After Earth

i

Brazil was the wettest month in Nova Prime City, although that wasn’t saying much. The rainfall measured barely sixty millimeters, twice the average of most other months. It did help control the ever-present dust the light breeze usually spread, and there was a burst of color as flower gardens everywhere suddenly sprouted with new life.

Spring was certainly in the air, and it brought a rare smile to Khantun Timur Raige’s face. With the mildly damp weather came the conclusion of another year of cadet training. By now, the latest round of War Games was concluding somewhere in the cliffs just outside the city. She had checked in a day before and silently observed as the Blue team appeared ready to triumph, but the overnight report showed the Red team had out-maneuvered them. If the Green team was smart, they’d let them fight it out and slip through to win.

Within weeks, there would be the graduation ceremony, and another few dozen Rangers would don their uniforms and get to work. It was one of her favorite times of year; the promise of greatness lingered in the air along with one of renewal and rededication to the ideals of mankind. It amazed her that it was nearly a millennium since her ancestors left Earth and started afresh. Despite unexpected adversity and a harsher than anticipated environment, they have grown strong. It fell to her, as Prime Commander, to keep them strong and the planet well defended.

Since assuming the office sixteen years earlier, almost every waking hour had been spent focused on making the planet battle ready, prepared, and wary. The last Ursa attack was back in the 880s so she felt another assault was coming over the next few decades. By now they were expected like the hundred-year weather events, and just like they had to construct buildings with storms and earthquakes in mind, so, too, did they have to ensure there were shelters for the growing population and that the satellite warning system was constantly maintained and enhanced. Defensive satellites had been deployed since the last attack, so the hope was to winnow the number of Skrel that dared come near Nova Prime. Such preparations were in disarray when she took the post from Nathan Kincaid, who never should have accepted the promotion in the first place. His five-year tenure was a mess, and when she was given the top job she made preparation her priority. It took time and effort, and more than a little cajoling of the Savant’s comptroller general, but they managed.

When she took the job, becoming another in the long line of Raiges to hold the post, she wanted to prioritize the Rangers and her life. Knowing how all consuming the job was, she quickly arranged to have a child, never publicly disclosing who the father might be, so she would also know motherhood. Brom was born a healthy boy and grew up surrounded by the extended family, which helped raise him. Once that was ticked off her list, she made certain the Rangers would be her priority. This often meant Brom was brought to visit her after classes since she didn’t frequently make time to return home. He’d do homework while she conducted meetings or as they toured the troops around the spreading number of communities. Now a teen, he was already eyeing his own application to the Rangers.

Raige focused on the plans for the anchorages, the safety valves that were finally constructed over the last century on inhabitable worlds found in the Carina–Sagittarius arm of the Milky Way Galaxy. Heliopolis was opened for use four years earlier, and she was scheduled to make an inspection tour later in the year. She had managed to visit Lycia and Iphitos but needed to arrange a grand tour of all six. Brom would learn much by seeing them all, she noted. Any one of the anchorages promised to offer refuge to the nearly five million inhabitants of Nova Prime, but the one thing they still lacked were enough ships to ferry them all, let alone the wildlife.

With Heliopolis now ticked off her endless list, she needed to meet with Savant Burch and with Tähtiin Industries’ president Nelson Ben-Greiner. Plans for stockpiling the material and for rapid construction had to be the next priority. With the anchorage program at an end, for now, there should be plenty of manpower and resources available for the task. She paused in the shade of the seating area on the grand plaza and tapped in the note on her naviband.

Her last stop before entering Rangers headquarters was at her favorite street vendor, where she would enjoy a hot tea and the latest street gossip. Talking to Raj always made her feel a little more connected with what was on the minds of the people she was sworn to protect. In uniform, she so rarely had a chance to hear the unvarnished truth from the citizenry so she soaked up what she could from reliable sources, beginning most mornings with Raj.

“Here you go,” he said, leaning over his teapot, which was simmering with something cinnamon-like. “It’s just come in from the tea fermentators’ guild, something new.”

“I want my usual oolong,” Raige complained, accepting the cup anyway.

“Try something new,” he instructed. “Live a little.”

“At least it smells good,” she said, letting the aroma waft around her. “So, what’s new?”

“That tea, for one,” Raj said with a grin. He was nearly seventy and had grown and sold tea his entire life, starting at a colony upriver but moving to the city when his children were adults. He’d been selling tea to Raige long before she was named PC and therefore was a trusted companion.

“The new performance of Let Me Help is supposed to be good. Mouly is said to be superb in the lead.”

Raige grunted at that, not one for the arts, but if it was revived, she was glad to know a respected work from the last century was at least well done.

“There’s been some talk that people want to permanently settle on Olympus,” Raj said. “It’s that Safe Movement talk all over again.”

She nodded at the memory of the moment the first anchorage opened: There were requests by many to relocate and colonize. Right now, the anchorages were exploratory outposts and emergency evacuation points. The next spiral arm over was a more difficult move than hopping to the next continent. The proposal had bubbled up now and then, but the triumvirate leadership quickly shut down the discussion. Hope (or was it fear) springs eternal.

As a reward, she took a deep drink of the new tea, which had cooled enough. It had a nice, spicy taste, maybe too sweet for regular consumption but not bad at all.

“This is nice, thanks, Raj, but I’ll be sticking with my usual,” Raige told him and headed directly for the Rangers’ base of operations. She hadn’t gone more than three meters when her naviband buzzed and vibrated. A quick glance showed all red. Something major was happening.

She rushed inside, handing off the unfinished cup of tea to the security guard at the entrance, who snapped to attention the moment he spotted her.

Heading up to her office, wishing she could just be teleported there, the PC studied the incoming alert. The satellite system had detected Skrel ships approaching. They were early; she wasn’t expecting them for some time. That in itself concerned her at the same time she was pleased the upgraded surveillance system actually worked and they now had some time to prepare.

Skipping her office, she went to the tactical command center where all the feeds were received and analyzed. As she entered, the lighting was already dim and there was an undercurrent of voices communicating with others. Holographic screens showed a map of the solar system with red lights denoting the satellites. Huge purple lights at the system’s edge marked the Skrel. She counted at least six ships, maybe more.

“Situation?” she called.

Only then did the majority of the staff notice the PC was among them. Her adjutant, Lieutenant Strongbow, approached with a tablet gripped in both hands.

“They appeared on the screen ten minutes ago and are estimated to reach Nova Prime in three days, six hours, fourteen minutes.”

“They’re in a hurry,” Raige said to the tall, trim brunette. Strongbow knew better than to try bantering and kept it to just the facts.

“The lead Skrel ship appears to be targeting and taking out any satellites in its path.”

“Have we fired?”

“First one’s coming into range shortly,” Strongbow reported.

“Make it the main image,” she snapped. Suddenly, a tactical map of the solar system flicked into existence, looming large over the room. Enough sensor data had come in to render a silhouette of the Skrel ship, resembling the ones that arrived almost seven hundred years earlier. Large, bulbous shapes up front, spikey tail sections with cables running loosely under the carriage. Without a Skrel corpse for reference, no one could estimate the scale or determine how many might be flying each ship. What worried Raige and the others was their firepower. How much had that improved since the Skrel’s last attack?

“Fire at will,” she ordered. Several voices acknowledged and then the waiting began.

Long minutes passed until the first F.E.N.I.X. missile was launched… and obliterated before it hit its target.

“That screws with our intelligence. Damn, I knew we needed warships,” she said, not for the first time. While the last century saw a new generation of starships with upgraded Lightstream engines, they were designed for deep space and for the wormhole to the next spiral arm. All the resources went to them, and the anchorages, when her predecessors recognized they needed a fleet of fighters to keep the battle in space. Had the Varuna Squadron been supplied with such ships, the last iteration of Ursa would have been sucking vacuum. But resources, even after nearly a thousand years, remained carefully apportioned. The system had its share of asteroids to mine, but unlike the ones placidly orbiting Sol, they were tougher to tame and access. As a result, every scrap of ore had to be allocated.

“I have the Savant and Primus calling in,” Strongbow said.

“I’ll give a briefing once I have something to say,” Khantun snapped. Any vestiges of her personable character were gone. She was now a focused warrior, readying for battle. The Prime Commander never asked her parents why they chose Khantun, meaning “Iron Queen,” but she was determined to live up to the name.

For the next several minutes, with her eyes barely wavering from the purple dots—now confirmed as eight identical ships—the Prime Commander was briefed on speed, point of entry into the solar system, estimated angle of orbit, and speculation as to whether they brought the deadly beasts with them. Ruth Strongbow took notes and convened the command staff in the adjacent room. Meantime, leaves of absence had been canceled and every Ranger in uniform was put on alert. Following a well-practiced series of protocols over the last fifteen years, the Rangers were now checking all supplies, power packs, medical field kits, and, of course, their cutlasses. Tomorrow, the squadron would take to the air and begin around-the-clock patrols. The shelter alert would not sound until the Skrel were one day away, time enough to prepare but not long enough to panic and cause additional headaches.

Raige was pleased with the intelligence coming through as well as the projections. “Have these confirmed by the Savant,” she instructed her adjutant. “I’ll meet with the Savant and Primus in two hours. Have someone bring Brom to Mama Sam.”

Strongbow acknowledged the orders and began by having the nearest Ranger collect the PC’s son and deliver him to Samantha Raige, Khantun’s mother. Once the teen was secured, Strongbow knew Raige’s total focus could remain with the Rangers. Her father, Mark, was once the PC, but had been injured in the line of duty and was largely paralyzed. Brom was a strapping teen and could help with her father’s care while Samantha could ensure the boy didn’t do anything foolish.

The preparations were now under way, but the waiting for the Skrel to arrive would make everyone skittish. All except the Iron Queen. She would show them how it was done.

ii

Primus Jon Anderson was the perfect image for a pious man. He was tall, with a wizened face, and dark, bushy eyebrows that helped animate his expression. His salt-and-pepper beard extended nearly to his breastbone. Anderson carried a staff that had become synonymous with his office but hid a slight limp. His robes of office remained immaculate, and his hat gleamed in the sunlight.

Today, he looked like hell.

He hadn’t slept in days nor, it appeared, had he changed his robes or washed. The beard was a wild tangle, making him appear more savage than sage. There was a faint aroma of sweat rising from the heavy fabric that only added to the stale air in the council room. A plate of food sat uneaten before him and the cup of wine untouched. Had he not blinked now and then, Raige would have thought he had gone catatonic. He was getting pretty damned close.

Their counterpart, Savant Erich Burch, at least had put on a fresh lab coat and violet gloves. At least it looked like he had an hour or more of sleep.

The three leaders of Nova Prime sat in silence as around them holo screens displayed details of the devastation that began three days earlier. When it was clear the Skrel were on the attack, they departed their vulnerable council room and settled into a makeshift operation in a conference room near the Rangers’ hangar bay, low enough in the cliff to be a hard target. It was close quarters, adding to the foul air, and bare of decoration, which matched her mood.

Khantun felt she had failed them all. She prepared the Rangers and the people for a fresh batch of Ursa, but was stunned when the eight ships entered the atmosphere and began blasting away with energy beams that packed explosive force.

It had taken over a day to realize there was a method to the constant back-and-forth flying being done by the Skrel. They were dropping incendiary devices all across the continent. The devices burrowed beneath the surface and were programmed to detonate when weight was placed on them. At first they thought animals were being shot from the sky, but it then became clear the animals were triggering the devices themselves. Savant Burch reported all it took was a few pounds of weight to be detected, and the device would explode with enough force to kill any living thing in a half-meter radius, which was deadly enough.

The dead were an unfathomable number.

“This defies everything we’ve experienced in centuries,” Burch said.

“What do you mean?” Anderson asked.

“The Savant is referring to the fact that in 243 the Skrel were very selective about where they fired. Their targeting systems were incredibly, impossibly precise. It was always things we constructed. Or people. Or livestock. Never the planet itself.”

“And did that happen the second time?” Anderson inquired.

“Yes,” Burch answered, finally reengaging with the conversation. “In 350, they returned and took more shots at us. Not the planet. Your predecessor wrote a treatise speculating about why the planet was left unharmed. You should read it sometime.”

“Ever since then, the Skrel have seen fit to come here, deposit the Ursa, avoid our cannon fire, and leave the atmosphere as quickly as possible,” Khantun said. “This defies everything we have trained and prepared for.”

“Your flyers lack the weaponry, don’t they?”

“Yes, Primus. They were never designed to handle threats from outer space. Same with the Suijin Fleet. The Skrel ships never neared the waterways. I’ve had the ships stored out of target sighting and the crews redeployed.”

She cursed herself for being caught by surprise, but really, how could she know they would choose to fire for the first time in six hundred years? Still, the Iron Queen was feeling beaten and it irritated her.

All available flying craft were being used to throw whatever weaponry they had at the eight ships that leisurely crisscrossed the continent, strafing New Earth City then picking off people who ignored the shelter order, thinking the smaller colony towns would not be targets. Tähtiinville, home to their spacecraft manufacturing, was a smoking ruin.

Everything had gone wrong. All her plans and preparations for over a decade had been useless. People were dying, the Skrel were winning, and this time they didn’t need the Ursa.

“We need a weapon of mass destruction,” she said.

“What about the F.E.N.I.X. bombs?” the Savant said, pushing his plate away.

“How many are left?”

Burch paused and consulted a readout on the display before him and held up four fingers.

“We’re going to have little left but rocks to throw at them. Those we have plenty of, and it seems they will prove as effective,” the Iron Queen grumbled. “What about the upgrades?” she demanded, refusing to appear weak, even if it was just the three of them in the room without any aides.

“We’re working on them, but scaling up has proven difficult. No one has really looked at those schematics in decades. After all, those damn ships descend, drop, and leave, all too fast for the batteries to track them down.”

“What are we doing about that?”

“I have my top people on it,” he replied.

“This isn’t working,” the Primus said. “We’re all going to die.”

“I don’t need you losing your faith, not when the people are looking to you for guidance,” Raige said, her tone allowing no argument. “Your addresses to the shelters are giving them something to hold on to. It’s the one thing you can give them that I cannot. That he cannot.”

Raige was frustrated at the lack of a plan, at the lack of action. If she could, she’d don a jetpack, grab a cutlass, and go meet a Skrel ship in the skies over the city. Since the jetpack remained mired in the R&D branch of the Mirador, the Savant’s headquarters and labs, she had little choice but to control things within her grasp.

She stabbed a control and spoke into the microphone. “This is the Prime Commander. Strongbow, send teams to the F.E.N.I.X. surface-to-air guns and have them ready to go again. Send a runner to the Mirador and get me eyes on the upgrades. Then round up the Defense Corps. Have them check shelter by shelter. Make sure we have people secure and safe. Medical emergencies are the only ones who have permission to leave a shelter. I want Defense Corps people teamed with Rangers to begin walking the streets. Those Skrel bombs bored into the ground, which means they left evidence. Find them, tag them, and keep moving. We’ll figure out how to deactivate them later.”

“Commander, it’s Sykes. Strongbow is dead.”

Raige was stunned. She blinked and sat back in her chair. “How?”

“She was bringing in fresh supplies from a warehouse when one of those bombs went off.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

Damn. Was she that wrapped up in the mission she missed her adjutant’s presence for that long? In fact, did she ever get confirmation Brom made it to Mama Sam? He must have, she assured herself. Right now it was all about maintaining focus on the mission above all else, and the mission was far from done.

“Mourn later, Sergeant. Can you carry out those orders?”

“Affirmative.”

“Execute. Congratulations, you’re the new adjutant. When you have the orders carried out, change the duty rosters, grab Strongbow’s materials, and carry on.”

She turned her attention to the Primus.

“And I need you to keep the people calm. We’re at that point in every battle when fear and rumormongering can undermine us as easily as a Skrel bomb.”

Anderson nodded.

“This is overwhelming.”

“I know, not something they can train you for. Are you up to this or not?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really, but I do have a suggestion.”

Raige studied the Primus’s expression, trying to anticipate the question.

“Take over. Lead us all.”

That was not what she expected.

“Now there’s an idea. I can focus more on the F.E.N.I.X. tech work if I don’t have all the other demands,” Burch said.

“You do remember the last time one person controlled all three offices,” Khantun said.

“Yes, it was at a time when we weren’t prepared and needed a single leader to take us forward. If I recall, it was also a Raige. Your family seems to be built for leadership. So lead us,” Burch said.

“Amen,” the Primus added softly.

“The people will need to understand that I am in command. Me and no one else. So I will accept this, but as the Imperator.”

Anderson stared at her in confusion.

“You don’t remember your history, Anderson,” Burch said. “Back around 200 AE, we had an Imperator, and it didn’t end well for him. It’s why the Prime Commander’s ancestor refused the title when she took control. But I think we need that title now. Take it and wear it with pride.”

The Iron Queen stood, looking each man in the eye. For the first time in hours if not days, there was certainty in their expressions. They wanted her to take control, to lead the people or die trying.

Tapping a control on the table, she said, “Computer, as of this moment, Khantun Timur Raige is no longer the Prime Commander.”

“Acknowledged,” the artificial intelligence replied.

“Effective immediately, Khantun Timur Raige will be listed as the Imperator. All Citadel and Mirador commands will now flow through Ranger protocols.”

“Acknowledged,” the computer repeated.

The Iron Queen was retired and in her place stood Nova Prime’s Imperator, charged with protecting the people of Nova Prime and driving the Skrel from its skies.

Khantun moved closer to a holo display and watched one Skrel ship dip low over the city.

She grabbed a small device that remotely controlled the station. “This is Raige. Varuna flights Alpha and Gamma, converge on target over the northwest medical center. Target exhaust ports.”

“Roger, Prime Commander,” came a female voice. “Do we have confirmation on where that is exactly?”

“Use your thermal imagers to trace heat emissions. Target their hottest spots and fire at will.”

“Acknowledged.”

It had yet to be tried, but now was the time to be unorthodox. If the Skrel were going to play this game, she was here to win it. Silently, she studied the two purple blips registering the squads of flyers as they converged on the Skrel ship, which was moving into a position that would mean the medical center was destined for rubble.

The purple blips grew closer to the red at a remarkable rate.

Khantun caught herself holding her breath and forced herself to exhale through her nose. Deep breaths.

The purple blips touched the red dot and then the red winked off the screen.

“Target down,” the female voice said.

“Good shooting,” the Imperator told them.

Before she could redeploy them, her new adjutant entered the war room and handed her a tablet. Scrawled across the screen was a note from Brom, safely at Mama Sam’s and asking innocently about a missing file. Khantun allowed herself a moment—just a moment—of relief.

Khantun’s son was safe, and the planet would be, too.