Cecilia approached the Cray farming colony from around the back of one of the barns. She smelled something foul wafting from one of them and peered carefully between the folds of smart fabric that composed the sides. There were red splotches on the cloth, which she knew instantly were blood. Within the barn itself, aside from various tools, was a cow. Farmers cherished their cows and did their damnedest to breed them, because growing them from the DNA samples that had been on the vessels that had carried them to Nova Prime was always a hit-and-miss operation, even after all this time. Natural breeding was far preferable.
This cow had been gutted. Worst of all, the poor thing was still breathing. How it was possible Cecilia couldn’t even imagine.
She used one of her daggers to cut aside the smart fabric, insinuated herself into the barn, and put the barrel of her pulser against the poor animal’s head. It looked at her with its saucerlike eyes, and there seemed to be a flash of gratitude in them. Then she squeezed the trigger once, hoping that the fact that she had jammed it against its head would muffle the shot. She certainly didn’t need to alert the Ursa to her presence. The cow shuddered once, and then it was gone.
She crossed the barn, trying to determine the stealthiest way to approach the thing.
That plan went right out the window when she heard the unmistakable roar of an Ursa, accompanied by the terrified screams of several people, including what sounded like a young girl.
With no thought of her own safety, with no thought of anything save what needed to be done, Cecilia charged out of the limited shelter of the barn and slapped on a pair of infrared goggles so that the darkness wouldn’t impede her. Then, while still running, she unslung her pack and started fishing in it for the items she had taken from the warehouse back at the mining colony. She saw the Ursa from behind, maybe a hundred yards away. It was smaller than the one she had encountered what seemed like an eternity ago, but it was still large enough to swallow her in one gulp.
The monster had torn up what appeared to be a trapdoor sunk into the ground. She realized immediately that it was an old bomb shelter, constructed to withstand Skrel aerial assaults. But it could not withstand the close-up attack of the Ursa. The creature was reaching down into the shelter with one of its claws, trying to extract the people within like a child trying to pull fruit filling from the middle of a pastry.
Cecilia brought up her pulser and started firing. Her hand was shaking, but it didn’t matter because the Ursa was more than enough of a target. Pulse blasts ricocheted from all over it.
The thing whirled to face her and bellowed in anger. It didn’t look at all as if she was managing to hurt it, but she definitely had gotten its attention.
Cecilia stopped and did the only thing she could think of: She roared back at it. The Ursa actually seemed taken aback by her response. It paused for a moment, processing it.
Then it charged, its claws spitting up pieces of dirt as it came at her.
There was no further time to rummage in the bag. In desperation, she dumped everything out and saw, rolling around her feet, two blast charges she’d gotten from the mining colony. Each one consisted of a small block of explosives with a timer attached. The miners used them to clear away stubborn sections of underground caves, but Cecilia had a different use in mind. She also yanked out the machete, shoving it into her belt.
The creature came straight at her, roaring again, its mouth wide open. The timer usually was set to something along the lines of twenty minutes to make sure everyone had time to get clear. Cecilia had no such luxury; she set it to five seconds and threw it straight at the creature’s open maw.
Her shaking hand betrayed her. The blast charge glanced off the Ursa’s open mouth and struck the ground directly in front of it.
An instant later, it exploded—just as the Ursa passed over it.
The blast sent the creature spiraling through the air, carried by the force of the detonation. It hit the ground about ten feet away, landing heavily, and lay there for a moment looking stunned.
The force of the blast had knocked Cecilia off her feet as well. She tried to stand up and cried out in pain. She’d been twisted around by the impact of the landing and had managed to torque her knee. It was hardly a life-threatening injury unless her inability to move quickly enabled the Ursa to leap on her and dispatch her easily.
The explosion must have been heard by the farmers because a moment later they opened the trapdoor and came pouring out of the shelter. When they saw the Ursa lying there, they recognized their opportunity. With a collective shout of defiance the farmers charged the beast, waving pitchforks, scythes, and anything else with a point or a sharp edge that could serve as a weapon.
“No, wait!” Cecilia shouted. She grabbed the second blast charge and looped the rope around her shoulder. “It’s only stunned! Be careful—!”
They didn’t attend to her words, possibly because they didn’t hear them since they were so busy shouting imprecations at the Ursa. But by the time they got near it, the creature had recovered and was on its feet, turning to face them.
Cecilia limped frantically in their direction. The pain was so severe that tears welled involuntarily in her eyes. “Encircle it!” she yelled. “Come at it from all sides! Strike and fall back!”
Now they heard her, or at least they chose that moment to pay attention to her. A dozen of them were surrounding the monster, taking turns stabbing and thrusting with their makeshift weapons and then jumping back whenever the Ursa turned its attention to them.
It was an effective tactic for a short time, but then the Ursa lashed out with its claw and slashed open the chest of a man wielding a pitchfork. Cecilia heard a woman cry out his name in a way that indicated that she was his wife. Now she’s his widow, Cecilia thought grimly as the man fell backward, dead before he hit the ground.
“You son of a bitch!” the widow screeched, and came at the Ursa with a sickle. The Ursa bit down on and through her weapon-wielding arm, and she shrieked as the limb was bitten off with a sound like a drawer slamming shut. Blood fountained from the truncated arm, and the woman collapsed in shock. The Ursa spit out the sickle and the arm that was still gripping it.
Cecilia, limping wildly, started firing again. She was desperately worried that her erratic aim would cause her to strike some of the farmers. She needn’t have been concerned; the farmers were doing their best to get the hell out of the Ursa’s way.
Attracted by the bursts of pulser energy, the monster zeroed in on Cecilia and charged again. At that moment, providentially, Cecilia’s knee gave out, and as she collapsed, the Ursa overshot her. For a second the creature’s underbelly was directly above her.
Without realizing she was doing it, she shoved the machete up into its gut. Fusion-burst pulses might have ricocheted off it, but the serrated blade penetrated the Ursa’s hide.
The creature let out a howl of fury, and that was when Cecilia heard a chorus of angry shouting. The farmers were attacking once again, battering the Ursa from all directions with their tools. The humanity of Nova Prime, harkening to its most basic instincts, looked like its prehistoric ancestors attempting to take down a mammoth with nothing but spears.
Cecilia, still lying beneath the creature, saw her opening. She thumbed the second blast charge to life and blindly set the timer. She didn’t know whether she’d set it to detonate in seconds or hours and was unable to check because there was no room to do so. Instead, she did the only thing she could: She thrust the blast charge up into the Ursa’s gut.
The Ursa bellowed so fearsomely that Cecilia’s mammoth-hunting ancestors could have heard it. Then the beast bounded away from Cecilia, the source of its discomfort.
The farmers pursued the Ursa but only until it whirled to face them, at which point they fell back in pure terror. Then the monster locked onto Cecilia once more. Baring its double row of jagged teeth, it advanced on her. Her pulser was once again in her hand.
“Go to hell,” she snarled between bloodied lips, and fired. As the pulse blast struck the charge in the creature’s gut, it detonated.
The blast lifted the Ursa several feet into the air and landed it on its side. But it still wasn’t dead. Its belly was a mess of black gore, but it still had the strength to roar at the farmers and struggle to its feet.
But the farmers weren’t going to let it go far. Using their tools, they stabbed at it and hacked at it and pummeled it until the thing collapsed. Even then it snapped at a farmer, nearly taking his leg off, and so they kept stabbing and hacking and pummeling until the Ursa stopped moving.
It took a long time.
A young girl knelt next to Cecilia, who was still lying there, pain turning her leg into an appendage that was good for nothing except keeping her boot on. “That’s some gun!” she said in admiration, apparently under the impression that the pulser was responsible for the Ursa being blown apart.
Cecilia was about to tell her the truth when she heard a tremendous yell of triumph. One of the farmers, using a scythe, had chopped the Ursa’s head off. “I got it!” he shouted. “Wait’ll Vander Meer gets a load of this! I’m gonna be rich!”
Oh, you bastard, she thought, and she tried to stand up, but her knee betrayed her. “Like hell!” she managed to grunt. “It’s mine!”
No one heard her. The farmers, having completely forgotten about their savior, were busy arguing with one another. It was clear that Cecilia wasn’t the only one who had heard Vander Meer’s offer.
“Keep away!” said the man who had the head, and he actually swung it around and knocked over some people with it, black Ursa blood flying everywhere. Then another farmer came up behind him and slammed him with a hoe in the back of his skull. The head tumbled out of the first man’s arms, but he wasn’t unconscious. Turning around, he slugged his assailant in the face.
The grisly trophy bounced away, and people stumbled over one another to get their hands on it.
Cecilia lay there, with the young girl trying to find a way to position her leg so that it wouldn’t hurt.
“What’s wrong with them?” the girl asked. Her eyes were filling with tears. It was clearly horrifying to her to see the adults, covered in black blood and filth from battling the Ursa, turning against one another.
Cecilia watched the display. She saw the fury on their faces and the lack of humanity. They seemed ready to kill one another. Only moments earlier they had been united against the common enemy; now they found an enemy everywhere they turned.
She thought of what she had been like when she had killed the men back at the mining colony. She had done it in self-defense and thus had been ruthlessly efficient in doing it, yet even then the violence had sickened her. It was one thing to be part of the Rangers, but this?
The worst thing was that she knew that if her leg were functioning properly, she would be right in there with them. She would be wrestling for the proof of the creature’s death, and she might even be desperate enough to start shooting.
What good would I be to my family like that? Is that what the children deserve? A mother who’s thrown fundamental human decency out the window? Who’d be willing to slaughter her own people not to protect her life or the common good but out of desperation? Is that who I want to be?
The little girl was still looking down at her. Cecilia wiped the tears from her eyes and whispered, “They don’t know any better.”
That was when another, even more devastating roar sounded across the colony. Everyone froze at the sound. Two men had been struggling for possession of the head, but they both dropped it.
It was another Ursa, eagerly advancing on them. It roared again, and it was impossible to tell whether it was angry over the loss of one of its kind or if it didn’t give a damn and was simply informing them that it was going to kill them all.
Before the farmers could decide whether to come together as one or run in a burst of every-man-for-himself, the Ursa decided it for them. It charged into their midst.
Oh, God … it was all pointless, Cecilia thought, and that was when she heard a triumphant hum: a fleet of Ranger skipjacks.
A Ranger on a skipjack descended from overhead, coming in fast. A dozen other Rangers were right behind him on similar vehicles. Undaunted by the Ursa’s strength and teeth and talons, the lead Ranger leaped off his skipjack and fell toward the creature.
He had something in his hand that was like nothing Cecilia had ever seen. It was some kind of staff, except it looked like it was constructed of intertwined strands of silver metal. At the end of the staff, there was a vicious-looking blade.
As Cecilia watched, spellbound, the Ranger landed on the back of the startled Ursa and drove the blade into the back of its head.
The Ursa roared and twisted, throwing the Ranger off. He hit the ground and rolled to his feet, but before the monster could reach him, the other Rangers had hit the ground and begun thrusting at the Ursa with their own strange bladed weapons.
Cecilia had been incredibly lucky with the thrust of her machete; if she hadn’t been as close as she was, it was likely that the blade never would have penetrated. And how often could one reasonably expect to get that close to an Ursa?
But the attacking Rangers didn’t appear to require that proximity. They moved around the Ursa in a continuous circle, spearing, slicing, and moving lightly out of the way before the Ursa could counterattack. Everywhere they struck, their blades penetrated with such ease that they might as well have been assaulting a gigantic stick of butter.
And it wasn’t just blades they were using. They had pikes and spiked balls and hooks on the ends of their weapons as well. But—and Cecilia didn’t know if she was hallucinating this part—it wasn’t that each weapon was different. It seemed to her that each one was transforming itself from one shape to another as she looked on.
One thing she was sure of was that she knew one of the Rangers: Commander Hāturi. Despite his age, he was attacking shoulder to shoulder with the other Rangers, maneuvering as ably as any of his subordinates. With a roar of rage, the Ursa swiped at the commander with its talons, but he retreated in time to keep from being cut to shreds.
It was the last offensive move the creature would make. The Rangers piled on, moving in a fluid and coordinated manner. The minutes seemed to take an eternity to tick away, but when it was over, the Ursa lay on the ground, cut to pieces. There was no question in anyone’s mind that it was dead.
“Sweep the area,” Hāturi ordered. “Motion sensors on full. I don’t want anything getting this near again.” Then Hāturi turned his attention to the farmers. “Everyone here okay?”
The little girl, who hadn’t budged from Cecilia’s side, called out, “This lady could use some help.”
Seeing the mess Cecilia was in, Hāturi called, “Medic!” and walked over to her. As he did so, his blade transformed itself into something blunt and inoffensive. A medic came in right behind him, and Hāturi knelt next to Cecilia. “You’re going to be all right, Miss …”
Then his face darkened. His gaze had fallen upon the pulser in her hand, and there was genuine threat in his voice as he said, “Where did you get that?”
She would have laughed, but she was starting to feel pain in her chest as well. It was possible that she had broken a rib, but that was a problem for later. She winced as the medic started examining her knee, but she managed to get out, “Cecilia Ruiz, formerly Ranger Cecilia Sanchez.”
Recognition dawned on Hāturi’s face. “Sanchez? I remember you. Some sort of nerve injury, yes?”
“Only to my shooting hand.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. You’re a farmer now?”
She managed to shake her head. “No, sir.”
“Then what the hell are you doing out here?”
“Killing Ursa, sir.”
Hāturi studied her for a long moment. The man wasn’t stupid. She knew that he was figuring it all out. She found that she couldn’t keep looking him in the eye. She felt ashamed, as if she had betrayed some deeper meaning of the Ranger oath she had taken so long ago, the oath that, thanks to her injuries, she had left long behind.
“I thought I saw people fighting over the head when we were coming in.” He eyed her. “The reward credits are that important to you?” he asked, removing any doubt that he hadn’t seen through her purpose.
“Taking care of my family is.”
He looked back in the direction of the Ursa’s carcass. “Makes you sick, huh?”
“Yes, it does.”
“And I assume you were the one largely responsible for killing the beast?”
The little girl spoke up. “Yes, sir. She was. She blowed it up good.”
“Indeed.” His eyes narrowed, and there was anger in his face. “I don’t approve of Vander Meer’s methods, but fair is fair and a reward’s a reward. I’ll make sure you’ll get the head—”
“No, sir,” Cecilia said quickly before he could stand and move away. Then she let out a sigh. The med tech had injected her with painkiller, and the ache was fading to something manageable.
“Why not?” Hāturi was clearly confused.
“Because …” She tried to frame the thoughts tumbling through her head. “I don’t know.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the weapon that Hāturi was holding. Before he could press the subject, she said, “What is that?”
“Well”—he held it closer—“the unofficial name for it is a cutlass, although I’m sure we’ll come up with a better name before long. It’s a new weapon developed by an engineer named Lyla Kincaid, may she rest in peace. As you can see, rather formidable and much more effective against Ursa than pulsers.”
“Definitely.”
He studied her a moment and then slid his hand along the thing and tapped it. Instantly, the cutlass grew a blade at either end. He handed it to her. “Give it a try,” he said. “Just don’t tap it. You might get a nasty surprise.” With a gesture of his head, he indicated to the med tech that it might be a good idea to back up.
Cecilia swept the cutlass back and forth with facility. It felt comfortable in her hand. Natural. Remarkably light but also obviously devastating in a battle.
Hāturi was now standing, and he addressed the farmers. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a formal voice, “the United Ranger Corps thanks you for your cooperation. It has come to our attention that this young woman has personal needs that you can attend to. As thanks for her aid to you, you’re going to gather a considerable amount of food and present it to her for her to take back to her family.”
One of the farmers tried to protest but wilted under Hāturi’s gaze. “How much?” was all he managed to say.
“We’ll tell you when it’s enough,” Hāturi said coolly. As if that ended the discussion—which, as far as the commander was concerned, it clearly did—he turned back to Cecilia. “So what do you think of the cutlass?”
“Incredibly maneuverable,” she said. “Been field-testing it long?”
“Long enough. We’ve killed dozens of the damned Ursa with it. It’s devastating. We’ve got enough DNA samples of the things that the Savant is in heaven, or at least whatever he believes heaven to be. We haven’t gotten that bastard Gash yet—the biggest Ursa you’ve ever seen—but we will. We’re closing in on putting an end to these bastards.”
“Well, that’s … that’s great to hear.”
She offered the cutlass back to him. Hāturi studied her and then said quietly, “Of course, even when we kill the last of them, there’s no guarantee there won’t be more. In fact, I’m sure there will be. The Ursa represents a sea change in Ranger preparedness.”
“Okay.” She shrugged; there didn’t seem to be much else to say.
“I suspect that the cutlass is going to become the primary weapon of the Rangers, especially when it comes to combating those things.”
“That makes sense.”
“And I can’t help but observe that you seem to be holding it reasonably steadily.”
“Yes, I suppose I—”
Her voice trailed off as the significance of what he was saying began to settle in. He reached down and took the cutlass back, and as he did, he said, “It would appear to these eyes that the small muscle control that you don’t possess to wield a pulser accurately really isn’t an issue when it comes to a cutlass. Would your family be upset if you had a regular job again?”
“No, sir. Not at all.”
“Good. Because we’re sorely in need of Rangers, especially experienced ones. This bunch with me are all cadets, believe it or not.”
Cecilia had thought they looked a little young.
“And although the economy is a little soft right now, I’m sure we can find some credits to cover back pay for the years you missed. Right now, though, you’ll return home, get some rest, and prepare some nice meals for your family, thanks to the generosity of these farmers, before reporting for duty.” He saluted her. “Welcome back to the fight, Ranger.”
She returned the salute. “Glad to be of help, sir. Um … I hate to seem ungrateful …”
“But?”
“Do you think you could give me a ride home?”
Conner stood in the Ranger supply depot and counted out two dozen salt tablets on the table in front of him. Out in the desert, he wouldn’t last long without them.
Of course, if he had been the Prime Commander in name as well as in practice, someone would have been available to count salt tablets for him. But even then, he would have done it himself. My life. My responsibility.
It was something his father had taught him, one of many things.
He had barely counted the last tablet when he heard a knock at the open door. He turned and saw Blodge standing there. “Come on in,” he said.
Blodge joined him in the depot. “I know you’re busy getting ready and everything, but I’ve got to ask: Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Conner picked up the tablets and poured them into a Ranger-issue waterproof container. “What do you mean? My going after Gash?”
“Your going after Gash alone. I know you’ve got a plan, but what if something happens to you? What are the Rangers going to do for a leader?”
Conner smiled to himself. “They’ll find somebody. They always have.”
“But this is a bad time to settle for somebody.”
“Is it? Gash is the last Ursa we have to worry about. If I don’t get him, someone else will.” In fact, he had already begun thinking in terms of that possibility, even down to the question of who would lead the squad that came after him. “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure of that.”
“I’m not talking about Gash,” said Blodge. “I’m talking about the Primus.”
Conner looked up. “The Primus is missing. Unless you know something I don’t …”
“No. But he’ll turn up; everybody says so. And even if he doesn’t, there’ll be somebody else. Vander Meer, maybe. Or some other Primus.”
Conner saw what his friend was talking about. “And I’ve stood up to them. But you think somebody else won’t be able to.”
“Even Wilkins was having a hard time with this stuff, and she was hard as rocks. She had to give in on the budget, right? All that stuff about cutting back; it was destroying the Rangers, making us an afterthought.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “What do you think will happen if you get killed out there? You think people are going to take it easy on your replacement? Someone will try to bury us all over again.
“And this time,” Blodge continued, “there’ll be no one to fill the breach. Hāturi, maybe, but he’s already as much as said he’d make a lousy Prime Commander. Kincaid? He’s a bigger hothead than you are. They’d be no match for someone who knew how to work public opinion.”
“True,” Conner conceded. “But then, I’m not ready to take on someone like that, either.”
Blodge looked shocked. “What are you talking about? You’ve got the public eating out of your hand.”
“Sure, because our campaign against the Ursa has been a success. People are grateful. They think the Rangers are heroes. But what happens when the Ursa are all gone? People have short memories. They’ll forget what the Rangers did for them. They’ll start to feel cocky. And they’ll listen when Rostropovich or someone else starts talking again about cutting our funding.”
“All the more reason to have you around to remind them.”
“Me?” Conner laughed. “I’m eighteen. Why would they listen to me?”
“Without you we would never have gotten rid of the Ursa. We’d be hiding in our houses, waiting for the creatures to kill us.”
“You know what role I’ve played in this, and so do the other Rangers. But who knows outside of the Corps? Not many. The Savant, sure, but he’s not going to pin any medals on me. So really, what am I? Just an eighteen-year-old who did a good job filling in for his superior. A Raige? That’s nice. Always did like those Raiges.”
Blodge held his hands out, seeking understanding. “What are you saying?”
“That I’m expendable like anyone else.” He thought about Lyla. “And that I’ve got no choice.”
Blodge looked at him for a while. Then he said, “Guess I’ll see you before you go, then.”
“I’m counting on it,” said Conner.
He waited until his friend left. Then he went back to packing his salt tablets.