After Earth (33 page)

Two more taps, and the cutlass pieces reshaped themselves into the sickle swords. Cypher felt a chill run through his body, seeing his son, now a man. A warrior.

A Ranger.

*   *   *

Kitai felt no joy. He also felt no fear. The threat had been dispatched, and he remained in place, studying the beast. He noted that his shredded lifesuit had shifted from black to rust, the smart fabric no longer sensing immediate danger.

Wiping the gore from the blades on the ash-covered hide, he brought the two pieces together and re-formed the cutlass into a single tool. Climbing down from the beast, he walked over to his fallen backpack and retrieved it. Once it was in place, he affixed the cutlass to it and began to walk higher up the mountain.

Still feeling in command of his surroundings, Kitai was bursting with controlled energy and used it to propel himself gracefully up the mountain. The rock and ash soon were joined by snow until his boots sank centimeters into pure white powder. The temperature dropped with each kilometer he walked, and still he climbed undeterred. Thoughts of exhaustion, hunger, and pain did not exist. Only the mission did.

He had to blink twice to clear his mind as he reached the peak. There, atop the world, he saw for a hundred kilometers or more all around. Instead of admiring the world in its natural beauty, he focused on powering up the homing beacon, and within moments it had cycled to life and signaled readiness. With one hand, he raised it high into the cool air, slamming the button that would summon help.

The beacon thrummed with power, and a bright white light raced into the starry night. He knew that the humans were wise when they left Earth. Between here and Nova Prime, the arks dropped buoy satellites. They were dubbed breadcrumbs and acted as tethers between worlds. Now the ancient satellites would act as relays, ensuring that the signal would race across the light-years home.

The signal sent, Kitai was satisfied this phase of the mission was completed. He could return to his father and care for him, keep him alive, until help arrived.

Cypher Raige was not entirely sure what happened after he saw Kitai begin his final ascent to the top of the mountain. His fever was higher, and he no longer had the adrenaline surge to keep him focused. Instead, delirious, he succumbed, satisfied that help was coming.

The next thing he saw was a thin, bright vertical line. Something was cutting into the darkness. He had no idea how much time had passed or why the
Hesper
had grown dark.

He saw figures, two, maybe three, maybe six. All he could make out was the shapes with bright light behind them. He saw something silvery, too, but had no idea what he was looking at. People said that when you died, you sometimes saw a white light and you were to walk toward it. He never imagined heaven having Rangers waiting to greet him. Maybe being Prime Commander had its perks after all.

If I’m dying, I shouldn’t still be feeling so much pain, should I? And if I were dead, why do I feel like I’m being gripped and lifted?

He shut his eyes and drifted off.

Next thing he knew, he was being carried. It was a feeling he recognized, and that meant he was not dead. At least not yet. He was now inside the silvery space. Was it the belly of Moby Dick? Were an Ursa’s innards silver? No, it was an artificial setting, not organic. That was when his mind told him he was being carried between
ships, between the wreck of the
Hesper
and the rescue ship.

Kitai’s signal had gotten through.

Kitai, finally feeling rested and refreshed after being rescued, wished he had something other than his tattered lifesuit to wear. He would have liked a Ranger uniform, but that would come with time. There was no way Velan could refuse him now.

He had dreamed of surpassing all the Raiges who’d preceded him, up to and including the general. After his experience on Earth, he might not be quite ready to surpass his father, but he felt that he was much farther along than he’d been a few days earlier. Amazingly, it had been just a week before that he’d been on Nova Prime, feeling like life had kicked him in the teeth. Now he had visited Earth, seen amazing things, and single-handedly killed an Ursa. Kitai still needed time to process all he had experienced and accomplished.

The rescue ship arrived as if by magic, a feat of Lightstream engineering he was curious to learn about, but for now he was just glad they had come and gotten to his father first. He was hours from death, and their emergency medical section allowed the Rangers to stanch the blood loss and repair the damage. Cypher had done much to help his own condition, but now the medics had to worry about infection and repair. It would be some time before they knew the full extent of his injuries and recovery time.

Kitai was just happy to have his dad alive.

Walking through the main corridor of the class-B ship, he watched as Rangers did their duty with precision and little chatter. Then he came across a technician studying a monitor that appeared familiar. Before the man was a silver device that was physically connected to the console. It had to be the recorder that every ship contained, filled with all pertinent data and logs for just
such occurrences. On the screen he recognized the image: the unaware Ursa. Kitai slowed down and watched in fascination, barely remembering what he’d endured. The creature really had had no idea where Kitai was, had truly lost the scent.

Sensing he was no longer alone, the technician, an older man, turned and studied Kitai. He looked once at the screen, then looked back at Kitai. The teen saw a shift in the man’s expression. He was clearly impressed by Kitai’s efforts on Earth. Curiosity was replaced with something else.

Respect.

It was only after he was rescued, after some sleep and hot soup, that Kitai had a chance to reflect on all he had done. He had wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, wanted to be a Ranger. What he never had anticipated was that he would become a Ghost, too. He was the eighth, part of an elite group.

Kitai continued to move through the ship until he reached the small room where his father, the Original Ghost, rested on a cot, attended by two medics. He looked better than he had before they’d left Earth’s surface, which pleased Kitai. Still, he was paler than usual, a look of pain on his face that no drug could treat. Under the blankets, Kitai knew his mangled leg was healing but might never recover fully.

They were checking vitals and generally fussing over him, so it took Cypher a few moments before he realized his son was standing in the entrance. When he did, he interrupted them and spoke.

“Stand me up.”

The medics looked from one to another and then down to the man on the cot. It pained Kitai to see his father so helpless. So normal.

“General …” one of them said.

“I said stand me up!”

Without waiting, Cypher started to sit up, prompting the medics to swing into motion. They helped him rise, and that was when Kitai realized it was both legs that
had been so badly damaged. They were encased in braces that helped administer painkillers, stimulate cellular regeneration, and provide support. The medics helped him swing the braced legs to the deck, and then each took an arm and helped Cypher rise to his feet. The effort took a lot out of his father, who winced but gritted his teeth and made it to an upright position.

Father and son studied each other for a long, silent moment.

Cypher raised his hand and crisply saluted his son.

Kitai was stunned and pleased in the same instant.

Kitai returned the salute just as neatly and then broke into a smile as he ran forward and gently embraced his father.

Close to each other for the first time in what felt like forever, Kitai reached his father’s ear and whispered, “Dad …”

“Yes.”

“I wanna work with Mom.”

Cypher chuckled a little at the joke. Kitai realized his sense of humor still needed work, but this was a good moment. Neither wanted to let go, but the medics respectfully separated them and lowered his father back to the cot.

As the ship left Earth’s orbit, preparing the powerful engines for the trip home, Kitai studied the monitors, taking a last look at the planet. It was raining when they took off, a fresh, cleansing rain that would replenish the pools and lakes that sustained life.

The jungle would endure. The cycle of life would continue.

A different monitor showed the ocean, and to Kitai’s surprise, there was something breaking the surface. It was the size of a whale but looked like no whale he had ever seen before.

Kitai stood over his father’s sleeping form. Cypher was going to be like that for most of the trip home, healing.

The planet being left behind was also slowly healing, and life would continue to evolve.

Eyes still on the vanishing green and blue planet, Kitai took a chair and sat by his father’s side.

Soon the ship had cleared the solar system and engaged the Lightstream engines, propelling them into wormhole space and back to Nova Prime.

One would not blame Kitai if he spent the entire journey home lost in daydreams of the accolades and adoration he, the youngest Ghost, was certain to receive once he set foot on Nova Prime. But his only concern was the man lying quietly before him.

Cypher Raige was many things to so many people—the Original Ghost; the Prime Commander; the reason Skrel were no longer winning the war—but, to Kitai, Cypher had only one name: Dad.

And he was his son.

This book exists because of Will Smith and Caleeb Pinkett. I would also like to thank Gaetano Mastropasqua, Clarence Hammond, and Kristy Creighton for their input. At Random House, editor Frank Parisi and publisher Scott Shannon showed grace under impossible pressure.

The sun was warm as usual, but not oppressively so, and Anderson Kincaid wanted to play in the sand. His mother took a rare afternoon off to bring the seven-year-old to the park. Accompanied only by the boy’s baby-sitter, she left word that she was not to be disturbed for anything short of a supernova. This was strictly family time, a rarity given her responsibilities for the population’s medical needs.

She smiled as Anderson rushed from her grasp to the mounds of sand before him. Given how dusty Nova Prime City could get, it never ceased to amaze her that the boy still asked to go play in the sandpit. She briefly worried that he would inhale the fine particles and choke, but Norah shook her head at the maternal instinct to want to protect her child. It was this sense of protecting life in all its myriad forms that tied her to the people.

Rather than swallow the sand, he stomped around on it with white sandals and then planted his rump and squirmed, indenting the space until he was comfortable. His baby-sitter, a young man named Jason, stepped over and handed him a cloth bag filled with tools to shape the sand. Anderson patted the faded red shovel atop the sand and giggled. He delighted in this, and the sound reminded her of what she herself had been like as an infant, first encountering the sand. Anderson began digging with a purpose that attracted the attention of boys and girls of various ages. Soon five children were busily constructing some sort of fort or castle.