Peter David - After Earth

Velan looked up and blinked in mild surprise when he saw that Kitai was still standing right where he’d been, not having moved a muscle. There was no anger in Velan’s face. He simply appeared mildly confused that Kitai was still standing there.

Fighting the urge to hyperventilate and only partly succeeding, Kitai nearly shouted as he said, “Sir! Permission to address the commander, sir!”

“Denied.” There was nothing condemning or judgmental in his response. He was simply a man with a lot to do, and he saw no reason to waste time in a pointless discussion with a wannabe Ranger.

It was as if Kitai didn’t even hear him. As if Velan hadn’t denied him the chance to speak because who in his right mind would do so? He proceeded to continue talking in the exact same volume as he had before.

“Sir, I am dedicated, have studied and consistently displayed conduct becoming of a Ranger, sir! I request that the commander reconsider his assessment, sir!”

Velan stared at him with utter incredulity. Disobeying a direct order, which Kitai had just done by speaking to him, was grounds for pretty much anything Velan wanted to do in response, up to and including banishing him from the Ranger program forever. In one shot, Kitai was risking throwing away the entire future that he thought he was fighting for.

Then Velan’s face softened just a bit. “I understand what it’s like to see someone die. I know what that does to you.”

Kitai stiffened. It was the equivalent of Velan smacking him across the face with a two-by-four. It stopped him cold, and Velan was able to continue uninterrupted.

“I’ve been your father’s friend for a long time, Raige. Your friend as well, although you may not know it. I know what the loss of your sister was like for him and you and your mother. And I know that you expressed no interest in being a Ranger until after her death. You’re trying to… no. Forget it.” He paused. “I’m not going to tell you what you think because you already know that. What I am telling you is this: You’re rushing your way into a situation that you are not, in my opinion, emotionally ready for. If I endorsed your moving ahead, it would be catastrophic, and your parents would have to face the rest of their lives with no children at all. I will not do that to them, and I certainly won’t do it to you. Do you understand?”

Kitai did everything he could to hold back the tears. He steadied himself, fighting to bring himself under control. When he spoke again, he had to fight to get out every single sentence. His words were of no relevance to the decision made as to whether he should be a Ranger. He knew that for certain. Yet they were the only words he had left and, in addition, the only ones that really mattered to him.

“Sir”—his voice was barely above a whisper—“my father is returning home tonight. Today’s a special day for our family. I haven’t seen him… and I have to be able to tell him that I have advanced to Phase 2. I’ve got to be able to tell him that I am a Ranger, sir.”

Velan’s face didn’t move a centimeter. He simply stared at him for what seemed the longest few moments of Kitai’s life. During those few seconds, it seemed to Kitai that anything was possible.

He was wrong, as it turned out.

“You tell your father that I said ‘Welcome home.’”

Kitai couldn’t believe it. How could Velan be doing this to him? He’d admitted that Kitai had everything it took to be a top Ranger. So he had some impulse-control problems. So what? If he moved on to Phase 2, certainly that was something that could be attended to at that point. Why deprive him of his move forward? What could he possibly—?

Velan’s eyebrows knit, and there was now a darkness in his eyes. He was clearly displeased over Kitai’s refusal to accept his decision, and his next words underscored it. “Your lessons in discipline begin right now. You may leave this room with dignity and decorum befitting a cadet. Or you may leave under escort. Your choice.”

For half a beat, Kitai actually considered the latter. Being dragged out shouting over the way he was being treated…

But that was as far as he got in his thoughts. If that was really how he exited the room, being hauled out by Ranger troopers, he was effectively finished. All anyone would spend the rest of the day talking about was “Did you hear? Kitai Raige was dragged out kicking and screaming because he didn’t have what it took. What a sap. What a fool.” He would be done. That was simply not a public image that he could reasonably walk back.

“Sir, yes, sir,” was all he said. Then he turned on his heel and walked out.

He emerged into the outer lobby to the questioning looks of the others. Then they noticed that he wasn’t carrying a C-10, and that answered the first of their questions. Before they could ask any others, or offer consolation, or perhaps even revel in his failure, Kitai was across the hall and in one of the elevators. The door slid shut, and it was only once he was alone and on his way upward that the barely withheld tears broke free of his mental barrier and rolled down his cheeks unfettered.

The sense of tension could be felt rising with every block as Skyler Raige II neared the United Nations’ thirty-nine-floor secretariat building on Manhattan’s East Side. People who normally walked fast in New York City were walking faster, their shoulders hunched, ignoring everyone around them. Their steps had purpose, but they also were radiating fear.

Raige noticed how many storefronts were boarded up; some that were open had signs indicating a list of items that were currently out of stock. Sanitation also seemed to be taking it easy as the spring breeze coming in from the river whipped debris into the air. There was an unpleasant odor, and he blinked a few times as grit tried to blind him.

The Ranger was uncertain why he had been summoned to the office of the United Nations’ secretary general, but he was a soldier and followed orders. His appointment was for ten-thirty in the morning, and Raige, spit-polished to perfection, had arrived from the United Ranger Corps base in Germany just hours earlier. He was tired and fueled solely by his third cup of coffee, but there was enough adrenaline pumping through his system to keep him alert for the impending conversation.

For the last nine years, he had served as a Ranger, seeing parts of the world he had only read about in school, never imagining he would be in Algiers, Sudan, Brazzaville, Portugal, and Germany in the same calendar year. His jacket was beginning to resemble a Michelin guidebook, and he regretted being able to see only the seedier parts of countries the guidebooks tended to omit. Still, he enjoyed sampling the local fare when time allowed; anything was better than the MREs, or Meals Ready to Eat, he was consuming en route to and from fronts.

He prided himself on his adaptability, adjusting from culture to culture with ease. Raige found himself making friends everywhere he went, playing endless rounds of soccer or stickball with the kids who usually flocked around the arriving Rangers, hoping for money or food or both. Rather than disappoint them, he shared his rations and played with them, cajoling many of the others to join in to even out the sides.

He commanded men and women into battle, which usually consisted of quelling food riots or protests against governments that were forced to ration as the planet suffered on many—too many—ecological fronts.

Now he’d been asked to meet with the secretary general. When he received the orders in Germany, his CO gave him a quizzical look, seemingly jealous, while everyone else razzed him about getting a trip home.