After Earth: A Perfect Beast by Peter David Michael Jan Friedman Robert Greenberger Read Free Book Online Page B
Tags: Speculative Fiction
displeased in the past when Pham or some other producer took liberties by omitting some of his material.
“Not today,” said Pham.
“I am agog,” Vander Meer said.
He unfolded himself from his chair. He had always been tall and reasonably slender, but lately he had developed a paunch that he blamed on weak stomach muscles. The truth was that he liked to eat, particularly in the colony’s finer restaurants, but didn’t like to exercise a great deal. And it wasn’t only his middle that was giving way. His hair had started to thin as well, spurring him lately to massage in ointments to stimulate follicle growth. Still, it was a race to see which would win out: the advance of his regrowing hair or the recession of his natural hairline.
Vander Meer hated aging. He hated looking at the jowls he had to shave each morning. He hated the constant reminders from his family to stop at seconds, not thirds at dinner. He would have given anything to havethe metabolism he had enjoyed when he’d first begun broadcasting twenty years earlier.
It was then that he had made a name for himself as a journalist, covering the secession battle between Nova Prime City and New Earth City. That was back in 553 AE. His reportage on the conflict gained colony-wide attention, and he rose through the ranks until he was finally invited to become a commentator, for which he used his field experience to reflect on social trends. But one trend in particular had caught his eye.
Over the years, Vander Meer had noticed how cavalierly the Rangers conducted their business not only before the secession fight but afterward. He had seen how they took their funding for granted, as if they were entitled to it by virtue of the work they had done in the distant past.
The Rangers irked him for reasons he couldn’t even explain—maybe because he once had wanted to be a Ranger himself but never had gotten to the point where he was physically fit enough. But more and more, judiciously so that he wasn’t simply dismissed as a crank, he had ramped up his criticism of the Corps and its place in society until he could lambaste them as he had today.
Let’s see what they have to say about Trey Vander Meer now
, he thought.
The show over, Pham got up and touched several pressure-sensitive controls on the studio wall. At the same time, the lighting dimmed and systems switched over to standby.
“You know what I’d like to do?” asked Vander Meer, toying with a thought.
“What’s that?” asked Pham.
“Get Wilkins on the program with me. People would tune in then; I can tell you that.”
Pham considered the idea for a moment. Then he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Excellent,” Vander Meer said. “Let me know how it goes, will you?”
“Sure. And let
me
know if you hear about anything good to read.” Pham held up an electronic tablet that he carried with him wherever he went. “Seems there’s a dearth of good things to read these days.”
“It’s a deal,” said Vander Meer. “Now, home for lunch. Family awaits.”
Leaving the studio, he entered the hot, dry air that was the hallmark of Nova Prime. The survivors of a dying Earth had settled in this spot in the foothills of red-clay mountains because it offered protection from the weather and had rivers for the colony’s water needs. There had been cooler areas on the planet’s surface, but settling them would have meant cutting down trees or otherwise tampering with the planet’s ecology, and that was something humankind would never do again.
So they had settled
this
area, and things had worked out rather well. Except for the heat, of course. And the dust. And the occasional severe thunderstorm.
Vander Meer’s home was only a couple of kilometers from the studio in an exclusive, newly constructed enclave made up of just seven residential structures. Most of the better parts of Nova City were older, some dating back as far as the arrival on Nova Prime, and were tucked into the
“Not today,” said Pham.
“I am agog,” Vander Meer said.
He unfolded himself from his chair. He had always been tall and reasonably slender, but lately he had developed a paunch that he blamed on weak stomach muscles. The truth was that he liked to eat, particularly in the colony’s finer restaurants, but didn’t like to exercise a great deal. And it wasn’t only his middle that was giving way. His hair had started to thin as well, spurring him lately to massage in ointments to stimulate follicle growth. Still, it was a race to see which would win out: the advance of his regrowing hair or the recession of his natural hairline.
Vander Meer hated aging. He hated looking at the jowls he had to shave each morning. He hated the constant reminders from his family to stop at seconds, not thirds at dinner. He would have given anything to havethe metabolism he had enjoyed when he’d first begun broadcasting twenty years earlier.
It was then that he had made a name for himself as a journalist, covering the secession battle between Nova Prime City and New Earth City. That was back in 553 AE. His reportage on the conflict gained colony-wide attention, and he rose through the ranks until he was finally invited to become a commentator, for which he used his field experience to reflect on social trends. But one trend in particular had caught his eye.
Over the years, Vander Meer had noticed how cavalierly the Rangers conducted their business not only before the secession fight but afterward. He had seen how they took their funding for granted, as if they were entitled to it by virtue of the work they had done in the distant past.
The Rangers irked him for reasons he couldn’t even explain—maybe because he once had wanted to be a Ranger himself but never had gotten to the point where he was physically fit enough. But more and more, judiciously so that he wasn’t simply dismissed as a crank, he had ramped up his criticism of the Corps and its place in society until he could lambaste them as he had today.
Let’s see what they have to say about Trey Vander Meer now
, he thought.
The show over, Pham got up and touched several pressure-sensitive controls on the studio wall. At the same time, the lighting dimmed and systems switched over to standby.
“You know what I’d like to do?” asked Vander Meer, toying with a thought.
“What’s that?” asked Pham.
“Get Wilkins on the program with me. People would tune in then; I can tell you that.”
Pham considered the idea for a moment. Then he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Excellent,” Vander Meer said. “Let me know how it goes, will you?”
“Sure. And let
me
know if you hear about anything good to read.” Pham held up an electronic tablet that he carried with him wherever he went. “Seems there’s a dearth of good things to read these days.”
“It’s a deal,” said Vander Meer. “Now, home for lunch. Family awaits.”
Leaving the studio, he entered the hot, dry air that was the hallmark of Nova Prime. The survivors of a dying Earth had settled in this spot in the foothills of red-clay mountains because it offered protection from the weather and had rivers for the colony’s water needs. There had been cooler areas on the planet’s surface, but settling them would have meant cutting down trees or otherwise tampering with the planet’s ecology, and that was something humankind would never do again.
So they had settled
this
area, and things had worked out rather well. Except for the heat, of course. And the dust. And the occasional severe thunderstorm.
Vander Meer’s home was only a couple of kilometers from the studio in an exclusive, newly constructed enclave made up of just seven residential structures. Most of the better parts of Nova City were older, some dating back as far as the arrival on Nova Prime, and were tucked into the