Peter David - After Earth

Kincaid was running out of the market. He’d be exposed soon, and then the creature could home in on him and end it.

That was when he remembered the park and quickened his pace. He emerged from the dim shadows of the market and into bright sunlight. Blinking repeatedly as his eyes adjusted, he kept moving forward, crossing the street from the market to the park. Fortunately, it was deserted.

Lining the park were old trees. Kincaid darted toward one and leaped, grabbing one of its thick limbs. His right shoulder complained, but he worked past the pain as he swung himself up and over, landing on the limb. He scrambled to the next highest branch, climbing until he was a good fifteen feet off the ground, ideally too high for the Ursa to reach with a single jump. His shoulder let him know he would be paying for this once the adrenaline rush wore off. He looked forward to being alive to enjoy the pain.

He finally was safe enough to look behind him, and the damned thing was out of sight. It had shifted to camouflage mode, blending in with the serene park surroundings. Kincaid hoped more Rangers would arrive soon, wondering just how intelligent the beast was, doubting anyone could say with certainty.

His entire life seemed to take place in a park. It was in one similar to this that he had lost an arm, saw the Ranger sacrifice herself, and begun on a specific course. Despite Velan rejecting him for the Rangers, Kincaid now found himself fighting an Ursa one on one. He idly wondered what Velan would make of that considering that he would first note that the regs called for a squad of no fewer than eight. Going solo against the creature might appear to be suicidal, but Kincaid was determined not to begin and end his life in a park. He would survive this—he was not done with life yet.

It was quiet. Too quiet. He tried to focus on his surroundings, but Virginia’s face kept materializing in his mind. He had to stay alive and apologize. Or own up to losing her.

His nose wrinkled in disgust, interrupting the reverie and warning him a second before a roar confirmed his sense of smell.

The still-invisible Ursa bellowed once more to attract his attention but mostly to strike fear into him. The more pheromones he released, the easier it was for the creature to lock in on his position. It struck the tree with its talons.

His arms wrapped around the tree as it shuddered with every stroke. Kincaid realized, as his flesh pimpled with goose bumps, that it intended to shred the tree until it collapsed and he fell.

He held tight with the artificial arm and began shifting his feet on the branch so that he could make the leap to the next tree over. He had no desire to be the Ursa’s victim and started scrambling as far from the creature as possible, taking it deeper into the park and away from the people hidden close to the park’s edge.

It didn’t take him long to travel six trees away from where he had started, although he could feel how weak his right side was getting. The Ursa, now fully visible in all its ugliness, dutifully followed, stinking and thundering and clawing the entire way. Running out of trees and out of steam, he considered his options. He had the cutlass, not that he really understood what to do with it; he had two pulsers, one almost out of charge; he had an artificial arm that might outlast one or two swipes of those claws. But that was about it. Peering past the monstrosity, he saw that no help was coming his way.

This might actually be the end.

His mind drifted back, and he considered what he had accomplished. Within the last few hours, he had saved some lives and kept an Ursa from harming others. He had served the corps with distinction, saving that man from the fire among other heroic acts. He’d laughed; he thought he might even have loved, even if he had screwed it up earlier that day. If it ended right now, it would be seen as a good life, one that honored his debt and respected the Kincaid family tradition even out of a Ranger uniform. If he was to die here and now, he could accept that.

The first Ursa had chased all the fear from him years before.

Following the Primus’s teachings, he prayed to the creator of the heavens and the universe, thanking the being for giving him a good life, one that honored his family name. He prayed that the creator would look after his parents and sister and that humanity would continue to thrive on Nova Prime.

His mind was so busy preparing for his imminent death, it took him a moment to realize it had gotten very quiet and his immediate world had stopped shaking. The Ursa was done with the tree and was skittering in a semicircle, seeking something. At first, Kincaid thought that help was coming and the creature had sensed it first.

But no, it was something else.

The creature seemed to have lost his scent, just as earlier it had turned right at him and hadn’t reacted. This was his chance to escape to safety. But that would mean the creature would be free to stalk some other living being, and that did not sit well with him.

Instead, he lowered himself branch by branch to the ground. The Ursa never noticed, intent on figuring out what had happened to its prey. Kincaid stalked the Ursa from the rear. He moved dangerously close, holding his breath from the stench.

There was no sweat, no fear.

The beast turned toward him, unaware of how close the human had come.

Kincaid held a pulser in his right hand and was hefting the hook-shaped cutlass in the other. He had been studying the creature and saw several spots that looked more vulnerable than others. He could strike from the rear. Although it would be inelegant and far from fair, this was war, and in war, fairness was a luxury.

Swinging with all his might, he hooked the end of the cutlass into the Ursa’s hide and yanked. Through the creature’s blood he could see a hint of tissue, and he pulled harder while firing a series of point-blank bursts from the pulser. The cutlass continued to tear into the creature’s hind leg joint, searing the purplish muscle and tissue. As the Ursa screamed in a tone that spoke of its pain, Kincaid turned and ran with whatever strength he still possessed. He did not look back, nor did he drop the weapons, clutching them for reassurance. The Ursa tried to run after him but was badly hobbled.

Kincaid kept running the way he had come, back past the trees and out onto the street. Looking left, he saw the street was clear, and then he looked right and spotted a Ranger speeder landing in the middle of the avenue.

Eight Rangers, cutlasses at the ready, were leaping out of the vehicle as it still kicked up dust.

“I wounded one of them in the park,” he said between gasps. They nodded in silent acknowledgment and rushed past him. Stretching out his artificial arm, he rested against the side of the speeder, sucking in warm air and trying to calm himself.

He remained where he was for several minutes, his breathing and mind calming down in unison. At last, a female Ranger emerged from the park, spotted him, and flashed a thumbs-up.

“We have it contained,” she said, smiling at him. “Lieutenant Divya Chandrark.”

“Anderson Kincaid. Did you kill it?”

“They’re working on it,” she admitted. “What happened?”

Kincaid gave her a report as if she were McGirk and he were delivering a formal after-action statement. She nodded, eyes widening now and then.

“You’re saying the thing looked right through you? And then lost track of you later? Ursa don’t do that. You do that to them. Sounds like you ghosted, just like the OG.”

“OG?”

“The Original Ghost. Cypher Raige. Made himself so disconnected from fear that the Ursa couldn’t find him. He was the first to take one out single-handedly.”

He had, in fact, known that, but he had failed to apply the notion to himself because it had seemed so distant to him. He’d been so busy trying to stay alive that he simply hadn’t questioned how he was doing it.