Peter David - After Earth

Kitai considered what his father was saying. One hundred kilometers…

“Kitai,” Cypher said in measured tones, “my legs are broken. One very badly. You are going to retrieve that beacon or we are going to die. Do you understand?”

Kitai nodded his head. “Yes.” He felt tears welling in his eyes and wiped them away and awaited his orders.

Cypher opened a small black medical case marked UNIVERSAL AIR FILTRATION GEL—EMERGENCY USE ONLY. Inside, there were six vials sitting side by side.

“You have air filtration inhalers,” said Cypher. He removed one of the vials. “You need to take one now. The fluid will coat your lungs, increase your oxygen extraction, and allow you to breathe comfortably in the atmosphere.”

Cypher demonstrated how to use the inhaler. Kitai watched carefully. Then he placed the vial to his lips, pressed the release, and inhaled deeply. He had expected the air in the vial to be tasteless at best, but it wasn’t. It was sweet, like the air in the mountains back on Nova Prime just before first sun.

“You have six vials,” Cypher said. “At your weight, that should be twenty to twenty-four hours each. That’s more than enough.”

Next, Cypher helped Kitai with his naviband. A digital map appeared as a hologram above Kitai’s wrist.

“Your lifesuit and backpack are equipped with digital and virtual imaging,” Cypher noted. “So I will be able to see everything you see and what you don’t see.”

Kitai took comfort from that more than from anything else. Equipment was great; it was reassuring. But knowing that his father would have access to everything he saw was ten times more reassuring.

Cypher picked up the Ranger pack and placed it on Kitai’s back. Then he turned his son around so that his backpack camera was facing Cypher. Turning so that he could access his console, he tapped a control, and a monitor in front of Kitai came alive. Kitai could see Cypher’s face on the screen, its eyes looking into him the way his father’s real eyes did.

On the monitor, Cypher said, “I will guide you.” He tapped the same control to shut down the monitor. Then he turned Kitai around to face him.

“It will be like I’m right there.” He looked Kitai up and down for a moment. Then he said, “Take my cutlass.”

He picked it up and held it out to his son. Kitai looked at it, a little stunned. It was his father’s cutlass. The one he had used to fight and kill Ursa, the one that never left his side.

And he was handing it over to Kitai.

That, more than anything else, brought home the gravity of the situation. If Cypher was entrusting his son with his most prized possession, it was because he wanted to give Kitai every advantage he could.

“Go on,” Cypher said, “take it. C-40. The full twenty-two configurations.”

Not just the ones Kitai had used as a cadet—pike and hook and blade and so on—but every possible cutlass form the Savant’s engineers could come up with. Only the most skilled and experienced Rangers were given the C-40. And now, despite his fledgling skills and his utter lack of experience, he had one, too.

Kitai felt the weight of the cutlass in his hands. It was heavier than the ones he had practiced with as a cadet. It even looked big.

He looked up at his father. Cypher could have comforted him. But true to form, he went in the other direction, underscoring the magnitude of Kitai’s task.

“This is not training,” he said. “The threats you will be facing are real . Every single decision you make will be life or death. This is a class 1 quarantined planet. Everything on this planet has evolved to kill humans.” A beat. “Do you know where we are?”

Where? Nowhere near home, that was for sure. Nowhere near the planet of Kitai’s birth.

“No, sir,” the cadet said.

Cypher frowned. “This is Earth, Kitai.”

Earth? As in the world that gave birth to humanity but faltered under the lash of humanity’s abuse? That Earth?

Kitai often had wondered what it would be like to walk the surface of the world his distant ancestors had walked. Lots of kids had wondered about that. Now he would have the chance. But there was a danger beyond the ones his father had outlined, one that had been in the back of Kitai’s mind.

“The Ursa?” he asked.

Saying the words out loud made them seem even worse, made it seem as if the creature were right outside. Kitai saw his father’s eyes narrow.

“There are three possibilities,” Cypher said. “The first and most likely is that it died in the crash. The second and less likely is that it is injured very badly and still contained.”

Kitai would have signed up for either one. He would have done so in a heartbeat.

“And the third and least likely,” Cypher concluded, “is that it is out.”

The words hung in the air between Kitai and his father. Cypher had said that was the least likely scenario, but he hadn’t ruled it out completely. He couldn’t .

“We will proceed,” Cypher continued, “in anticipation of the worst-case scenario. Every movement will be under protocol: escape and evade. If he’s out there, I will see him long before he gets anywhere near you.”

Kitai nodded. Escape and evade . What else was he going to do? Fight the Ursa on his own?

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Cypher said. “Do everything I say and we will survive.”

And that was it. There was nothing left to say. For a moment, Kitai and his father just looked at each other. The cadet looked down at his cutlass, felt the weight of his pack on his back. He was a Ranger, outwardly at least, and he had a mission to carry out. But he wasn’t just a Ranger, and the man with the broken legs sitting in front of him wasn’t just his commanding officer.

Surprising himself, Kitai wrapped his father in a hug.

He could barely get his arms around his father’s broad shoulders, but it didn’t matter. Kitai hugged him hard and for a long time. And Cypher hugged him back. After all, it might be the last time they had a chance to do it.

Finally Kitai’s father said, “Time’s wasting. And we’ve got a lot to do.”

Kitai let go of Cypher. Then he stood up and snapped his cutlass onto the magnetic plate on his backpack.

He took a last look at his father, managed a weak military turn, and left the cockpit. In a way, it was the scariest thing he had ever done.

But in another way, a way he hadn’t expected, it was exciting .

Kitai stood in the little gangway between two air lock doors. Outside the outer door, the ice was melting as the warmth of the sun’s first rays started penetrating the darkness.

Just one sun , Kitai thought. Weird .

He turned over his wrist, activating his naviband and its many holographic layers, and said, “Can you hear me, Dad? Over.”

There was the briefest of pauses. Then Cypher’s voice came through clear and crisp: “Copy.”

Good , Kitai thought.

There was so much he didn’t know about this place. He looked around warily. So much. And from what his father had said, all of it was deadly. Experimentally, he tapped a combination on the handle of his cutlass. Instantly, one end transformed itself into a large curved blade—a blade that, if not for the protection afforded Kitai by his lifesuit, would have cut a nice gash in his arm.

Idiot , he thought, shaken by the near miss. Until you know what you’re doing, don’t do it . He retracted the blade end of the cutlass and tapped in a different pattern, one with which he was more familiar. In the next breath, the cutlass’s fiber ends extended outward until the weapon was a couple of meters long.