“This is crazy.”

 

I’m the only one aboard, so I guess I’m talking to myself. That’s a little crazy too, but not compared to flying this tiny, shieldless ship into an asteroid field.

 

The millions of chunks of stone floating like a craggy blanket around this planet posed no threat whatsoever to my family yacht when we departed in it five hours ago. It’s a big ship with shields and repulsors that keep you alive in situations like this. This little jumper I’ve returned in has none of that, which makes trying to pass back through… crazy. Maybe even suicide.

 

But what choice do I have? The yacht is docked ten light-years away, two hours into a two-day overhaul. And the Space Bear is down there.

 

As a big game hunter, I’ve learned to hold my nerve when most people would soil their spacesuits. I’ve faced down a charging Surlian Rhino with nothing but a pistol and freed myself from a giant Glor Spider’s web with only my skinning knife and my teeth.

 

However, as I nose my way into the asteroid field, struggling to track the tangled trajectories of the nearest rocks, I’m terrified.

 

“Seriously, I must be crazy.”

 

I weave my way between the first few, two angling in from my right and one from above. I keep my velocity low, keep my hands light on the controls, and slip between them silky smooth. I’m a better hunter, but I’m a dang good pilot as well.

 

Just as I’m thinking that, the ship lurches forward. The unexpected jolt is accompanied by the sickening sound of crunching metal. I don’t even know where that one came from. Behind? Below? It doesn’t matter.

 

I’ve lost a thruster, and without it the jumper becomes nearly impossible to control. I’m flying like a balloon with a leak, fully expecting to be crushed any second.

 

I kill all the thrusters just as a rock the size of an elephant spins across my field of view. If I could open a window, I could reach out and touch it. If it touches the plexisteel cockpit bubble, I’m toast.

 

But it doesn’t. And then another miracle: an open lane to the planet’s surface opens before me. I punch the rear thruster only, jerk forward, and slip through.

 

I’ve made it.

 

* * *

 

Below me, the surface of the planet is dark. My family and I departed just after sunset — and what a sunset it was! This system’s star is about to go supernova, and the light it’s spewing, especially through this planet’s atmosphere, is breathtakingly beautiful.

 

According to the scientists, that was the last safe sunset to watch. They say the big boom could come any moment now. And yet here I am, back anyway.

 

Crazy.

 

I set the jumper down at the coordinates I saved from the yacht, slip into my tech-suit, and step out into the night. My helmet light reveals a few scattered boulders and dozens of cactus-like trees, but no identifiable landmarks. It’s impossible to orient myself exactly. The Space Bear could be anywhere within a quarter-mile radius.

 

With that thought in mind, I reach to my hip and quietly unholster my pistol. I check its charge, click off the safety, and taking a deep breath, ease into the hyper-alert trancelike state of the hunt. Despite the danger of the situation, I feel more comfortable now than I did in the ship. I am, after all, a renowned hunter of dangerous game. This is my element.

 

Although… there’s a good reason people only ever visit this planet during the daylight hours. Even before its star was about to blow, visitors always departed immediately following the sunset. I know why, but knowing isn’t the same as seeing.

 

I’m a couple of minutes into walking my search grid when the whistling starts. It reminds me of the cicadas that used to sing during my childhood summers on Earth. I wish that’s what it was.

 

I turn off my helmet light and switch to infrared. Numerous signatures glow on my HUD, but they’re too distant to identify. I pan around and make a sound more befitting my four-year-old daughter than a big game hunter.

 

But even as I squeal, I drop to a knee, raise the pistol, and start squeezing off shots at a steady cadence — like a pro. I miss with a few, hit with more, but none seem to have much effect.

 

The bus-sized centipede isn’t even slowing down. And the distance between us is closing fast.

 

Every instinct tells me to run, but I don’t. My hunter’s brain knows there’s no safe place within reach. My only chance is to stand my ground. So, I do.

 

I keep firing even as the monster bears down on me, and even as it crashes into the ground, its momentum carrying it almost within arm’s reach before it finally grinds to a halt. Was it the cumulative effect of the shots? Or a lucky hit to a vital spot? I have no idea.

 

As I struggle to steady my breathing, I sit back for a moment. And I'm surprised to find the ground soft beneath me, almost pillow-like. After another quick scan around, I switch my light back on and see what it is I’m sitting on.

 

Unbelievable.

 

* * *

 

Traversing the asteroids is no easier on the way out, but I make it. Down a thruster, I have to limp my way to the nearest hyperspace lane, but then it’s a quick zip back from there.

 

I find Eden right where I left her, still wide awake despite the late hour. She lunges as soon as she sees me. Or rather, as soon as she sees him.

 

“Space Bear!” she cries, snatching the stuffed animal from my hands. “I was so worried about you.”

 

“Now, young lady,” I say, scooping her up and setting her back in bed, “no more excuses. Go. To. Sleep.”