I had never heard my dad lose his cool before. I snapped to attention and barked, “Sir, yes sir!”
His voice even again, he responded, “Now at H plus one-eighty I need you at that forest. Set your chronometer.”
“Sir, yes sir!” I set my chronometer and began to walk. Striding along a ridge, I looked over green fields that seemed to go on forever and a valley covered with wildflowers. Despite everything, it was pretty amazing to be here on this planet.
I would stay on his route now. I had wanted to go faster, to try to get him help sooner. But I really hadn’t been trying to subvert his command. I didn’t understand why he had reacted like that, except maybe that he wasn’t used to anyone contradicting him ever. Or he just wanted to put me in my place, remind me that I’m just a kid. Or he was frustrated, trapped back there on that ship while I was out here, taking all the real risks. But I knew now that I’d better not step out of line again. Not for a while at least. And not with him.
Since I’m alone out here, I figure I might as well try to get some of this recorded. It is my first mission, after all. Hopefully the first of many. Or if everything goes sideways, maybe it will be a record someone finds someday, to tell them what became of Earth—and of me.
As I watch clouds sweeping over the mountains and fields around me, my dad—I mean, the Commander General—says, “Standard operating procedure till I give you further instructions.”
“Copy.” It would’ve been nice to have a dad I could actually talk to on the other end of the line, just to pass the time if nothing else. Sure, I’m lucky to have access to his military knowledge and experience. If anyone can help me survive this, it’s him—I know that. But why couldn’t he be awesome at his job and a decent father? He was to Senshi. But he never has been to me.
So there’s nothing to do but run to blot out the pain of the distance from my father, and the feeling that he doesn’t even want to know me. I’m not going anywhere near as fast as I could, since I know he doesn’t want me to, but the steady rhythm of my feet pounding the ground calms me. Adjusting my stride to adapt to the changing terrain, I chant to myself, “Who wasn’t advanced to Ranger? Watch him go! Watch him go!”
My thoughts wander to my first memory, back when I was only three. I was marching around our old apartment in my pajamas and my dad’s huge boots, struggling to hold his cutlass. My sister must have been off at Ranger training already.
“Those lines are tight, son,” Dad told me, and I felt pride and happiness like I have never felt since. My smile on the video my mom made is blinding. I ran over and hugged my dad, feeling incredibly safe and warm.
“And now it’s time for one junior officer to head off to bed,” he said.
“Noooo,” I protested in my little-kid whine.
“That’s a direct order from a superior officer, son.” At that, I straightened up and gave him a salute. Dad leaned down, his face serious as he said, “We never disobey an order. Not at home, not when deployed.”
“Yes, sir!” I agreed.
“And give your mother a kiss, tell her you love her.” As I did, I heard him say to her, “One day, I’m just going to be known as ‘Kitai’s dad.’” He sounded so proud.
I’ve thought about that memory over and over again. It’s the best proof I have that he used to believe in me, used to think that one day, I would be greater even than him. I remember being in that moment, feeling so grown-up carrying my dad’s cutlass, yet so aware of what big boots I had to fill. And so confident that I could do it, one day.
But living in the past doesn’t do any good. Maybe this shipwreck, horrible as it was, has finally given me another chance at a relationship with my dad. After a while I ask, “Hey, Dad, you there?” just to hear his voice again.
It takes him a moment to answer. I thought I’d done something wrong again, but I guess he was just checking our plan. “Cadet, the Earth’s rotational cycle is shorter than back home. You have six hours to reach the first geothermal site.”
“Roger.” Making my way along a jagged fissure in the ground, I see rocks jutting up toward me from the darkness below. It looks like a giant reached down and cracked the ground open like a giant egg.
“Let’s stay in the shade as much as possible,” my dad adds. “Direct sunlight is intensely carcinogenic. You must limit exposure.” I’d thought the sun felt really intense, but with this info, I darted to a patch of shade.
“The rain used to be acidic, but it doesn’t seem to be a problem now.” That was a relief, at least. The sun could kill me, but the rain probably wouldn’t.
Making good progress, I soon reach the edge of the forest. I see trees spilling over seemingly endless valleys. “Twenty kilometers, one hundred eighty-four minutes. Request breather, Da—I mean, sir.”
I’m surprised when he replies, “Negative. You’ve got three hours to reach the hot spot. That’s plenty of time. Hydrate now and keep moving.” It’s not like I need a break—I just wanted to check out the view for a little while longer, since I have plenty of time.
But he must have his reasons, and he made it clear it’s not my place to question him. That doesn’t mean I have to like it, but I swallow my annoyance and do as I was told. I flip open a hydration tube and drink it down as I enter the forest.
The trees are insane. Ninety meters high, six meters in diameter—unbelievably big. I make my way carefully through the shadowy forest, peering into the foliage that surrounds me. But suddenly, I see that my lifesuit has turned jet black, its surface hardened and bumpy like armor.
I think it looks cool, but I figure it’s not a good sign. I tell my dad, and he explains, “Your suit’s made of smart fabric. It has motion sensors. I’m tracking a life-form moving near you from the west.”
Tensing, I whisper, “Ursa?”
“Negative. It’s smaller. Bio-signs read only a meter and a half long.” He says that like it’s no big deal, but I freeze.
“I’m a meter and a half long!” If the smart fabric thinks this thing is a threat, who am I to disagree? I want to run, but my dad starts rattling off instructions.
“It’s closing rapidly from the west. Do not move. Relax. Try to give me visual. Creatures on this planet have evolved from the ones we have on record because of radiation bursts. It’s at fifty meters, forty, thirty…”
My breath comes ragged and fast. I better stop recording and get ready to fight. More later—I hope.
//////// ENTRY 8
Well, I survived. Not without some damage. But we’ll get to that.
My dad told me the thing was slowing down. “Twenty…” While he paused, I hoped that the thing had changed direction. But then he resumed counting. “Ten…”
I prepped myself as best I could, holding my cutlass out in front of me. But as I listened to plants snapping beneath the approaching creature’s feet, it got harder and harder not to completely freak out.
“It’s right there, Kitai,” my dad said quietly.
“I don’t see it! I don’t see anything,” I said in a panicked whisper.
“Relax, Cadet. Recognize your power.” His words calmed me somehow, though I didn’t really understand what he meant.
Slowly, an animal that reminded me of the baboons I’d seen in pictures appeared. Primates other than humans hadn’t done well on Nova Prime, so I had never seen one up close before. Its face was strangely human, but it walked on four feet.
“It’s fine, Kitai,” my dad said, watching the primate on the video feed. “Be still. Let it pass. Do not startle it.”