After Earth: A Perfect Beast (39 page)

Worse, the rock was smooth there, worn down by the elements.
Don’t slip
, Conner thought.

But Gash seemed to have other ideas. The beast gathered itself and sprang at him, filling Conner’s vision with its bulk. All he could see for a moment was its maw, huge and black and full of teeth.

Except it had slipped on the smooth surface of the plateau, and its attack fell short. Instead of landing on its prey, it landed just in front of him.

It was all the opening that Conner needed.

He pulled his cutlass back and swung at Gash’s head with all that was left of his strength, hoping to slice the
creature’s throat open. But the cutlass never connected with its target—because Gash ducked underneath it.

And looked up at him.

Too close
, Conner had time to think.
Too close
.

He was less than an arm’s length from the monster’s maw. If Gash was quick enough, it would reach out and disembowel him. Or rip his legs out from under him. Or kill him in a half dozen other ways.

But the Ursa seemed as surprised as Conner by its proximity to him, because it didn’t do anything right away. It just continued to stare at him.

He would never get a better shot.

His jaw clenched, Conner forced himself to slide along and tap the handle of his weapon exactly as he had done a hundred times in practice. Then he reached into the monster’s slimy black maw and shoved the cutlass down its gullet.

Got to get away
, he thought wildly.

Except before he could do that, he felt Gash’s teeth close on his hand. The pain shot up his arm, forcing a cry of pain from his throat.

But he couldn’t let Gash keep him there—his cutlass was set on the function that made it explode. And it would do exactly that in just a few short seconds, destroying anything and everything within ten meters of it, Conner included.

He tried to yank his hand free to no avail.

Then Gash solved the problem for him. With a wrench of its head, it tore off the last two fingers on Conner’s hand.

The pain was indescribable, but Conner was free. Pulling his mangled, bloody hand into his chest, he whirled and scrambled away as fast as he could.

Gash flailed at him, raking his back with its claws, but the monster failed to get a grip on him.
Ten seconds
, Conner thought, dropping back down into the cleft.

He could see Gash’s shadow stretch out past him, falling in disjointed sections on the formations in front of
him. The creature was coming after him, cutlass in its throat and all. But then, as the Savant had told him, it didn’t breathe the way people breathed. The cutlass might not be an impediment.

At least not yet.

Eight seconds
, Conner told himself.

He ran as he had never run before, careful not to trip, because if he did, it would be his last act. The mountain air was like fire, burning the lining of his throat. It didn’t matter—it was fuel. He drank it down as fast and as hard as he could.

Six seconds.

Was Gash’s shadow getting shorter? Was it short
enough
?

Four seconds.

One last burst of speed. It would be for only a little while—a few quick heartbeats, a few frantic strides. Then he would know if he had put enough distance between himself and the Ursa.

Two.

One.

Now
.

Nothing happened.

No
, Conner thought bitterly.
It’s got to work. It’s
got
to
.

He shot a glance back over his shoulder. Gash was still pounding after him, showing no ill effects.

He had given up his cutlass. He had gambled everything on it exploding inside Gash. And it hadn’t. It had
failed to fail
. Even in his desperation, he couldn’t help seeing the irony.

Now what?
He couldn’t keep up this pace much longer. But Gash could. It would narrow the gap and—

Suddenly, his ears throbbed like drums and he felt a giant hand shove him forward. He went tumbling end over end so hard that he thought he would surely break his neck.

But somehow he didn’t. He found himself lying on his
back in a cloud of dust and debris, looking up at the sky. It was quiet, unnaturally so.

Conner felt something sitting on his shoulder, something soft and wet. He plucked it off him and looked at it for a moment, trying to figure out what it was.

Then he realized: It was a chunk of pale flesh mingled with thick, black ooze. A chunk of
Gash
.

It smelled putrid. But he didn’t get rid of it, not right away. He endured the stench long enough to rasp with his raw, dry throat, “Got you, you bastard.”

Then he flung the chunk away as far as he could.

Something gnawed painfully at his hand. Looking down at it, Conner saw blood seeping from the ragged wound where two of his fingers had been ripped away.

He rolled onto his side. His chest hurt, too, where the monster had scored him. And it had lashed his back as well.

A small price to pay, he thought, though that didn’t make his wounds hurt any less.

With his good hand, he fingered the activation stud on his naviband. A moment later, he heard: “Conner?”

Blodge’s voice sounded like it was underwater.
The explosion did something to my hearing
. Temporarily, he hoped.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice thinner and wearier than he had expected. “And Gash …” He looked around at the splashes of black gore all over the landscape. Gash was still there as well. And
there
. And
there
 … “Gash is dead.”

He heard cheering through the comm link. It was a good sound. A
great
sound. “Any chance you can send out a flier?” Conner asked. “With a med kit?”

His friend laughed, and there were others in the background who laughed with him. “It’s on its way. Hang in there, buddy.”

Conner grunted, enduring the pain as best he could. “Like I’ve got a choice.”

Conner inspected his heavily bandaged right hand. A bright red spot where some of his blood had seeped through was the only outward evidence of his injuries.

Of course, the throbbing hadn’t quite gone away despite the painkiller the doctor had administered. It felt like a massive toothache. But he had the satisfaction of knowing that Gash’s toothache had been much worse.

“That’s about all we can do,” said the doctor, and sat back on his stool. “Come back to see me in a few days and we’ll change the dressing. Till then, just keep it clean and dry—and for heaven’s sake, stay away from Ursa.”

Stay away from Ursa
. It was a joke the doctor couldn’t have made even as recently as the day before. But with Gash gone, the colony could breathe easy for the first time in weeks.

“I’ll do my best,” Conner said.

When the bandages came off, he would be missing one finger and part of a second one, which would hamper his ability to use a cutlass with his right hand. He would have to train himself to be adept with the left, which would no doubt be a long and arduous process. But he would worry about that later.

“Now get going,” the doctor said. “When you’re ready, we can talk about prosthetics.”

Conner shook his head. “Rangers don’t use prosthetics. It’s a tradition.”

The doctor, who obviously hadn’t heard of the tradition,
shrugged. “Listen, it’s my job to make you aware of the options. Which one you choose is up to you.”

“Thanks,” said Conner, who had a bit more on his mind than a couple of fingers.

“Come in.”

The words sounded hollow in the Primus’s sanctum. Theresa stood just outside the doorway, reluctant to enter because she didn’t know what she would encounter. But she was sworn to obey the orders of the Primus, and so she kept faith with her oath and entered the room.

The Primus was standing at the far end, near his balcony, gazing at the stars. “Augur Theresa. I understand that in my absence, you were rather … busy.” He let the word hang there like the last leaf on a tree before it released its hold and fell.

She was happy to see that the Primus had reappeared.
But if I had vanished like that, I would be offering an explanation
. The Primus seemed inclined to do no such thing. He was acting as if he had never been away.

“Busy?” she echoed.

“Yes,” he said, still giving her his back. “Your little program of going door to door? It’s doing well?”

“Oh,” she said, “that. Yes, Primus. I’m pleased to report that it is.”

“The program that I specifically decided against after due consideration.” There was no anger in the Primus’s voice; it was as if he just wanted to clarify matters, to make sure they were discussing the same thing.

“You must understand, Primus—”

He half turned to her.
“Must?”

“A poor choice of words,” Theresa said humbly. “I regret them.”

“There is no need to apologize, child. You were saying?”

“We didn’t know where you were. I even asked my
nephew to search for you. And the people needed comfort.”

“Which you gave them. You and Marta Lemov.”

“Yes, Primus.”

“And … the people have been grateful?”

“Very much so. We’ve reassured them that God is on our side in this endeavor—”

“God allowed this to happen, Theresa. Was that addressed?”

“Of course, Primus. God is testing us, as always. He does not interfere with free will, even if it is the free will of faithless aliens. He is giving us what we need in order to defeat this latest Skrel assault. We will survive and we will triumph as long as we remain in close partnership with one another and do not allow our faith to waver.”

“And people believe all that?” the Primus asked.

“Most choose to do so. In these difficult times, who would not embrace something to believe in?”

He grunted. “Who indeed?”

Taking his subsequent silence as encouragement to continue, Theresa said, “It has not only brought a sense of calm to the people but also a newfound determination.”

“I see. How … admirable. Of course, they will need their Primus to channel that determination, to mold it into something of which heaven will approve.” He smiled. “It’s good I came back when I did, eh? Perfect timing, you might say.”

“Yes,” said Theresa, because it was her Primus speaking. “Perfect.” But in her heart, she knew that what the people had found in the Primus’s absence—one another—was what was truly perfect.

The Primus chuckled softly. “Funny the way things work out. The way God works them out.”

Another silence followed. In a soft, even timid voice, the augur said, “If there is nothing else, Primus, I can—”

“You can go,” he said, still turned to the stars.

Relieved, she went.

*   *   *

With Theresa gone, the Primus reflected on his … retreat.

For certainly that was what it had been. A retreat from the affairs of the world so that he could contemplate the proper course of action both for him and for the augury. A respite, nothing more.

Of course, Rostropovich had not cut himself off from the temporal world completely. In his place of contemplation, he had had access to a crude comm device. It was through it that he had learned the Ursa were no more.

God’s will had prevailed.

And what had happened in that terrible time before the Primus withdrew from the world … why, that was a thing of the past, hardly worth remembering. If he was to discharge his office as humankind’s liaison with heaven, he had to shrug off such experiences. He had to come to his task new and refreshed.

It was with that task in mind that he activated his monitor and sought information on his colleagues in the Tripartite Council. Finding a comment made by the Savant only a few hours earlier, he played it back.

“Am I going to support Conner Raige?” the Savant asked. “Unequivocally. At first, I was skeptical about the wisdom of putting such a young man in such a critical position. But that was before I’d seen what he could accomplish.

“When he took over the responsibilities of the Prime Commander, the Ursa were rampaging through our city, killing at will. He turned that around. He made the right decisions—better than those I would have made, frankly. That’s why the Ursa are gone, the last of them by his hand.

“But I’m not supporting Conner Raige because we need to reward him. There are medals for that. I’m supporting him because I believe he can do the job going
forward. And, significantly, so do the people who follow him. They believe in his abilities. They’re willing to do anything he asks of them. That says a lot.

“When I assumed the office of the Savant, I knew one thing: I wasn’t going to allow myself to be ruled by emotion. I was going to approach the Ursa problem, and every other problem in front of us, from a purely scientific perspective. I was going to go by the facts. And the facts in this case point unwaveringly to Conner Raige being the best person for the job of Prime Commander.”

The Primus bit his lip. He hated the idea of the Raige boy becoming a permanent member of the Tripartite Council. He detested the prospect of treating him as a colleague, an equal.

But what choice did he have? He had been in seclusion, and that would be hard enough to explain. The people were taken with Raige, inspired by him. The Primus would only hurt himself by opposing Raige’s appointment.

For now.

But in the fullness of time, the Primus would find opportunities to undermine the boy. Perhaps sooner than later, for he was good at finding such opportunities. Little by little, he would get his point across.

And before long, the Primus would be on top again. Surely, after all he had endured, God owed him
that
.

Nova Prime City was out picking up the pieces.

People were on the streets assessing damage, clearing debris, and working with local leaders to get the reconstruction process under way. Those who were not already back to work in factories and farms were volunteering their time to help one another resume some semblance of their lives. Laughter, something lost but lately rediscovered, could be heard in the spring air.