Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Fight for Peace

“I—I’m not following,” Saunders said. He looked to Molly for help, but she just nodded to Anlyn, trying to keep him focused.

“My hope was to make contact with the Bern,” Anlyn said. “It was my reading, my interpretation of an old prophe—An old document passed down for many generations. But I believe I was meant to do this . Right here. Right now. We are the races meant to unite under the shadow of a rift, Human and Drenard, not the Drenard and Bern.”

“Do what? ” Saunders shook his head as if trying to clear the confusion. Molly noticed both his hands were clenched fists—knuckles pressed against knuckles in his lap, as if he could grip the air and somehow hold his senses firm.

“My people never made official first contact with the Bern or the Humans,” Anlyn said. “I have the power and the rights to do this, to enter into formal negotiations with either race.”

Saunders shook his head again, the folds under his chin swaying.

“She means that she can make it official if you declare—”

“I can certify it if you would choose to—”

Neither of them seemed to know how to come out and say it.

An awkward silence began to form as they looked to one another for help.

“Surrender immediately,” Edison growled, his gruff voice dripping with impatience.

“Do what? ”

Saunders popped to his feet with a litheness that defied his bulk and an injection of energy that cut through his former stillness.

“ Surrender? Concede the war with the Drenards? ”

Molly and Anlyn both stood as well, holding their hands out to calm him.

“Hear us out,” Molly said. “It’s not just about stopping the fighting, which we don’t think it’ll even do, it’s about exposing the people on both sides who want this war. It’s a formality, nothing more.”

“It’s a way to smoke them out,” Anlyn said.

“I don’t—Even if I had the authority, which I don’t, the most I could do is surrender my fleet, the entire crew of which can fit in this single ship!” Saunders threw his hands up.

“That’s why we need you to go to Earth,” Molly said. “We need you to explain what’s going on—”

“But I don’t even know what’s going on!”

“Sir, all you have to do is recount the loss of your fleet and the unwinnable nature of this conflict. Convince the Galactic Union to terminate its offensive. We need to see who would want the fight to continue, even if it means utter defeat. These are our true enemies.”

“But what then? ” Saunders asked. “What will it matter when the people who actually wiped out Zebra group are still around to mop us up? I need to stay here with my crew.” He reached out and grabbed Molly’s arm. “We’ll attack with the Darrin fleet, just like you said. I’ll lead them into battle myself.”

Molly patted his hand and shook her head. “The attack will be carried out as planned,” she said, “but you won’t be leading it. The mission to Earth is more important. It’ll solve the problem of finding the Bern among us without causing panic or worse.”

Saunders turned to Molly. “So I won’t be leading the attack back here? Then who will? You? ” he asked.

She shook her head again.

“Who, then?”

“Me,” Anlyn said. “ I’ll be leading them.”

Tears streamed down Anlyn’s cheeks. She tried her best to blink them away while yanking the control stick left and right, up and down, but nothing she did helped. No matter which way she dodged and spun the Interceptor, her fiancé Bodi was able to match her. Twisting and turning, swooping and diving, jittering her ship nervously in space, she did everything she could to shake him, all to no avail.

Her stolen flightsuit did what it could to minimize the Gs, its small pockets of anti-grav fluid coursing through the suit and removing as much of the force on her body as they could. But no technological marvel existed to remove the pressure within her: that clawing at the hollow of her stomach born by a day of far too much tragedy.

“Anlyn Hooo, that is enough .”

Bodi’s voice came through her helmet clear enough to twist her heart in knots. The disgust she felt at the sound of his words were another sort of nausea the grav suit couldn’t touch. Anlyn ignored his commands—she was utterly sick and tired of his commands. She kept yanking on the stick, hoping to create enough space to jump away. She needed to get away from Drenard, away from her home. She desperately needed to get away from the emptiness her father’s sudden death had left, both in her heart and upon his throne.

“Don’t make me shoot out your thrusters,” Bodi warned.

As if she were the one inconveniencing him .

Anlyn glanced down at the dash where so many lights and knobs twinkled in her tear-blurred vision. Royal flight training had only touched on the basics—a professional pilot had kept his hands on the stick at all times while he showed her how to jump, taught her the rudiments of SADAR, and had allowed her to transmit over the radio. It had been just enough instructional ceremony to satisfy ancient traditions of Drenardian royalty without exposing one of the empire’s precious women to an iota of potential harm. But now, without someone pointing out which switch did what, Anlyn felt overwhelmed by the dizzying array of readouts and blinking indicators.

“The royal guard is on their way, Anlyn. Take your hands off the controls. You’re embarrassing me.”

Anlyn looked up through the canopy where Bodi flew inverted, matching her every movement. She could clearly see the glint of his visor just a dozen paces away. Yanking back on the stick, she tried to throw her craft up into his, her hot side stoked by his constant badgering. Bodi moved out of the way easily; he fell back around her, then looped up on top. She dove the opposite direction, but he matched her move for move.

Giving up for a moment, Anlyn allowed her craft to straighten itself out while she took a few deep breaths not encumbered by the squeezing of her gravsuit. She wondered how she had gotten herself in this position. She was pretty sure it had started with her Wadi Rite, not that long ago. Things had been different between her and Bodi after that. And then her father—it felt like weeks since she’d learned of his passing, days since she had fled to the Naval base and commandeered a ship to run away. It had probably been a few hours—she had no idea.

She looked to her display screen where she had the hyperdrive help file pulled up. As far as Anlyn could tell, she had the drive cycled properly and good coordinates for an empty patch of space plugged in. Still, the blasted engage button wouldn’t work. A flashing indicator kept blinking “proximity alarm.” Anlyn scanned the help file while Bodi continued his jabbering:

“Very good, Anlyn. Stay on that course. I’m going to lock my ship to yours. Steady, now.”

Anlyn ignored him and read something about a jump override. There were two pages of cautions and warnings before it got to the explanation. She scrolled down, ignoring the paragraphs about “slingshots” and “unintended arrival coordinates.” Nothing in the universe turned her brain off like tech-speak and such gibberish.

“Steady, now.”

Bodi said it as if he were chiding a youth. She hated that tone, especially when he did it to her in public. He had always spoken to her that way when her father, the King of their empire, was around. She had long dreamed of the day she would stand up to Bodi in front of her dad and her uncles. Now, that would never happen. Her father was dead, and she would be forced to marry an evil man, a cold and fiery man. She scanned the override instructions—then heard a metallic bang as his ship touched hers.