by Peter David
“Dad?” he said. “Do you copy? Over.”
Still no response. Kitai came to a stop.
“Dad, do you read me? Over.”
Nothing but the sighing of the wind.
“Dad, do you copy? Are you there?” Kitai asked, panic setting in. After all, Cypher had been in bad shape. What if one of his organs had given out?
Damn, Kitai thought, and ran back toward the ship. He hoped desperately that his father was still alive when he got there.
“Dad,” he said, “I’m coming back!”
“No need,” came the almost casual response through Kitai’s naviband. “You just go ahead.”
Kitai stopped in his tracks. “Huh?” He didn’t get it.
“Seems to me that you’re in charge of this mission. And in my limited military experience, when two people are in command, everybody dies. So I will defer to your leadership, cadet.”
“Dad,” said Kitai, “I was just saying—”
“What is my name?” Cypher barked unexpectedly over the comm link.
Kitai was confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“What is my name?” Cypher demanded.
Kitai swallowed. “General Cypher Raige.”
“And who am I?”
“Prime Commander of the United Ranger Corps.”
“You’re goddamned right! And from this second forward, you will refer to me as sir, Commander, or General! You will follow my every command without question or hesitation. Am I crystal clear, cadet?”
Kitai’s head was spinning. His father had never been this angry with him before. Without thinking about it, he came to attention.
“Sir, yes, sir!” he snapped.
A moment of silence—but only a moment. Then Cypher said, “Now at H plus 180 I need you at that forest. Set your chronometer.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Kitai responded.
He could hear his father speaking in the cockpit—but not to him. Evidently, he was speaking to the cockpit recorder.
“General Cypher Raige. Beginning probe search to confirm Ursa is not released.”
Kitai waited.
“You may proceed,” the general said.
Kitai set his chronometer and began to walk with no idea of what dangers—if any—lay ahead.
vii
Cypher was pleased with the way his son had responded. He had commanded many men in combat, and he knew that they needed different things from their superiors at different times. Just then, Kitai needed a firm hand, and Cypher gave it to him.
But he couldn’t just send his son off across unknown territory. He had to give the kid some help. With that thought in mind, he deployed a probe-cluster projectile.
If he had been outside the ship, he would have seen it shoot straight up, out of the ravine and into the sky. He would have seen it rise higher and higher, as it was rising on his monitor, and then—once it reached the requisite altitude—explode. But not in a self-destructive explosion. It would be an explosion that produced dozens of separate probes and sent them flying vast distances from one another.
As they vectored back toward Earth, Cypher’s monitors filled to the brim with the images the probes sent back to him. And it wasn’t just images they transmitted. It was telemetry as well, including information on the curvature of Earth, topographical details, and so on.
One probe was lost in an ionic cloud, which appeared as a floating mass of white noise. Another slammed into an ocean, sending back data on undersea life. Yet another burrowed into the earth, revealing soil, weather, and erosion data. A fourth crashed in a copse of trees and went to black, and a fifth floated over packs of animals, thousands of them.
Cypher flipped through the images the probes sent back to him. And the more he did so, the more he came to appreciate the tremendous variety of life on Earth.
All of it deadly.
Periodically, he switched to the image that showed his son’s progress from Kitai’s point of view. As time wore on, Kitai reached a series of pastures that seemed to go on forever. Then he followed a ridge that looked down into a lush valley with a profusion of leafy green plants and wildflowers. Mentally, he began composing a report on the planet for the Primus and the Savant, evaluating its condition and making recommendations for the future. After all, if he got here, so could others. And they needed to be prepared.
Cypher studied the numbers floating over the pilot’s control board. “I estimate H-plus-four days to reach the tail,” he told Kitai. “Use your naviband. Stay on azimuth. The temperatures on this planet fluctuate dramatically daily, and most of the planet freezes over at night.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” came the response.
Cypher manipulated the hologram of the terrain in his son’s vicinity. There were areas demarcated by deep red lines. He understood what they meant. “There are hot spots,” he informed Kitai. “Geothermal nodes between here and the tail that will keep you warm during the freeze-over. You must reach one of these nodes each evening before nightfall. Over.”
“Copy,” Kitai said.
As he looked up to either side of him, Cypher saw what Kitai saw. Clouds were moving over the mountains and fields like huge, ghostly spirits. “Standard operating procedure,” Cypher said, “till I give you further instructions.”
“Copy,” Kitai said again.
Cypher looked down at his legs. The floor around him was covered with a thin sheen of blood. His blood. And there was more dripping from his pants leg second by second, minute by minute. He reached for the med-kit Kitai had brought him and hit a control on the pilot’s console. Instantly, the medical analysis holographic screen came up.
Cypher pulled a flat box out of the med-kit. Then he activated it and ran it over his legs. A light illuminated his legs wherever he performed a scan. At the same time, the holographic screen over the console erupted with biomedical data.
“Code five trauma to left leg,” said the cockpit’s computer voice. “Situation critical. Arterial shunt recommended.”
Cypher accepted the news as calmly as he could. He reached out and touched the words arterial shunt, whereupon the holographic screen showed him a three-dimensional outline of a human body. He touched the outline, and it zoomed in on the left thigh, revealing a network of arteries and veins. One of the blood vessels had been severed.
The words arterial shunt—explanation of procedure appeared on the screen. They were followed by a coldly mechanical animated segment. In it, a scalpel appeared on the screen. Next, a dotted line on the thigh. As Cypher watched, the scalpel plunged into the flesh of the animated thigh. Cypher forced himself to watch the procedure. After all, he was going to have to carry it out on himself. There was no way he could survive otherwise. And if he didn’t survive, neither would Kitai.
There was no decision to be made.
He looked into the med-kit. There was a cylinder inside marked “NARCOTIC.” He held it close and read the side effects on the cylinder’s side. It said, “IMPAIRED VISION, DIZZINESS, DROWSINESS.” Cypher turned to the screen that showed him Kitai’s moving point of view. It was critical that he continue to monitor that screen, that he do so with a clear head. All it would take was a momentary lapse in his vigilance and his son would be yet another casualty of their ill-fated crash.
With a sigh, he put the cylinder back in the med-kit untouched. Too bad, he thought. It would have been a lot easier if he could have used the narcotic. Suddenly, a wave of pain engulfed him. His leg was getting worse.
“Hey, Dad,” someone said, “you there?”
He found himself remembering … He was in a trench back on Nova Prime, dressed in full battle gear. Not alone. There were other Rangers with him. They were enjoying a moment of peace. Senshi appeared on Cypher’s naviband. He moved it into the shadows to see her better. She was young, not a Ranger yet. Sitting in the family apartment. Kitai, even younger, was playing in the background.
“Dad, you there?” she repeated.
Cypher smiled. “I’m here.”<
br />
Senshi held up the old copy of Moby Dick. “A boy I know had this. It’s a real book, from a museum. It’s Moby Dick.”
Cypher’s head swam. “Mm hmm …”
“He said I could even hold on to it,” said Senshi.
Hold on to …? “Hold on to what?”
“The book, Dad.”
She laughed. He managed a smile. She had that effect on him. Cypher stared at his daughter, so full of life and possibility, her future like a flower that barely had begun to bloom.
“Did they really kill these whales?” she asked.
“Yes,” Cypher said. “For their oil. And they almost disappeared. Just before the age of carbon fuels …”
Then it wasn’t Senshi he was talking to anymore. It was Kitai’s voice he heard saying, “Dad, you there? Over. Dad?”
Cypher took a steadying breath against the pain, which was beginning to bring on delirium. He cleared his throat and collected himself before he spoke.
“Copy, cadet.” He turned again to the holographic displays. “The Earth’s rotational cycle is shorter than back home. You have six hours to reach the first geothermal site. Over.”
Cypher imagined Kitai’s expression as he absorbed the information. Then his son said, “Roger.”
At that point, Kitai was moving through a valley, alongside a deep, jagged fissure in the ground. Rocks jutted up from the darkness below as if someone had cracked the surface of the Earth like an egg. The sun seemed very strong. Cypher checked his holographic display and confirmed it. More than very strong, he thought. Deadly, like everything else on the planet.
“Let’s stay in the shade as much as possible,” he advised. “Direct sunlight is intensely carcinogenic. You must limit exposure. Over.”
“Roger that,” Kitai said.
“The rain used to be acidic,” Cypher noted, “but it doesn’t seem to be a problem now.”
Cypher checked his son’s position vis-à-vis his objective. The kid was making good progress. But he needed to know the position of something else as well.
The Ursa.
Cypher checked some of the images he was receiving from his probes. Probe 11 showed him an animal he did not recognize but one that probably had evolved since the days when people still lived on this planet. The creature reared up on two legs and looked directly at the probe.
The computer sent Cypher information: Giraffa camelopardalis.
Cypher looked at the live image of the giraffe with awe. He had read about these long-necked beings, but they were extinct on Nova Prime. It was almost like seeing a live dinosaur. Then the giraffe swatted at the probe with its horned head and moved away.
More important, however, than what he saw was what he didn’t see. He hit the cockpit recorder and said, “Probe cameras unable to detect signs of Ursa in the wild.” For now.
viii
Kitai arrived at the mouth of a forested valley. Gorgeous views of green woodlands stretched out before him. He checked his naviband.
“Twenty kilometers, 184 minutes. Request breather, Da—” He caught himself. “Sir.”
“Negative,” Cypher said over the naviband. A pause. “You’ve got three hours to reach the hot spot. That’s plenty of time. Hydrate now and keep moving.”
Kitai swallowed his irritation, flipped up a hydration tube from his backpack, and drank. Then he moved deeper into the forest. As he progressed, the trees around him grew taller and taller. Over a hundred meters high, he estimated. They were wide, too, maybe seven meters in diameter. At that size, they blotted out most of the sunlight. Kitai had to move cautiously through the shadows, peering into the foliage every few steps.
Suddenly, he realized that his lifesuit had changed. It had become jet-black. Harder, too. And it had the kinds of bumps one might find on body armor. Concerned, he stopped walking and said to his father, “My suit’s turned black. I like it, but I think it’s something bad. Over.”
“Your suit’s made of smart fabric,” came the reply. “It has motion sensors. I’m tracking a life-form moving near you from the west.”
Kitai felt ice climb the rungs of his spine. When he spoke, he tried to keep the fear out of his voice. “The Ursa? Over.”
“Negative. It’s smaller. Biosigns read only a meter and a half long.”
Kitai stood motionless. Behind him? Where was it?
He wasn’t comforted by the word only. “I’m a meter and a half long! Over.”
“It’s closing rapidly from the west,” Cypher told him. “Do not move! It is what it is. Relax. Get ready. Try to give me a visual.”
Kitai wished he could give himself a visual. But if he wasn’t allowed to move …
“Creatures on this planet have evolved from the ones we have on record because of radiation bursts,” Cypher said as calmly and clinically as if he were lecturing a class of cadets. “It’s at fifty meters, forty, thirty …”
Kitai found that his breath was coming in gasps.
“It’s slowing down. Twenty … ten …”
Kitai balanced himself, trying to be as ready as he could be. He could hear plants snapping as the life-form got closer.
In a whisper, his father said, “It’s right there, Kitai.”
Where was there? Kitai bit back his panic and whispered back. “I don’t see it! I don’t see anything.”
“Relax, cadet,” Cypher said. “Recognize your power. This will be your creation.”
Then Kitai did see it. It emerged slowly from the undergrowth: a small baboon-type creature. But like everything else on Earth, it seemed to have evolved. Its face was hauntingly human, but it walked on all fours.
“It’s fine, Kitai,” his father said. “Be still. Let it pass. Do not startle it.”
Easy for you to say. Kitai picked up a rock and made a motion as if he meant to throw it at the creature. He could feel his pulse racing.
“Back up!” he yelled at the baboon creature.
It reacted with a loud screech.
“Don’t do anything!” his father insisted, a note of anger in his voice. “Kitai, no!”
Kitai heard the words but continued to threaten the thing with the rock. He couldn’t help it.
“Get the hell out of here!” he yelled.
“Kitai, stop! Over.”
Kitai couldn’t catch his breath. He was gasping like crazy. Unable to tolerate the presence of the baboon any longer, he threw the rock at it. It glanced off the creature, but it had the desired effect. With a last look at Kitai, it turned and left. But his breathing was out of control. Beads of sweat ran down both sides of his face. For a moment, between blinks, it felt like he was back in that box. A scared little boy. A coward.
Cypher studied his holographic readout. His son’s vitals were spiking.
“You are creating this situation!” he insisted. “Be still. Over.”
Suddenly, his monitor showed him something else to worry about. A cluster of dots—maybe fifteen of them—began moving toward Kitai. Moving rapidly.
“Damn it!” Cypher breathed. Then, louder so that his son could hear him, “Cadet, get control of yourself! Listen to my instructions.”
Despite everything, Kitai was pleased he had gotten rid of the baboon—until he heard a rustling and saw six more of the creatures blasting through the foliage. Screeching bloodcurdling war cries, they surrounded Kitai.
As he had been trained, he tapped a pattern into the handle of the cutlass. Instantly, the weapon shifted shape, but not into the one Kitai wanted. Instead, the fibers on the end of the cutlass retracted into the handle and disappeared. Panicked, he looked up at the baboons. Try it again, he thought, and tapped out another pattern.
This time the weapon did what he intended it to do: separate into two parts. The fibers flattened out at the ends, making two distinct batons. Kitai swung his new weapons in every direction, figuring that would drive the creatures back. But it didn’t. They began charging and jumping backward, mimicking Kitai’s moves. Before long, they were picking up stic
ks and clubs from the forest floor and using them to mimic the two ends of the cutlass.
“To your rear, cadet! Out to your rear!”
Through his gathering malaise, Kitai recognized the voice as his father’s. He looked behind him and saw that there was indeed an opening. Using it, he escaped the circle of baboons and took off into the forest. But the creatures gave chase.
Kitai was feeling faint, but he couldn’t let them catch him. He slashed and darted his way through the forest, trying to shake the creatures from his trail. Still, it seemed to him they were getting closer.
No, he thought, redoubling his effort. Instead of running around the rocks he encountered, he ran over them and launched himself over long stretches. He began putting more distance between himself and his pursuers.
But they switched tactics, too. They took to the trees. And up there, among the thick, plentiful branches that blocked the sunlight, they were in their element.
He glanced back over his shoulder: The creatures were gaining on him again. They began snatching branches and large pinecones from the trees and hurling them at Kitai. And they were growing in number. If there were six of them before, there had to be fifty now, all swinging and jumping from branch to branch, throwing whatever they could find at him.
Suddenly, Kitai felt something hit him in the middle of his back hard enough to send him flying forward. But he didn’t dare go down or they would have him, and so he let his fall turn into a forward roll and came up running again. No sooner was he on his feet than he heard his father’s voice.
“Cross the river, cadet! I repeat, cross the river!”
What river? Kitai asked himself. Then he saw it up ahead. It wasn’t just a river. It was a torrent punctuated with gouts of leaping white water. It’s going to be hard as hell to get across, Kitai thought.
Then he realized: That’s the point.
Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the baboon creatures advancing through the trees. He took just long enough to secure his cutlass to his back before he dived headlong into the roiling water. As he swam, he saw the surface of the river explode with a relentless barrage of tree branches. But none of them reached him.