After Earth: A Perfect Beast

by Peter David Michael Jan Friedman Robert Greenberger

  “But here’s the thing …”

  “There’s a thing?”

  “You’re not happy.”

  She actually seemed surprised to hear him say it. “You know?”

  “Sure I know. And I know why. It’s because I haven’t been willing to commit to you. And it’s crazy of me not to, because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “I’m really not.”

  “Yes, you are.” He slid the chair back, came around the table, and, to her confusion, dropped to one knee. He took her hand and, with as much reverence as he could muster, said, “I can’t afford a ring right now, but listen to me …”

  “Daniel …”

  “Ronna, for as long as I’ve—”

  “Daniel, I need you to leave.”

  He remained exactly where he was, his brain trying to wrap itself around what she had just said. He didn’t let go of her hand initially. “You mean … you need me to go out and pick up something for you? Because if that’s it then, sweetie, you know … not the best time because I was kind of in the middle of something here. So if you could just wait—”

  “This can’t wait, and I know what you’re in the middle of. And yes, you’re right, I’ve been unhappy, but it’s not why you think.” She’d tried to pull her hand away moments earlier but hadn’t managed it. This time she did so with much greater force and freed her hand. He didn’t lower his; instead it just remained there in the air, as if he was trying to grasp something that wasn’t there.

  “Daniel, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and we need to stop seeing each other.”

  He still hadn’t fully processed it. “For how long?”

  “For good. I need you to move out.”

  “But why? I mean, I knew you were distant … I knew you were unhappy … but I figured you were waiting for me to propose or something!”

  “If that’s what I was waiting for, I would have been dropping hints. I haven’t been doing that.”

  “Okay, but … you haven’t been dropping hints about anything. How was I supposed to know—?”

  “You weren’t. It’s not you, Daniel. I swear it’s not you. It’s me.”

  “I’m not stupid, Ronna. Saying it’s you is really code for saying it’s me.”

  “Daniel, listen: You’re nice. You’re sweet …”

  “Both good reasons to dump me.”

  “… but you have no direction! I mean, God, you can’t even stick with a hobby!”

  He was about to protest that characterization, but in looking around the apartment, he realized he couldn’t. There was the half-finished sculpture of Ronna, thick with dust, from the time he was going to be an artist. Also dusty was the violin in the corner, a reminder of his broken resolve to become a musician. These and a dozen or so other unfinished, abortive projects that he’d never seen to fruition.

  He gestured helplessly. “To hell with the hobbies. I want to stick with you!”

  “So that I can keep enabling you! So I can keep making you feel better about going nowhere. You keep telling me how your parents said that you had no direction, no plan for your life.”

  “Right! And you said they were being needlessly cruel.”

  “No. They were trying to help. I see that now.”

  “Ronna,” he said in frustration, “I can change—”

  “Don’t start, Daniel, because we both know you can’t. Or won’t. We’ve had variations of this conversation at least three times in the past year alone, and you nod and smile and say you’ll change, and you never do. And you’ve managed to convince me that you never can.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is there someone else? Are you dumping me for someone else?”

  “No. But what I’m convinced of, Daniel, is that there’s someone else out there for me that I won’t have to push into making something of himself, because he’ll have the drive to do it on his own.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re always going to mean a great deal to me, Daniel, but I can’t be your support system anymore. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me. You can send for your stuff once you’ve settled wherever you’re going to be, but I need you to leave. Now.”

  His mouth moved and finally words managed to catch up. Barely above a whisper, he said, “I … I can’t believe you hate me this much …”

  “I don’t hate you, Daniel,” she said with a sigh. “I just feel sorry for you. Is that how you want to live? With someone who feels sorry for you?”

  If it means not losing you? Yes. A million times yes.

  But he didn’t say that. Instead all he said was, “I have nowhere to go.”

  “I honestly hope, Daniel, that you find a path because … as much as I hate saying it … you’ve been going nowhere for a long time.”

  Long after he walked out into the darkness of the streets of Nova Prime, those words were still ringing in his ears.

  III

  Sigmund Ryerson was seated in his office behind his expansive desk, studying requests for funding that had come through the Savant in the Science Guild. He liked science. He liked the discovery of things, and to see what humankind was capable of accomplishing if only given the opportunity to do so.

  Then came a gentle knock upon his office door. He did not respond with words, but simply looked up curiously. His gray, owl-like eyebrows knit as he gazed at his assistant, Myers, with an unspoken question upon his face.

  “A Daniel Silver to see you, sir.”

  Ryerson frowned even more deeply and ran his hand along his smooth pate. “That name sounds familiar …”

  “Your expedition, sir.”

  “Oh, of course.” Ryerson snapped his fingers with impatience. “I swear, I’m going senile, Myers. Send him in, by all means.”

  At which time the most bedraggled, devastated-looking individual Ryerson had ever had the misfortune to see walked through the door. He looked like he’d gone three rounds with death and come up the loser, but was too blind to realize it.

  “Let me guess,” said Ryerson before Daniel could even get a word out. “Your girl dumped you?”

  Daniel blinked in clear shock. “How did you—?”

  “Know?” Ryerson chuckled, a deep, throaty laugh. “Son, when you’ve been around as long as I have, there’s not much you don’t know. Every expression, happy or sad, exultant or devastated, that I’ve ever seen in my life has—at some point—been on my face as well. That’s what you get for living longer than most of your peers. And the she-broke-my-heart look is one I know all too well. Back when I was a young man, Lord knows I saw that expression enough in the mirror. Trust me, when you get older, your priorities change. Sit down, sit down. Make yourself at home.”

  Daniel slumped into the chair that had been indicated.

  “I’m not going to insult your intelligence, son,” Ryerson went on, “and tell you that there’ll be another girl along, one who will appreciate you in a way that this other girl never did.”

  “I don’t blame her for not appreciating me,” said Daniel in a hollow voice that would have been the envy of a spirit emerging from the grave. “I’m not worth appreciating.”

  Ryerson shook his head and laughed once more. “Boy, she did a serious number on your head. And—correct me if I’m wrong—but I’m guessing that you’ve come to me because you want to do something about shaking that number out, am I right? Namely, coming along on my little trip.”

  “How many on this excursion, anyway?”

  “Seven men lined up. Some of the best sharpshooters on Nova Prime. And me makes eight. Now, I’ve heard great things about you, Silver. That you are a superb marksman, which naturally is of vast importance. Also an excellent athlete. And, most important, a superb tracker. Ursa have such fantastic powers of camouflage that we need someone along who can tell when we’re deep in their territory. From all accounts provided me by various men whose word I trust—men who have hired you for their own
hunting expeditions—that would be you.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve never been on an Ursa-hunting expedition. Whatever else you may have hunted, I can assure you that Ursa are something else entirely.”

  “I’m something else entirely, too, Silver,” he said with a broad smile. “My preparations will be completely thorough. I’ve spared no expense. I’m told you have rugged determination, abundant confidence, and a devil-may-care attitude. That’s exactly the type of man I’m looking for. And if you were to come along, be our guide, that would make it a nice even eight in the party.”

  “Eight’s my favorite even number, sir.”

  “I think you’ll find my payment quite generous.”

  “I don’t give a damn about your payment, sir. When are we doing this?”

  “My little party is set to head out two days from now.”

  “Then just let me stay here for two days and we’ll call it even.”

  “You, sir”—Ryerson stood up and extended a hand—“have yourself a deal.”

  Daniel shook it. It was thick and sandpapery, the hand of a man who was not the least bit daunted by heavy labor. For some reason, Daniel took comfort in that. The expedition being proposed was hardly one to be undertaken by a man who had lived a soft life.

  “And as for your girl,” said Ryerson, “here’s my best advice: Don’t worry about her. Women are like buses: There’s always a new one coming along.”

  “That’s comforting to know, sir.” Then he hesitated and said, “What’s a ‘bus’?”

  “Some old Earth thing. How about a drink?”

  “That would be excellent.”

  They drank some of the best alcohol that Daniel had ever tasted. Ryerson’s private stock, or so he was told. Feeling the hot liquid burning down his throat, Daniel tried to convince himself that everything was going to be all right. That Ryerson would be correct and a new girl, a better girl, would come along. One who wouldn’t shred every bit of his self-confidence as if it were Ursa chow.

  And when he finally had had enough to drink and was led to the bedchamber where he would be staying, he collapsed into the bed and resolved to dream about Ronna. Because if he couldn’t have her, at least he could dream of her as he had so many times before, even when she was lying right next to him.

  There were no dreams of her that night, though, and it was only upon waking in the morning that Daniel realized that she was really, truly, and completely gone.

  IV

  The Tangredi Jungle was situated on the other side of the planet from Nova Prime City, although high-speed transport made it fairly easy to get to. Normally it was a popular place with hikers and campers, but there had been recent reports of killings that could only be attributed to Ursa. Bodies ripped apart, or devoured with just bits of bone and flesh left to indicate that they had ever been there at all. Consequently, the Rangers had declared the area completely off limits to citizens of Nova Prime. It was an edict that made perfect sense; no reasonable individual would even think of disobeying it. The Rangers patrolled the area with some regularity, so you would have thought that any sort of hunting party through the Tangredi was an act of insanity. If the Ursa didn’t get you, the Rangers bloody well would.

  This was a prospect that didn’t deter Ryerson in the least.

  Daniel wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. What possible reason could there be for a man as high up on the food chain as Ryerson to risk being arrested, not to mention perhaps slain by an Ursa? It just didn’t make any sense to Daniel.

  None of which changed the fact that he was busy crawling around on the ground, looking for some sign that an Ursa had been through the area recently; perhaps hours earlier.

  Ryerson was leaning over Daniel’s shoulder, watching him with intense curiosity. Daniel was clad in an up-to-date camouflage outfit, as were all of them. It seemed only fair, after all. The Ursa were fully capable of blending in seamlessly with their backgrounds, so why shouldn’t human pursuers have that same advantage?

  Ryerson’s hired hunters were spread out through the jungle, but they were not so unwise as to be in a position where the Ursa could pick them off one by one. Instead they were moving in groups of two, covering each other’s backs. To counteract the reputed camouflage abilities of the Ursa, each of their pulser rifles—nothing less would do the job—was equipped with a thermal sighting device. This should give the group a drop on any overconfident Ursa operating on the mistaken assumption that their camouflage would protect them.

  “You closing in on one of the bastards, Silver?”

  “I’m seeing definite signs, sir. Like right here.” He tapped a small pile of dirt in front of him.

  Ryerson looked puzzled. “Like what there?”

  “Ursa bury their feces. Makes them tougher to track, or presumably they think so. The result is little dirt mounds that look just like this. Also I’ve seen traces of what looks like the talons of an Ursa in the dirt. I could be wrong. It could be some other predator, one considerably less dangerous.”

  “But you don’t believe that to be the case.”

  “No, sir, I do not,” he said firmly.

  “Good lad. Looks like I made the right choice,” Ryerson said with a degree of self-satisfaction. “You certainly know a great deal about them.”

  “I read a lot,” he said, his voice flat. He paused and then said, “Mr. Ryerson, what are we doing out here? I mean, really? Are you—?”

  “Am I what?” When Daniel didn’t respond immediately, Ryerson cracked a smile. “Did I just get a diagnosis from my doctor that my time’s up? Or am I terminally suicidal and depressed? Something like that?”

  “Something like, yeah.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, son.” Ryerson thumped his chest. “But I’m in the pink of health. Nothing wrong, at least that I know of.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because it’s the next thing.”

  “The next—?”

  “The next thing I want to do. The next challenge that I could find. That’s how you get somewhere, son: by seeing what remains to be done and then doing it. I want to be the oldest non-Ranger who has ever managed to kill an Ursa. If you ask me—which admittedly no one did, but that’s never stopped me before—the Rangers are a bunch of arrogant, overconfident smug fools. Telling people where they can and can’t go. Acting as if they are our only hope against the Ursa. I believe in self-reliance, Silver. Never a big fan of having someone else doing things on my behalf when I never asked them to, and then acting as if I owe them all some huge debt of gratitude. To hell with the Rangers. If you want a dead Ursa, then do it yourself. That’s what I say.”

  “Well, I’ll certainly do my best to help you achieve your goal.”

  “And what about you?”

  Daniel was continuing to study the ground and was only listening with half an ear. “What about me what?”

  “Feeling better about the girl trying to push you out of her life?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  “No, you don’t understand.” He turned to look at Ryerson. “I don’t care about anything. I’m nothing without her. Hell, I was nothing with her.”

  “Come on, Silver!” He chucked him on the shoulder. “Nothing good ever came from feeling sorry for yourself!”

  I don’t feel sorry for myself. I don’t feel anything. That’s the point.

  “You’re right, sir,” he said, trying his best to inject some degree of emotion into his voice. “I’ll try to remember th—”

  That was when the deafening roar of the Ursa sounded through the clearing.

  Ryerson jumped, startled. Daniel remained utterly calm, not providing any sort of visible reaction. To him, there was no reason for there to be any reaction. He had expected this the entire time. When you were leading people into the belly of the beast, there was no reason to be startled when the beast made its presence known. Indeed, he found Ryerson’s shock and alarm to be mildly entertaining. What did y
ou expect, old man?

  It was impossible to tell from which direction the animal’s defiant roar had originated as it echoed through the clearing. It seemed to be coming from all sides at once. Quickly Ryerson activated the wrist communications unit that would keep him in touch with his hunters. “Nickerson! Philips! Chang! Anyone! Report!”

  The response was a babble of shouts, one overlapping the next.

  “No sighting yet, but the foliage is rustling—”

  “There’s definitely one of them out here—”

  “Could be two or three!”

  “Something’s moving!”

  “I don’t see any—oh my God!”

  Shots fired. A truncated scream.

  “This is Vale! Creighton’s down! I saw it tear his head off!”

  “Maintain position, Vale, we’re coming!”

  “Screw that! I’m out of—!”

  The second, higher-pitched scream, Vale’s, wasn’t preceded by any pulser blasts at all. He hadn’t managed to get off any shots. He’d only had time to die.

  It was complete chaos. Ryerson was spinning like a top, hearing death and destruction all around him, not knowing in which direction to look. Another roar, two more screams. Marsh and Inigo, by the sounds of it. Ryerson had hired some of the best hunters on Nova Prime, and the Ursa—for what else could it be?—was picking them off effortlessly.

  “What the hell is this thing?”

  “I am not dying out here!” came a terrified declaration from Chang, right before he was proven wrong. He managed to get off three shots, a personal best for the group, before his death scream erupted over the comm unit.

  Ryerson was encountering a severe depletion of nerve. His face was the color of curdled milk, his eyes wide with horror. He fired several random shots around him into the jungle. The only result that came over the comm unit was a startled yelp from what sounded like Nickerson, yelling, “I’m shot! What idiot shot me?” right before the roar of the Ursa sounded and Nickerson shrieked like a baby demanding to be fed. Then Nickerson’s comm unit went dead, along with Nickerson himself.