Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions

“I’m Scottie,” he said, holding out his hand toward Walter.

Walter shrugged and held up two cooking utensils, as if putting them down to shake would entail some exhausting ordeal. “Walter,” he mumbled back, the sizzle of frying meat almost hiding the annoyed hiss that came after.

“This is Urg,” Scottie said, patting the large Callite on the back. Molly recognized him as the near-mute from the day before. Nods were exchanged. She marveled at how close the Callite came to filling one of Edison’s flightsuits. Seeing these strangers in her crew’s clothing sent ripples up and down her flesh. A full day of loathing these men had built up some sort of venom within her. Being told that these were the people she’d been looking for wasn’t much of an antidote. She felt slightly nauseas from their presence—so much so, it took a while to notice their stench had disappeared.

“You guys figured the showers out?” she asked, rounding up mugs for everyone.

“Yeah,” Scottie said. “I really appreciate you letting us shack up here and get cleaned up. We’ve had… some real troubles the past week or so.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay for one more night, but we need to work out a different bunk arrangement. You guys can double-up or someone can sleep out here. Oh, and once we top up with fuel, we’ll be moving on, so it’s best you start looking for something more permanent.”

Scottie glanced at Urg. They both accepted cups of instant coffee from Molly.

“Additives are in the fridge,” she told them. “I’m gonna get Cat up, but your other friend can sleep as long as he likes.” She headed across the cargo bay.

“Oh, Ryn’s not in there. He left early this morning to… take care of some things. Should be back by noon.”

Molly waved over her shoulder to let him know she’d heard, but continued to Walter’s room. She keyed the door open and turned the lights on dim. Cat was sitting up in the bunk with her legs crossed, staring at the door.

“Morning,” Molly said, wondering how long she’d been sitting like that.

“Morning. Everyone else up?”

“Yeah. Coffee’s the instant kind. Breakfast’ll be ready soon.”

Cat popped up and stepped toward her. Her hair was wet, as if she’d recently showered. She had on the clothes Molly had set out for her. In the dim light, her face looked flawless, or unscathed at least, a very far cry from how Molly had first seen her. She also looked small in a plain shirt and shorts. Her wiry muscles seemed lean with their definition hidden. Molly wouldn’t have given her a second glance in a crowd, even with the bright hair knotted back on her head.

“Hey,” Molly said, “before you do anything else, I need you to go to the cockpit and talk to someone.”

Cat lowered her brow to something between curious and wary. “Who?”

“There’s a helmet on the starboard rack. Just put it on, the mic is still live. And don’t be alarmed if the door shuts behind you, okay?”

Cat narrowed her eyes but nodded. She headed toward the cockpit while Molly checked in on the other rooms to make sure everything was intact. The engine room, especially.

When she got back to the cargo bay, a plate piled high with meat and eggs was waiting on her. She grabbed a few pieces of bread and took one of the empty crewseats, pulling out the table in the handrest. Everyone else had already dove in, filling the room with contented, smacking sounds. Molly watched them eat, wondering why she felt so alone with so many people on the ship. She also marveled at how she could possibly feel anything other than ravenous.

She ate slowly, forcing everything down. She had to remember her promise to her mom and her pragmatic need for sustenance—her appetite simply wasn’t there anymore. Walter set a glass of local juice on her tray. She took a sip, then touched her arm around the bandaid, wincing at the bruised and sore feeling that had spread from the needle. She couldn’t tell if it had gotten worse overnight, or if it was getting better.

“You okay?” Scottie asked.

Molly glanced up. “Cat didn’t say anything about last night?”

“Only that attendance was light and she didn’t find many takers at the pub.”

Molly watched him take another large bite and chew voraciously. Beside him, Urg continued to cut his food into tiny pieces and eat them with careful, steady precision, chewing subtly before swallowing. Molly wondered why Cat hadn’t said anything about her ordeal—if it was a trust issue, or just a result of the late hour.

“What’s she doing in the cockpit?” Scottie asked.

Molly shrugged. “I hope she’s lining up a tank of fuel.” She stabbed blindly at a bite of food and watched Scottie and Urg glance at one another. “You wouldn’t know where I could find some, would you?”

Scottie took a bite of his toast and made a show of chewing, but he was obviously considering how best to answer.

“I might know someone,” he said around a mouthful of masticated bread. He swallowed. “I have to warn you, though, the price has gone up considerably.”

Molly looked over at Walter, who was following the conversation closely. “I can pay,” she said.

“I’d be surprised. It’s gone up a lot .” Scottie smiled and jabbed his fork in her direction. “I think we could work something out, though. Barter with something besides cash.”

Molly felt her throat constrict with disgust, even though she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Bartering goess through me,” Walter said, leaning forward from his seat.

Scottie looked from Molly to him, then back again. He raised his eyebrows and took a loud sip from his coffee.

“Give me a price before you tell me we can’t pay,” Molly said.

“The price,” he said, setting down his mug, “is the use of your ship for a few weeks.”

Molly slapped her fork to her plate, then grabbed her armrest and squeezed so tight, it felt like her hand would lock there forever. She found it difficult to unclench her jaw to reply, so she hissed through her teeth: “Never.”

Scottie smiled and held up his fists—a knife in one and a fork in the other. “It’d be for a good cause,” he said. “You’d be helping a lot of people out.”

“There are other people needing my help more. Tell you what, you give me a tank of fuel and I’ll come back in a week and you can ask my dad to use his ship.”

“I thought it was your ship,” said Scottie.

“ Our ship. Same thing. Look—” Molly released the armrest and grabbed her napkin. She dabbed the corners of her mouth with it. “I’ve been traipsing across Lok for two weeks looking for some of this fuel. I don’t have time for—”

“For my people,” Urg said quietly.

Molly looked over to the Callite, his broken silence stunning her into one of her own.

“You haven’t been here when one of the shuttles goes up, have you?” Scottie asked.

Molly shook her head, but then she remembered the craft she and Walter had seen lift off from the café. “Did one go up yesterday?” she asked.

Scottie nodded.

“I saw it,” she said. “And you say it was a shuttle?”

“An immigrations shuttle. During election years, they round up Callites with expired work permits and ship them home.”

“But that’s the law, right?”

Scottie frowned. He reached over and rested a hand on Urg’s arm, even though the Callite didn’t seem to be making an effort to rise, or even speak.

“Things aren’t right or wrong because they’re the law. They’re supposed to be the law because they’re right or wrong.”

“Look,” Molly said. She pushed her eggs away from her toast, but her meager appetite had dwindled to nothing. “I don’t want to argue politics, or whatever. I’m not trying to be a crusader. I just want to get back to my family. Surely you can understand—”