Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions

As he was studying the animals, the shack lurched to one side unexpectedly, and Cole reached out to steady himself, clutching at the railing. His stupid right hand went straight through it, knocking out a chunk and leaving two splintered ends.

“Ah, hyperspace,” he said, looking at the mess he’d made. He gripped one of the porch’s posts to steady himself while he surveyed the damage, wondering what to do.

“It’ll be fine,” a voice said behind him. Cole turned and saw an old woman standing in the open doorway, her body draped in a thin gown.

He looked back at the broken railing, then turned to her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She waved him over, and Cole noticed she wasn’t wearing goggles to protect her eyes. His heart fluttered with panic. He remembered Byrne, the only other person he’d seen who could withstand the light. He also remembered what they called the woman and wondered briefly if he’d been set up, if this was some sort of trap—

The woman waved again, the sleeve of her gown falling back to reveal an arm narrower than bone. “Come inside and get comfortable,” she said. She backed through the doorway, her eyes focused on something distant and to Cole’s side.

Cole stood a moment, indecisive. He looked over at the rear of the hyperskimmer, its engines purring with the strain of pushing the cabin into the rain. Everything within him said to feel threatened by the situation, but he couldn’t. His normally reliable paranoia failed him for some reason. He crossed the porch, keeping his feet wide in case the cabin shuddered again, and stepped inside the cabin after the woman, who shut the door tight behind him.

There was a brief moment of pitch black as he worked his goggles loose. “I’m Cole,” he said. He blinked in the dim light of the interior and took in his surroundings. The room was tiny, a hair more than a few meters to a side. A neatly-made bed rested in one corner, almost as narrow as the woman herself. The far wall had a counter, a sink, and some cabinets. A large barrel had been strapped to another wall; it sloshed with water, and a hose added more to its contents in steady drips. The entire space crackled with the sound of rain on tin, the boards squeaking as the place rumbled along.

“But then,” Cole said, “I guess you already knew my name, being a seer and all.”

The lady smiled, her wrinkled face not matching her bright, beautiful teeth. She sat down by the head of the bed and patted beside herself. “I’m sorry I don’t have much in the way of furniture. There’s not enough need to merit straining the animals.”

“That’s okay,” Cole said. He sat down at the foot of the bed and fidgeted with his goggles, turning them over and over in his lap. He concentrated on keeping his posture stiff as an uncomfortable silence somehow grew amid the din of rain on metal. He noticed the woman looked near him, but not right at him.

“Your eyes—” he stammered.

“Not so good in low light,” the lady said, laughing. She leaned close to Cole. “Do you mind?” She held up both hands, palms out.

“I— sure ,” Cole said. He took her wrists, his hands easily encircling them, and leaned forward as he closed his eyes. She reached for his forehead first, just the pads of her fingers moving lightly against his skin. Cole let go of her wrists and remained still. It didn’t feel invasive like he thought it would. It didn’t feel strange at all. He kept his eyes tight as her fingers moved down to his checks, feeling his jawline and chin.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking right into hers; they seemed bright but unfocused.

Cole felt his heart stop for a moment as he lost himself in them—the brown with the yellow starburst, little ridges of black flying out from the pupil, giving them a depth he found… familiar .

“Do I know you?” Cole asked, as the lady sat back, smiling.

“Not yet,” she said. “And I’m not who you think I am.”

“You’re not—?”

“Molly?” She laughed, a pleasant sound. “No, I’m not. I’m not half the woman she is.” More laughter. “Literally,” she said, running her hands through the air and down the length of her frail form, “as you can plainly see.”

“Why did you want to meet me?” Cole asked. “Am I supposed to do something?”

“All you need to do is be who you are.” She reached behind herself and arranged a pillow, then settled back, bringing one leg up onto the bed. “Can you keep a secret?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t tell Mortimor, but I wanted you out just so I could meet you. You can tell him it was important if you want, but that’s the truth of it. I don’t have much more to look forward to, but this was one of the biggies.”

“Meeting me.”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“I feel honored, I guess. So, how long do we have? What do you want to talk about?”

“Oh, life. Philosophy. The same sort of stuff you’re interested in. I also have a story or two you might find fascinating. But first, I wonder if you could do me a favor.”

“Sure,” Cole said. Already, he felt the most relaxed he had since crashing into hyperspace. The small cabin was like a pocket of normalcy within a raging storm of bewilderment. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Well, there’s a leak behind that counter,” the Bern Seer said, “and for the life of me I can’t see where the water’s coming from.”

Parsona’s nose dipped into the carrier’s flight bay, the glare of Lok’s sun replaced by the warm glow of artificial lights.

“Suns ’a britches,” Cat whispered. She cupped her hands around her face and pressed them against the porthole beside the nav chair. Molly hovered the ship just inside the cavernous hangar and looked out to port through her own circle of glass to see what Cat was reacting to.

“Flank me,” she whispered.

It was the Firehawks. Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. They were piled high along the upper wall like they’d been shoved out of the way and had somehow gotten stuck there. The StarCarrier’s hangar bay wasn’t empty at all, the ships just weren’t down around the bottom where they should’ve been—they were heaped up along the upper wall to either side of the open airlock.

Molly noted several ships had crashed back to the decking in front of the pile. They lay apart from the rest, forlorn, their wings crushed. The sight made her chest feel hollow, her stomach nauseous. Shapes she equated with power and grace looked like broken animals. Like dead things.

“Don’t make no sense,” Scottie said.

“It makes perfect sense,” Molly whispered. She kept her voice soft, almost as if in reverence of the shattered hulls. She flew deeper into the hangar, then spun the ship around to survey the scene. The pile of debris sat on the sloping deck, up at the top, seemingly in defiance of Lok’s gravity.

“The grav panels went out at some point,” Molly said. “Maybe on impact, maybe before. The ships must’ve rattled around in here, crashing against that side, and then the grav panels kicked back on. Now they’re holding the ships to the decking, which must feel like down for them.”

Scottie leaned over the control console to peer at the wreckage. “Watch your hands,” Molly said, nodding at the controls.

“Yeah, sorry.” He gripped the back of the flightseats and squinted out through the carboglass. “You don’t have any binoculars?” he asked.

Molly shook her head. “No. Just SADAR. Why do you ask?”

“Thought I saw something moving up there,” Scottie said, pointing.

“That’s not—”

“I see it too,” Cat said. She leaned forward and peered toward the line of busted ships. “I’ll be a Drenard’s uncle,” she said, “somebody’s alive in that cockpit!”