Peter David
AFTER EARTH
GHOST STORIES
HUNTED
Prologue
The Earth is a distant memory, abandoned by humanity during a time of ecological catastrophe millennia ago. Humankind’s descendants found a new home on a world they named Nova Prime. There they thrived and grew, until the arrival of an aggressive alien species humans dubbed the Skrel, who attacked the survivors relentlessly for years. But humankind fought back with unfailing determination, led by the valiant United Ranger Corps, and resisted the Skrel’s best attempts to wipe them out. The war persisted off and on over centuries, and then the Skrel genetically engineered a weapon of mass destruction—one that would test Ranger determination and resourcefulness like no other.
I
The Ursa lunged, its mouth wide and slavering, letting out a deafening roar designed to paralyze its prey upon attack.
On first sight, it seemed to be nothing but mouth. Its gaping maw could easily have swallowed Daniel Silver whole. If chewing was required, that wouldn’t be an issue, since its mouth was crammed with massive fangs. It propelled itself forward on twisted, muscular legs, its talons providing it traction on any terrain.
It was the most formidable, devastating predator on the whole of Nova Prime, and it was bearing down on Daniel with the speed and force of a hurricane.
Without hesitation and unfazed by the creature’s speed, Daniel brought his pulser to bear. He was in a partial crouch in order to gain greater steadiness, and he held the pulser in a firm, double-handed grip. His eyes narrowed slightly and he fired off half a dozen quick shots. The Ursa attempted to dodge them, but Daniel adjusted without even thinking about it, each blast hitting home with unerring accuracy.
The Ursa flipped over onto its back. Its legs trembled violently as it let out an ululating howl of agony, and then with one final wail, a death rattle sounded in the creature’s throat.
Suddenly the Ursa began to flicker. A faint buzzing noise accompanied the flickering.
And the monster disappeared.
Daniel twirled the pulser a few times before sliding it into the holster on his hip. There were a few appreciative whistles and a smattering of applause, and Daniel bowed in response.
There were many sharpshooting ranges throughout the city. It was a leftover from the more militaristic days of Nova Prime, when everyone was expected to be proficient in small-arms fire. Recent generations had come to rely more heavily on the Rangers, whose training had become more refined and Ursa-centric, thus allowing the balance of the population to pursue less violent vocations. Nevertheless, weapons practice was ingrained into the mentality of the Novans; you couldn’t be too prepared for an Ursa incursion, after all, and even the Rangers couldn’t be everywhere. The range where Daniel preferred to practice was one of the smaller ones in Nova Prime City, but its technology was absolutely state-of-the-art. Like many of the larger ranges, it carried a sizable selection of holographic targets for users to choose from, but there was no denying that the most popular of them all was the Ursa.
Daniel and the other shooters were standing behind a counter that ran the length of the gallery. The holographic targets were on the other side and would snap into existence at random moments, charging at equally random times from different directions. Glowing numbers at the far end of the range displayed each shooter’s success rate, and Daniel’s was the only one at 100 percent.
Daniel was over six feet tall, so long and lean that his teen years had been hellish. He’d been constantly tripping over his own feet until his body finally got itself sorted out. Now in his early twenties, he had brown hair so long and shaggy that he sometimes tied it back to keep it out of his eyes. He was all wiry muscle that seemed to develop naturally without his doing the slightest thing in the way of working out. His most charming asset was his ready smile, which he flashed now at the others who were complimenting him on his accuracy.
“You are incredible, Danny,” one of them said. “No Ursa stands a chance with you.”
“I know, I know. It’s a gift. What can I say?”
“You can say it doesn’t mean a thing.”
It was Tucker who had spoken. Tucker, the guy who owned the place. Short, squat, and barrel-chested, he walked slowly toward his customers. He had no choice in the speed of his gait; his right leg was artificial, causing him to lurch sideways. “Sure,” he continued, “you can pat yourself on the back and talk about how great you are and take all the bows you want. But all the pulser blasts in the world won’t slow down an Ursa. Not in real life. I know because years ago, I was as stupid as any of you, and when I ran into one of those things I figured I could handle it. And I was damned lucky that it only got my leg, because I wouldn’t have lasted more than another second at most. And if the Rangers hadn’t shown up just before that second, there’d be no one standing here to tell you idiots that you shouldn’t get too damned cocky. Fun and games are fine, but this”—he gestured around the shooting range—“that’s all this is. So don’t any of you get any fool notions in your head about taking on one of these in real life just because you can pop a few good shots in its head in the comfort and safety of a shooting range. Because you know nothing about nothing. Understood?”
Heads bobbed in response and there were mutters of “Yes, sir.”
Daniel’s smile didn’t come quite so readily as he put the pulser down, feeling an unaccustomed sense of chagrin. But he quickly brushed it aside. Daniel had never been much for allowing himself to be brought down, or at least not for long. It just wasn’t in his nature.
So his smile quickly returned, and that seemed to annoy the hell out of Tucker. “Did you hear anything I said, Danny? Does anything matter to you?”
And the smile broadened even more. “Ohhh, yeah. One thing. And that’s more than enough. In fact… I feel like I have to tell someone. So I’m telling you, Tuck…”
“Me? And to what do I owe this honor?”
“Because you’re the closest thing I have to a friend. So here it is: I’m proposing to Ronna.”
“You are?”
“Yup.”
Tucker put out a hand and shook Daniel’s firmly. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Who the hell is Ronna?”
“I’ve told you about her. You must’ve forgotten…”
“I don’t forget a thing, Danny. You’ve never mentioned a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. I just figured you were, what do you call it… a hermoglodyte.”
“I have no freaking clue what that is.”
“It’s someone who doesn’t care about either sex.”
“Kind of doubt that, but in any event, that’s not me.” He paused, his eyebrows knitting. “Did I really never tell you about her?”
“Not a word.”
Daniel thought about it and then smiled again. “Well… maybe I just kind of liked keeping her to myself. Plus, you know, I tell you about her and then you’re always asking how she is, and it becomes a thing.”
“A thing?”
“A whole thing, yeah. And time goes by and you’re asking me how we’re doing, and if we’re talking about getting married, and all that stuff.”
Tucker stared at him. “Daniel… out of curiosity, in your own mind, just how much time do you think I spend giving a damn about your personal life?”
“Probably none.”
“Try definitely none. Propose, don’t propose. I absolutely could not care less.”
“That’s good to know, Tuck,” said Daniel, and he strode out with that typical sway of his. Tucker watched him go and then shook his head.