Peter David - After Earth

“Well, the OG still has one up on me. I just stuck it and ran.”

“Still, you got close enough to do that.”

He just nodded in amazement. Apparently the competition between families was still ongoing.

After the debriefing with the Rangers, they went their way and he headed back to headquarters. Along the way, he ran into comrades who already had heard about his accomplishment. He swore gossip traveled by smart fabric.

When he entered the locker room, Virginia stood by his locker, freshly showered and dressed in a clingy pale purple sundress.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied, her tone neutral. He couldn’t read her expression and had no sense if they were lovers, partners, or even friends anymore.

For a moment he paused and looked deep within. He’d been doing that all day, looking for answers, and this must have been his lucky day because the solutions were magically appearing.

“I’ve been a jerk,” he said.

At that, her eyes twinkled and she replied, “But you’re a talented jerk.”

“You’ve made me so happy, but I only realized that when I thought I’d chucked it away to go die fighting the Ursa. I risked you, risked us, to possibly die.”

“But you lived. Better than that, you ghosted. That is so freaking amazing.”

She hurled herself at him, and he caught her in his arms, letting the enhanced arm help lift her high off the ground. They laughed together as he twirled her about.

After he placed her back on the ground, they smiled at each other. “I need a shower,” he said. “Then we can go celebrate.”

Slipping out of the dress, she said, “I’ll scrub your back.”

Days later, there was a knock at his door, and Kincaid, recuperating from his injuries, answered it in his casual shirt, clutching a beer. Marquez, in a silk robe, lounged on the couch.

Cypher Raige, in his snow-white uniform, stood in the doorway, and his eyes rose and fell, taking in the sight. Kincaid nearly dropped the bottle as he snapped to attention.

Raige stood patiently in the doorway until finally the younger man realized what was going on and stepped back, gesturing for the Prime Commander to enter. He stole a glance over his shoulder to see Marquez frozen in place, unable to dash out of sight.

“Prime Commander Raige, may I introduce you to Virginia Marquez,” he said as formally as possible.

She clutched her robe tightly closed as she rose with as much grace as was possible and stepped forward, shaking the man’s hand. “A pleasure,” was all she could muster. Raige merely nodded in her direction. She then demurely took up a position on a chair, still within earshot of the men. Raige seemed fine with that although Kincaid was certainly feeling awkward, as if he were violating some rule he had forgotten.

“I hear you ghosted,” Raige said, his eyes now taking in the apartment, which Anderson was pleased to have kept neat. Not white glove neat, but good enough.

“So I’m told.”

“Nice work. Anderson… May I call you that?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Anderson, ghosting is a rare ability. We’ve counted only a few who have managed it. Three during the recent Ursa attack, yourself included. That’s pretty elite company to be in.”

“Yes, sir,” Kincaid said, suddenly feeling years younger and burning once more with a desire to wear the uniform.

“We owe you a debt. Your actions kept people safe and allowed the Rangers to perform their duty.”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“Nova Prime City owes you a debt of thanks. We’d like you to join the Rangers.”

At last , he thought.

And then a moment later, he realized it was a fine offer but a late one. It was all he had wanted—all he had needed—for so long. But now he had what he needed: a home, a career, and someone to share his life with.

Kincaid shut his mouth and took a deep breath.

Raige remained ramrod straight, his face unreadable.

“Your cousin Atlas asked me to preserve and protect this society when he left Nova Prime,” Cypher Raige said thoughtfully. “Of course, those rules were probably written before the Ursa even showed up here. Maybe even predating the Skrel. Things were very different back then.”

“Yes, sir, they were.”

“The rule, all the rules, I think, need a fresh review. Ones like this need to be looked at with our current society and its requirements.” Raige paused, letting the comments sink in.

“Thank you, Prime Commander,” Anderson said slowly, fighting to find the right words and to meet the man’s piercing gaze. “But I respectfully decline the invitation. The rules remain the rules, and they forced me to give up a little boy’s dreams and find a man’s dream instead. I found it, forged a path for myself, and I am content.”

Raige let that sink in and then looked directly at Marquez, who immediately blushed but was grinning with pride. He nodded once.

“You’re standing on your own two feet, and your accomplishments certainly allow you to make your own choices for the future. It’s a shame the Rangers will lose a ghost, but it’s the Defense Corps’ gain. Maybe one day the Rangers can steal you back.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kincaid said.

He paused, looked past Kincaid’s shoulder at Marquez, and nodded her way in farewell. “Good luck, Anderson.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“A word of advice,” Cypher said. “The next time you answer the door, see who it is first so you’re both properly attired for the visit.”

As Raige stepped out into the night, Kincaid looked down to see he was still standing at attention wearing just a shirt and boxer shorts.

Marquez looked at him and smiled.

“White would’ve looked good on you.”

Jon doesn’t know where he is. All he knows is that he’s awake and that there’s a face looming over him. A familiar woman’s face.

How long has it been there? He can’t say. Maybe a long time, maybe not.

A name breaks the surface of his mind. “Doctor Gold,” he says, his voice sounding strange—thin and coarse—in his ears.

Her expression changes, her mouth turning up at the corners and her cheeks bunching under pale green eyes. “Yes,” says Doctor Gold in a voice like music, “it’s me, all right. Do you remember your name?”

“Blackburn. Jon Blackburn.”

“Excellent. How do you feel, Jon?”

It isn’t easy for him to comprehend the question, though it should be. It’s not a difficult question. It’s what people ask one another every day.

“How do I feel?” he echoes.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“My brain’s wrapped in cotton. Everything seems… I don’t know. Vague .”

Doctor Gold tucks something behind an ear. “Good. That’s how you’re supposed to feel.”

Supposed to…? Why? Jon hasn’t always felt this way, has he? “What’s happened?” he asks.

“You’re in the North Side Medicenter,” says the doctor. “You had a procedure. Do you remember anything about it?”

He doesn’t.

“What kind of procedure? Was I injured?”

“No.” Doctor Gold points to the holographic screen on Jon’s left, a black one with bright gold lines undulating across it. “We did some work on your amygdalae. You remember what those are?”

Jon thinks for a moment. “Parts of the brain.”

“That’s right. And why would we work on those parts?”

Again Jon concentrates. But he can’t come up with anything. Just a flash of something big and pale moving across his field of vision.