bashar and would continue to ask in the days that followed, at what price?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The first place Conner headed for after he turned over the Ursa’s corpse to a real Ranger squad was Tariq Lennon’s office in the command center.

  It was bad enough that he had defied Lennon’s decision. He wasn’t going to add insult to injury by making the man come looking for him. He was going to give himself up.

  When Conner had taken out his squad of cadets against the Ursa, he hadn’t harbored any illusions. He had fully expected that he would pay for his transgression eventually and that those who had followed him into battle would do the same.

  In his mind, it had been a done deal. No getting off the hook, no way out, regardless of the results.

  So here I am, he thought.

  There was a cadet sitting at Lennon’s desk, his back to Conner, peering at the commander’s monitor. A cadet, Conner thought. Not even one of the more experienced cadets but a guy so new that Conner didn’t recognize him.

  “Be with you in a second, sir,” said the cadet, his voice high and frazzled, so intent on the monitor that he held a hand up instead of turning around.

  Conner stood there for a few seconds before the guy put his hand down and turned to face him.

  “What can I do for you, s—?” he started to say. Then he seemed to realize that Conner was a cadet just as he was, because he simply repeated, “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for Commander Lennon,” said Conner.

  “He’s not here right now,” the cadet said. “Sorry.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “He wasn’t very clear about that.” The cadet made a face that suggested discomfort. “To be perfectly honest, I haven’t heard from him in several hours.”

  So there was no guarantee he’d be back at all, Conner thought grimly.

  “I know,” the cadet said, wiping perspiration from his forehead, “it’s crazy. A guy who signed up a few days ago running Commander Lennon’s office. If someone had told me last Sunday that I’d be sitting here in this chair, dispatching emergency response teams …”

  “Well,” Conner said, “if you do hear from the commander, let him know that Conner Raige is back. And so is my squad.”

  The cadet looked puzzled. “Your squad?”

  “I know,” said Conner, “crazy.” And he turned to leave.

  “Wait,” the cadet said. “Did you say your name was Raige …?”

  Normally, Conner would have stayed and endured the expressions of admiration for his family, admiration that he himself hadn’t earned. But at the moment he was too tired to be polite.

  So all he said was, “Thanks, Cadet. I’ll be in the barracks.”

  He could have gone to see Hāturi in Wilkins’s office—or rather what had been Wilkins’s office—but Hāturi had to be busy with more important matters. If he wanted to punish Conner and the others, he could do so any time he wanted.

  As Conner emerged from the command center, Lucas and the others were waiting for him. “What happened?” Lucas asked.

  “Nothing,” Conner said. “Nothing at all. Lennon’s in the field, so there’s no one to take us to task for what we did.”

  “So … that’s it?” Blodge asked, looking as drained as Conner had ever seen him. “We get away scot-free?”

  “At least for now,” Conner said, pulling off his headgear and running his fingers through his thick, sweaty thatch of hair.

  None of them seemed unhappy about the outcome, temporary though it might be. But then, they had plenty to be unhappy about already. They had lost two of their fellow cadets, after all.

  Objectively speaking, their mission had been a success. But if this was success, Conner didn’t know how much more of it he could take.

  Marta moaned softly when she saw the Primus himself approaching her. This had Theresa’s fingerprints all over it. “What?” she said curtly.

  The Primus didn’t seem the slightest bit put out by her attitude. “I’m told you have a great deal on your mind.”

  “I’ve been listening to the news.”

  He gestured around them. “This is a place of peace. There are no intrusions from outside. No screens. There is no news here to interfere with your contemplation …”

  Marta shook her head. “If that’s what you think, Primus, then you don’t know people very well. There’s more to news than what shows up on screens or wends its way through the ether. There’s what people say as they come in and out of this place. They keep talking about Gash. That’s all anyone talks about.”

  “Gash—?” The Primus shook his head in confusion.

  “Gash.” Marta did nothing to mask her annoyance, as if she could not believe that the Primus could possibly be this clueless. “Gash, the biggest, most dangerous Ursa of all. The body count that one Ursa alone is racking up is beyond anything we could possibly have been ready for.”

  “And people speak of this?”

  “Hell, your own people speak of this. Your augurs speak to one another in hushed whispers so as not to catch your ear or disturb worshippers. Don’t you know the hearts of your own people, Primus?”

  The Primus sidestepped the question. Instead he said, “I know your heart, Ranger. I know there is a darkness in it that goes beyond grief. It partakes also of … guilt. You believe there is something you could have done to keep your friend Torrance Raige alive.”

  Marta winced. “And you’re going to tell me that’s not so, are you? You’re going to tell me I’m free of blame even though you were sitting here in your blessed Citadel at the time, not within ten kilometers of us?”

  The woman’s tone was insulting, calculatedly so. And the Primus had borne enough insults for one day from Augur Winton.

  He had been named Primus for his depth of spirit, for the generosity of his soul. But he wasn’t feeling especially generous at the moment. In fact, he was feeling downright cruel.

  “Me?” he said in answer to the Ranger’s question. “I would presume to do no such thing. As you say, you were there and I was not.”

  He left Marta Lemov sitting there, wallowing in her guilt—and incapable of doing anything about it.

  Conner was sleeping, grabbing as much rest as he could before his next assignment—whatever it was—when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he found Commander Hāturi looking down at him.

  “We need to talk,” Hāturi said.

  That’s it. I’m going to be court-martialed. Conner was ready to pay that price.

  Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he pulled on a clean uniform and followed Hāturi into the command center. When they got to Wilkins’s office, the commander closed the door.

  “At ease,” he said.

  Conner was grateful. It was hard standing at attention when his muscles were so sore. “Permission to speak, sir?”

  “Go ahead,” said Hāturi.

  “What I did,” Conner said, “I did on my own. The others … they shouldn’t be held accountable. I convinced them to come along.”

  “So the responsibility is all yours.”

  “Yes, sir. All mine.”


  Hāturi harrumphed. “Exactly what I thought you’d say. Which is why I woke you in the middle of the night. You see, I need help, and you’re the one who can give it to me.”

  Conner didn’t understand. “Help, sir?”

  The commander nodded. “I’m no Prime Commander, Cadet Raige. Never was, never will be. I’m great at putting out fires, getting things done here and there. But I’d be lying if I said I was cut out to be the brains behind the operation.”

  Conner had always imagined otherwise. Who was more efficient than Elias Hāturi? He’d been Wilkins’s right-hand man.

  “I mean, I could take over for the Prime Commander. I could. And if we weren’t in such a bind, I guess I would. But even then I’d be exposed as someone who’s better at taking orders than giving them, at least at this level.

  “But you … you’re the real deal. A leader if ever I saw one, maybe even better than your dad. You should be the Prime Commander, no doubt about it.”

  Conner wondered if he was dreaming. “Me, sir?”

  “You.”

  “The Prime Commander?”

  “That’s right. In fact, I’ve got half a mind to recommend it. On the other hand, you’re only … what? Eighteen? People wouldn’t see in you what I see. All they’d think about is your age, and then they’d tell me I was crazy.”

  I might be one of them, Conner reflected.

  “So here’s what I’m going to do,” Hāturi said. He leaned forward. “I’m going to take the job of Prime Commander. Officially, that is. But I’m going to lean on you, if you know what I mean. I’m going to lean as hard as I can. That all right as far as you’re concerned?”

  “It’s fine,” Conner told him.

  “I had a feeling you’d say that. But before you answer, I want you to know what I mean by lean. I’m not talking about a little counseling. I’m talking about you taking charge in every way that matters—including dealing with the Primus and the Savant. You still want to say it’s fine?”

  Conner took a deep breath. It was insane for Hāturi to place such a huge responsibility on him. No question. But at the same time, he knew he could do it.

  He had felt what it was like to lead. He had been successful. And he knew somehow that he could be successful at what Hāturi was asking as well.

  Conner nodded. “I’m your man, sir.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Conner sat forward in Prime Commander Wilkins’s chair, his elbows planted firmly on the desk in front of him. No, he thought; too eager. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. No, too complacent.

  Somewhere in between, then, he thought. He tried to achieve such a position, but it felt awkward. Then again, any position was going to feel awkward to him.

  He wasn’t used to even attending meetings with people outside the ranks of the Rangers, much less conducting such meetings. And it wasn’t just any two people he had asked to join him in the Prime Commander’s office.

  It was the two most important people in the colony.

  As he thought that, Blodge opened the door and walked in. “They’re here,” he said.

  Conner nodded. “See them in.”

  Blodge smiled and said, “Good luck.” Then he went back outside.

  A moment later, Conner’s guests arrived. They walked in one right after the other, first the Savant and then the Primus. The Savant finished a remark to the Primus that he evidently had begun outside.

  Conner had seen the two of them many times, especially the Primus. But he had never spoken to them in person.

  Until now.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said.

  They looked past him. Clearly, they had been expecting to see Hāturi. “Where is the Prime Commander?” the Primus asked.

  Up close he looked heavier than he did from a distance, thicker around the middle, though his robe did a decent job of concealing it. And his skin, pale for the most part, was a blotchy red in places, something else Conner hadn’t noticed before.

  “The Prime Commander has work to do,” Conner said in as even a tone as he could manage.

  Flint scowled. “No more than I do. Is he on his way?”

  “No,” Conner answered. “I’m here instead.”

  The Primus smiled. “Very amusing, my child. But we’re busy people, as you can imagine. Is the Prime Commander coming or is he not?”

  “He didn’t ask you to come,” said Conner. “I did.”

  “The message was from the Prime Commander’s office,” the Savant insisted.

  “I know,” Conner said. “I sent it.”

  The Primus’s expression stiffened. “I didn’t come here to meet with a cadet.”

  “Nor did I,” said the Savant Flint.

  “I don’t know about you,” the Primus said to Flint, “but I’m leaving.” He eyed Conner. “If the Prime Commander wants to see me—at my convenience—he can make an appointment with my clerk.”

  The Savant looked ready to go as well.

  Conner saw his initiative falling apart before his eyes. Without the support of the Primus and the Savant, he wouldn’t be able to accomplish a thing.

  He got to his feet. “If you’re smart,” he said, “you’ll sit down.”

  Both the Primus and the Savant looked shocked, but only for a moment. Then the Savant said in a voice as cold as ice, “To whom do you think you’re speaking?”

  Conner didn’t flinch under the Savant’s scrutiny. “I thought I was speaking with two of the people entrusted with looking out for this colony, people capable of putting their egos aside for the good of Nova Prime.”

  He expected the Savant’s jaw to drop. It didn’t. “Those are big words,” he said. Then something changed in his expression. “Raige, isn’t it?”

  He nodded, grateful that the Savant, at least, had recognized him. “Conner Raige.”

  The Primus’s eyes narrowed. Apparently, he knew the name as well, if not the face. But if his continued scrutiny was any indication, he was starting to pick up on the family resemblance.

  The Savant chuckled. “Only a Raige would have the nerve to sit in the Prime Commander’s chair before he even became a full-fledged Ranger.”

  “Things have changed,” Conner told him. “They’ve had to. Prime Commander Wilkins is dead. So are more than seventy percent of the Rangers.”

  “So you’ve staged a coup,” said the Primus, making no effort to hide his disdain.

  “Not at all,” Conner said. “I haven’t displaced anyone. I’ve got the support of all our highest-ranking officers, Commander Hāturi among them.”

  “Which doesn’t make it any less of a coup,” the Primus insisted.

  “Look,” Conner said, “we can argue legalities here or we can put our energies into something constructive.”

  “I’m not engaging in ‘something constructive’ with a child,” said the Primus.

  “Do you want to survive the Ursa?” Conner asked him. “Because the only way you’re going to do that is if we work together.”

  “The Ursa,” said the Primus, lifting his chin as if addressing his congregation, “are a sign of something greater than humanity in the universe, something granted superior power by the One who is most powerful. The majority of my fellow colonists seemed to believe that we would remain preeminent forever. But those of us who have taken the time to think about such things have always known that we would eventually encounter a species we couldn’t master, a species we couldn’t control—and now we have. It’s prideful to think that the outcome of this encounter is in our hands. If we on Nova Prime are meant to survive, we will do so. If not …” He shrugged.

  Conner turned to the Savant. “Do you feel the same way?” he asked, rooting desperately for the answer to be “no.”

  “In terms of the wisdom of following an eighteen-year-old?” said the Savant. “Absolutely—no matter what he’s accomplished.” He glanced at the Primus. “But not in terms of our survival. As the Primus knows, I believe that our fate is
squarely in our hands.”

  The Primus harrumphed. “Of course you do.”

  Conner was glad that the Primus had said what he’d said. The more he pushed the Savant away, the easier it would be for Conner to win him over.

  Besides, the Savant was devoted to logic—he had to be—and so was Conner. His initiative was based on a scientific approach: observation and the testing of hypotheses. The Primus, in contrast, saw only what his faith allowed him to see. And the more pronounced his resignation to the colony’s fate was, the more eager the Savant would be to find an alternative.

  At least, that was Conner’s hope.

  The Savant eyed him. “Talk. I’m listening.”

  Inwardly, Conner was pumping his fist in celebration. Outwardly, he remained cool, like a veteran of such meetings instead of a neophyte.

  “One thing we need to discuss,” he said, “is the deployment of Rangers around the colony. There just aren’t enough of us to go around anymore. We’re stretched too thin.”

  “What do you suggest?” the Primus asked. “That I have my augurs pick up fusion-burst rifles and start hunting Ursa?”

  Conner didn’t take the bait. “What I’m suggesting is that your people—and the Savant’s—help with the non-combat tasks normally assigned to the Rangers. For instance, evacuating the population where there are Ursa sightings. Or distributing food and medical supplies wherever they’re needed.”

  “My augurs are helping the people already,” the Primus said. “They’re giving comfort and solace to the fearful and the bereaved.”

  “That’s great,” said Conner. “Then they won’t mind giving out supplies as well.”

  The Primus’s eyebrows jumped in indignation. “I’ll be the arbiter of what they mind and what they don’t mind.”

  The Savant, by contrast, didn’t seem perturbed at all. “I’ll dispatch everyone I can spare.”

  “And I’ll give you all the information you need in order to do that,” Conner said. “Speaking of information, you’ve been dissecting the Ursa we killed. Is there anything you can tell us that we don’t already know?”