After Earth (39 page)

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.

The doctor’s expression changes again. Her mouth returns to its original shape, and her eyebrows come together in a knot of flesh above the bridge of her nose.

“It’s all right, Jon. We’ll talk about it later. For now, just get some rest.”

Jon starts to protest, but Doctor Gold holds up a hand, her fingers long and slender.

“No talking,” she insists.
“Rest.”

Then she does something at the side of Jon’s bed, and suddenly Jon’s very sleepy. He watches the doctor’s face shiver like a reflection in a wind-struck pool. Then he feels himself dropping into a deep, echoing darkness.

The next time Jon wakes up, he knows where he is and has a better idea of why he’s there. Doctor Gold isn’t present at the moment. But there’s a nurse in the room, a big dark-haired man, walking over to take a look at him.

“It’s all right,” Jon says. “I’m fine.”

“Terrific,” says the nurse, though he looks concerned. “I’ll get your doctor.”

“Go ahead,” Jon says.

The nurse goes as far as the entrance to the room, stands half inside and half out, and calls to someone down the hall. A moment later, he comes back inside.

“It’ll be just a minute,” he says.

“All right,” says Jon.

Funny. He doesn’t feel the vagueness anymore, but he still feels different. Lighter somehow, as if a burden had been lifted from him.

Suddenly the nurse is back in the room. “Sorry. Turns out it’ll be more than a minute. Do you mind waiting?”

Jon finds that he doesn’t mind at all.

He leans back into the pillow and wonders how long it will be. Not that he cares. He just wonders.

Despite what the nurse has said, it doesn’t take long for Doctor Gold to show up. She has long blond hair. She tucks some of it behind her ear as she sits down on the edge of his bed.

“Feeling better?” she asks.

This time he knows how to answer. “The cotton’s gone.”

“That’s good. Do you remember anything more about your procedure?”

“I remember that you operated on my amygdalae.”

“Not me, actually. That was Doctor Nizamani. But yes … your amygdalae …”

“The amygdalae control fear.” He recalls having heard someone say so.

“That’s true.”

“You wanted me to be unafraid.” He recalls that, too.

“
You
wanted it as well, Jon. That’s why you volunteered for the procedure.”

“I … volunteered?”

Doctor Gold tilts her head to one side. “Do you remember the Ursa, Jon?”

He sees the flash of something big and pale again.
As pale as a fish’s belly
. “Yes. They kill people. They’re predators.”

“They are. And we’ve been dealing with them for hundreds of years on and off. We get rid of them, and then a new wave appears, each one more difficult to exterminate than the last. Does this sound familiar?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. You also recall that the Ursa in
this
wave are better hunters than the ones we’ve dealt with in the
past. That’s because they have an ability they never had before. They sense our
fear
.

“Lately we’ve discovered that there are people who can elude the Ursa—people who don’t experience fear under certain circumstances. We call them Ghosts. Unfortunately, there are only a handful of them, and they can’t be everywhere—which is why there were hundreds of lethal Ursa attacks in the last year alone.”

Was that a lot? Jon didn’t know.

“Then we asked ourselves, ‘Why not explore the possibility of
creating
Ghosts?’ In other words, taking away the ability to experience fear. We experimented with a number of ways to do this, but none of them completely eradicated the fear response. That left us with just one approach: the one we pursued in your case.”

“A procedure.”

“Yes.”

“On my amygdalae.”

“It was Doctor Nizamani’s idea. He knew that the amygdalae process sensory information and react by instilling in the brain what we know as fear. And he’ll tell you that they do so for good reason. Without fear, our ancestors would never have been spurred to flee from saber-tooth tigers and other predators.

“So what we were talking about was going against nature. That’s something we don’t do around here when we can help it. But the Ursa are taking a terrible toll, Jon. We have to try any approach that has a reasonable chance of success. And we thought if we took away your fear—”

“I could be a Ghost.”

“Yes. And if it worked in your case, it might work in others.”

Jon thinks about that. “
Did
it work?”

“What do
you
think?”

He examines his mental state. “I don’t
feel
any fear. However, I don’t think there’s anything in this room I’d be scared of. Is there?”

“Nothing,” the doctor agrees.

“Then am I undetectable to the Ursa?”

She shrugs. “There’s really only one way to find out. But first you’ve got to recuperate from your surgery.” She starts to leave—to go on to her next patient, Jon imagines.

“Will you continue to visit?” he asks.

Doctor Gold stops long enough to say, “As long as you need me.”

Soon Jon receives a visit from another doctor: the one who performed his surgery. Doctor Nizamani is a small man with a big head and a dark beard flecked with gray. One small spot on the left side of his chin. Doctor Nizamani’s mouth, like Doctor Gold’s, pulls up at the corners. And like Doctor Gold, he asks Jon what he remembers. When Jon responds, Doctor Nizamani makes notes on a personal access tablet.

“Are you experiencing headaches? Other discomfort?”

“No,” Jon says.

“Good.” Doctor Nizamani studies the computer data on the hologram beside Jon’s bed, calling up one screen after the other. Finally, he says, “I want you to walk up and down the hall, get some exercise. Your nurse, Marcus, will accompany you. How’s that sound?”

“Sound?” Jon says. He’s not sure what the doctor is asking. “You mean …?”

Doctor Nizamani pats Jon on the shoulder. “Never mind. Just walk.”

Then the doctor leaves. The nurse with the dark hair approaches Jon.

“Ready to take a walk?” he asks.

Jon says he’s ready. With the nurse’s help, he gets out of bed. His legs are weak, and they shake a little.

But he walks.

Jon and Marcus negotiate the length of the hall four times. Then Marcus helps Jon back into his bed.

“Nice job,” Marcus says, extending his hand.