Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Fight for Peace

Softly, one of the five began saying something, chanting. Others joined in.

Anlyn stood, welded to the decking in abject shock, just barely able to make out the words. They were the words of the Bern Seer. The collection of aliens were chanting the prophecy .

Edison and Anlyn turned toward each other, neither of them able to speak.

Edison lowered his weapon.

And rolled his eyes.

The steady flow of gear and evacuees into group two’s hijacked ship ceased for a moment. Marx and members of the Evac Crew stared at the empty space in the center of the cargo bay, their feet shuffling impatiently. Finally, the air popped, and a gravchute and set of jump gear appeared seemingly out of nowhere and fell to the deck in a jumbled heap. Cole rushed forward to his special delivery, ignoring the grumbles from the others as he passed. He pulled the chute and gear out of the rough circle of aliens and to an empty corner of the cargo bay. He began shrugging the gravchute over his white combat uniform as Arthur hurried over and resumed his protestations:

“If Mortimor was here to tell you himself,” Arthur told Cole, “even he would say you shouldn’t go.”

Cole nodded his agreement and shrugged the other strap on. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said. He could clearly remember Mortimor berating him for going it alone after two traitors in a hyperskimmer.

Arthur squeezed Cole’s arm and pulled his hand away from the straps before Cole could cinch them tighter. “I really can’t let you do this,” Arthur said, finally going for all-out force.

Cole grabbed Arthur’s wrist with his new mechanical hand and squeezed back even harder. “And I can’t let you stop me,” he said.

Arthur grimaced and let go. The old engineer and roboticist rubbed his wrist. “Ain’t that the dog biting the hand—?”

“I’m sorry, Arthur, I really am, but I can’t leave hyperspace without him.”

“And how do you plan on getting him back? ” Arthur asked. “There’s no one at HQ to man a skimmer. Are you just gonna stay behind in hyperspace with him? Look, he’s like a brother to me, so I get where you’re coming from, but he specifically told me—he ordered me to keep an eye on you.”

Cole glanced down at the chute’s controls to check the battery levels, then looked up at Arthur. “I have to try something ,” Cole said. “I can’t go back if we don’t. Molly would never— I’d never forgive myself.”

Arthur rested a hand on Cole’s shoulder, but his grip no longer felt as if it were meant to fix him in place. It was a clasp of understanding, of finally getting where Cole was coming from. He looked around the bay at all the commotion, at the supplies and people pouring through. A crate of powercells for the buckblades arrived with a sharp crack of air. One of the crate’s boards popped loose as it slammed into the deck, disgorging cells. A frantic swarm of activity ensued, attempting to clear the space before the next arrival. Arthur turned back to Cole.

“Listen to me, there’s no point in going if you don’t have a way back.”

Cole pulled the harness points tight on the grav suit and slapped the battery pack for good luck. “I’m taking care of my half by going down there. You got any ideas for the other?”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, damnit, I do. But if Mortimor asks, you have to tell him this was all your plan. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Fine,” Cole said, smiling. “What is it?”

Anlyn and Edison stood together in the rear half of the Bern craft’s cockpit, leaning on one another, thankful to no longer be needed. Weeks of abject exhaustion had been peeled away by the adrenaline rush of being boarded by attackers, and then the relief of finding out who the strange men were. Anlyn knew of the Underground; she had heard whispers among her uncles of this distant band of rogues fighting for peace between her people and the Humans. She never expected in her wildest dreams to meet any of them, much less for them to know who she was. And now they had arrived, seeming like Bern attackers, several of them looking like Bern in every way possible, but proving to be saviors with their piloting expertise and ability to translate Bern and operate the radio. She and Edison finally had a crew to take shifts and allow them to rest.

None of the Underground members had resting on their minds, however. While two of the crew manned the cockpit, the remaining three worked to clear the cargo bay. Anlyn wasn’t sure how these people had arrived, but they were going to use the same trick to bring in even more of their comrades. The prospect of having someone take over for them, to go and sleep or shower or eat if she chose, made Anlyn’s head swim with relief. She rested her head against Edison while Len, the translator sitting in the nav seat, conferred with the rest of the Bern fleet. Anlyn looked up to Edison, sensitive to any sign of double-dealing, but he had his brow down and kept nodding, as if he agreed with what was being said. When the chatter ceased, Len hung up the radio and turned to the others, frowning.

“We’re eighth in line,” he said. “Our group commander is sending us the coordinates for the rift now.”

The tension of the past weeks melted out of Anlyn’s muscles. Not only did they now have extra crew to take shifts, there was actually an end in sight. An end to the snow, to the constant maneuvering, and an end to the stifling claustrophobia of being surrounded by a vast enemy fleet. Her skin positively shivered with the thought of leaving that place, but she had a difficult time reconciling her joy with the dour look on Len’s face.

“But isn’t that good?” she asked.

Len shook his head. “It doesn’t give us much time to get our share of people and supplies out of HQ, which means an extra burden on the others. Especially since—” Len turned to Douglas, the pilot. “One of the squads didn’t make it. It was Mortimor’s group, so we’re down to four ships.”

Douglas cursed under his breath. He shook his head. “So who’s in charge?”

“Over here? I don’t know. Arthur isn’t at HQ anymore—he jumped out of order. Everything’s gone to hell. What I do know is that the first group through the rift is temporarily in charge on the other side, so we need to focus.”

“Alright.” The pilot nodded. “Go tell the others, then. We need to get Ryke and his equipment up here. We’ll take the lead on the other side, which means closing this damn rift might fall to us.”

“What’s going on?” Anlyn asked. She stood aside as Len pushed his way past and disappeared aft. “You’re trying to close the rift? Will that stop the invasion?”

Edison returned to his seat and adjusted one of the radio dials. The pilot turned to face Anlyn. “We’re going to close the rift from the other side. Even if there wasn’t a massive fleet guarding it over here, there’s just no way to access it in this slop.” He gestured toward the snow. “Honestly, though, this whole thing was thrown together in a few days. You’re best off talking to Ryke about it when he gets here.”

“That’s not the Ryke, is it?” Anlyn asked. Among the whispers of the Underground, his legend, how the first messages sent to Drenard led to the group’s formation, was less hushed talk and more of a canyon’s howl.

“The same,” said Douglas. “He’s gonna be pretty excited to meet a member of the Circle.”

“It isn’t an honor, I assure you. Especially not now. Haven’t you heard of the invasion?”

“ This one?” Douglas waved one hand at the windshield, his brows drooping. “Yeah, I’m aware of it.”