Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Fight for Peace

She knew that. The hugs and solace, the advice and long talks, the risks he took to help her achieve a life worth living, the sacrifices he had made to win her admission to his school—none of it made sense if he was her enemy, but it all made perfect sense if he was working against them.

It explained why he had no family other than Molly and his wife. She even understood why he would need to keep it a secret, why he couldn’t tell her about the ship, about her mom, about the hyperdrive, about anything . He wasn’t being sinister—Lucin had been afraid .

More tears fell, and Molly ground her teeth in frustration. Byrne and the pilot were talking, but she couldn’t bother to listen. Walter hissed something to her, but his words were a poison to avoid swallowing. She cried to herself, chewing on horrible truths, grinding her teeth together, losing her awareness of all that was going on around her, unaware even of her hungry Wadi, who was crying as well, grinding her own lizard teeth, and chewing her way through Molly’s restraints.

Cole came to in a cloud of smoke and a noisy din, the confusion and fog of a mighty crash swirling around him. He heard people coughing and groaning, heard wails erupting from the gravely injured, heard and smelled electrical fires pop and hiss and the sickening peals of stressed metal as wings and broken fuselage sagged under their own weight.

Looking down at himself to see if he’d been injured, Cole saw Penny looking back up at him, her eyes wide and unblinking against the smoke. He saw that she had punched her remaining hand through the bulkhead of the Bern ship, anchoring them in place. What was left of her other arm was wrapped around Mortimor, all three of them having braced together prior to impact.

Cole let go with his own mechanical hand and saw that his fingers had pierced the hull plating as well, leaving behind five black holes in the dull steel. He met Penny’s eyes again. They both eventually broke the shocked stare to look down at Mortimor, who lay between them, unmoving.

Cole groped for a pulse with his non-mechanical hand. He wanted to shout to the dying to shut up, to end their racket, to give him a chance to feel.

Penny’s hand went to Mortimor’s forehead. She brushed his dark hair back over his head and stroked his cheek with one of her thumbs. Cole looked to Penny as he fumbled for a sign of life. Her wild red hair hung around her face, almost seeming like the source of the smoke fogging in all around them. Beyond, the coughing and hacking from the survivors seemed to morph into the crackle of flame. Soot and dirt had lightly covered her face everywhere except for the thin tracks shoveled aside by falling tears.

In his peripheral, surviving aliens moved dimly through the dust, tending to others and pushing heavy equipment off bodies. Someone worked one of the hatches open, letting in a shaft of light that seemed to multiply the smoke. The entire scene wrapped itself around Cole, holding him there, nothing in his awareness truly real other than Penny and Mortimor—an enigmatic and mostly metallic woman revealing to him the first signs of real life, and a man he’d sworn to protect and rescue slowly giving up the last of his.

Parsona banked herself wide to approach the rift from the edge. The expanded tear between Lok’s atmosphere and hyperspace had the shape of a weather balloon pressed flat: tall and thin, rounded at the top, and tapering to a pinprick at the bottom, right in the foundation of Ryke’s old house. The rift was difficult to look at directly, both with eyes and with sensors. The harsh photons escaping from the cone-shaped land had much of their primal fury intact. They faded, however, as they slammed into the different set of physical laws governing the universe to which Lok belonged. Those hyperspace particles quickly wilted as they arrived, melting in the atmosphere along with the sideways-drifting snow.

The strange combination of light and glistening flakes seemed out of place as they billowed over a notoriously dry and dark frontier planet. They seemed, at least at a distance, anything but awful. The entire rift appeared more like some visiting angel from a race of blob-giants, the creature’s surface boiling with light and throwing off dying sparks like little fairies.

Suddenly, though, a black lozenge protruded from the angel’s rounded head. It looked like a small, deadened tongue by scale, but it was just another Bern ship pulling through the rift high off the ground, continuing the long line of crafts filing out over the planet for weeks.

However, instead of increasing thrust to pull up to orbit, instead of falling into formation with the others, this black shape nosed down, no longer a tongue, but now something deadly spit from the angel’s mouth. This new arrival continued its chase of group two’s ship, arcing toward the downed craft and toward Parsona …

“Contact on SADAR,” Ryke said.

“I see it, but I don’t think it’s coming for us.” Parsona banked a few degrees more to the side, stiffening her angle to swing wider around the rift. The Bern ship stayed on course, heading out over the ruins of the old village and several kilometers beyond.

“They’re heading for Mortimor’s ship,” Ryke whispered.

“You should get back with the others. Make sure everything’s ready.”

“They’re heading for Mortimor’s ship,” he said again. “They’re gonna finish the job.”

“Ryke, see to the console. We don’t have much time.”

Two more contact alarms flashed on SADAR, pressing home the point. Only these two were swooping down from orbit rather than coming through the rift. And their vectors had them heading straight for Ryke’s house: the locus of the great tear in space. It seemed the orbiting fleet had finally become aware of the local threat to their rift.

Parsona quickly calculated that she would beat them there, but only by minutes. And the procedure to seal the rift, according to Ryke, would take half an hour, give or take. Fighting the urge to increase thrust, Parsona swooped low over the prairies, constrained by the forces she could inflict on Ryke and the others. For an AI routine trapped in a life of so many eternal seconds, she suddenly felt a level of impatience and desperate anxiety that recalled a more Human existence, and not in a good way.

Lady Liberty popped out of hyperspace in a high orbit over Lok, Anlyn and Edison taking point in the raid from Darrin. The single jump maneuver had worked perfectly, even if the hyperdrive would never operate again. With the press of a button, their ship had moved from one quadrant of the galaxy to another, with no care for what lie in between or how much gravity was encountered upon arrival. Anlyn felt as amazed and grateful as she had during hers and Edison’s previous experimental jump—the one to the center of that alien star so many sleeps ago, leading them to hyperspace.

Her thankfulness, however, didn’t last. They had a problem. It showed up on SADAR the size of a small moon.

Anlyn didn’t even need her instruments to know it was there. Glancing up through the carboglass, she could spot the massive vessel with her naked eye, its steel hull reflecting Lok’s sun with the brightness of an unnatural albedo. It was shining, not smoking. It was perfectly intact.

The rest of Anlyn’s wing began popping into orbit around her, each a few seconds apart.

There’s no way to warn the others before they arrive , she thought grimly.

Her SADAR flashed with a targeting alarm, and then a gravity alert.

With little other warning, Lady Liberty went dead, just like the Navy pilots had said their StarCarrier had. The ship began falling toward Lok in a flat, lazy spin, the pull of some bizarre artificial gravity dragging it out of orbit and toward a very real death.