Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

The human seemed angry.

“Listen, Walter—hey, where’d you get that card?”

Walter looked at the pass he’d swiped through the elevator reader; it differed in color from the ones around their necks. The human might not be quite as dumb as he looked.

“I borrowed it,” he said. He typed away at the keyboard by the elevator, then turned to look at the back wall. The tour schematic of the complex came up. It showed their elevator descending the shaft.

“How do you know how to do that?” Cole asked.

Walter sneered. “Englissh makess me ssound sstupid becausse of Englissh , not becausse of me.” He looked to his handheld computer. “They usse the ssame passsword for everything here,” he said, shaking his silvery head.

Mr. Byrne stomped up the porch, the steps creaking with a heft his frame kept hidden. Parsona rose to give him a hug—Molly remained seated. As the two adults embraced, Byrne peered down at Molly over Parsona’s shoulder.

“Mollie Fyde?”

“Isn’t she lovely?” Parsona asked, breaking off the hug and gazing adoringly at Molly.

“Mr. Byrne,” the man said, holding out a thin hand, pale as a corpse’s.

Molly warily accepted the outstretched hand, then shivered as her small grasp wrapped all the way around his fingers.

Parsona clapped her hands together. “Let’s go inside where there’s plenty of seating, shall we?”

Mr. Byrne held Molly’s hand and stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable. “That sounds splendid,” he said.

A roaring fire greeted them inside, despite the pleasant weather. Three comfortable chairs faced the hearth, a low table before them.Quaint pictures of frontier life adorned the clapboard walls, and folded quilts were draped over anything that would hold them. An especially ornate one stretched out across one wall like the skin of a cottage drying for the tanner. Random pops sounded from the fire, and worn wood creaked under their feet.

Even the imperfections are perfect , Molly noted.

“I’ll sit in the middle, if you two don’t mind,” Parsona said. “I just can’t believe my luck to have you both visiting.” She lowered herself gracefully to the center chair and turned to Mr. Byrne. He eased himself down into the floral upholstery as well. “This is Mollie’s first visit with me, and I haven’t seen you in almost, what, ten years? Quite the coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Quite,” agreed Mr. Byrne. He smiled warmly, looking past Parsona and eying Molly.

“After we catch up, perhaps we could go for a horseback ride, or head into town for a play. They always have the best shows at the opera house.”

“That would be lovely,” said Mr. Byrne. Molly saw him glance to the coffee table and then back to Parsona. “Perhaps the girls could make us some cake or tea?” he asked.

Parsona slapped her thighs. “Why, of course! I say, what manners!” She looked at Molly apologetically. “You can tell I’m out of practice. You two get to know one another while I go see how the girls are coming along.”

The floor squeaked with her passage. As the door flew open, the sounds of laughter and play flooded through like a joyous outburst, then fell silent as it closed.

Molly narrowed her eyes at the man. “Who are you?” she asked.

Byrne folded his fingers together and rested his elbows on the cushioned armrest, leaning toward Molly. “Why, I’m your godfather, Mollie.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, but I am. Your father and I were the closest of friends.”

“Then how come I’ve never heard of you before?” Molly asked.

Byrne looked to the fire; embers spat out on a rug that seemed incapable of burning. “There are many things your father never told you.”

“Yeah? Maybe that’s because I was six years old and I didn’t need to know them yet.”

Byrne shook his head and clucked his tongue. “No, no, no, Mollie. Things he couldn’t tell you.”

Molly thought about the elusiveness of her mom—the one trapped in Parsona’s nav computer—but she refused to let this creep trip her up or cast doubts. This had to be the man her mother wanted her memories kept from.

“You don’t scare me, and I don’t believe your lies,” she said.

He spread his arms; the skin above his eyes rose in surprise, or amusement—it was difficult to tell without hair on his brow.

“Scared? I’m not trying to scare you—”

“Whatever. Just so you know, my last godfather tried to mess with me and I killed him.”

“Ah, yes. Lucin. I heard about that.” He shook his head again. “Shame, really. I should have gotten to the old bastard first.”

“Yeah?” Molly challenged. “Why? What did you want with him? What do you want from my mother? Why are you even here?”

He leaned closer, his voice lowered to the level of the crackling flames. “Why, Mollie, I’m simply here to collect what’s mine.”

“Which is?” She tried to conceal the very real sense of dread creeping up her spine. The door burst back open and Parsona entered, joined by a cough of laughter from outside. The sound of joy just augmented the creepiness of the situation. Molly stared at Mr. Byrne, her question hanging in the air.

He lifted a hand, unraveled a long bony finger and stretched it out in Molly’s direction. He didn’t say it, just mouthed the single word with thin lips that gaped open, then formed a small circle.

“ You ,” he mouthed.

Cole still didn’t believe Molly was in any danger, and he was normally the paranoid one. Recently, he’d been right more often than not, so he decided to trust his gut and assume Molly was fine. He just needed to concentrate on keeping Walter from causing any trouble.

“Are you sure Molly was moved?” he asked.

“Possitive,” Walter said. “Computerss don’t lie.”

“Maybe they do,” Cole said. “Maybe you just can’t smell it on them the way you can on people.”

The boy glanced up from his computer. “They’re programss. They can only do what they’re told.” The elevator dinged, and the doors cracked open. Walter scrunched up his metallic face. “Unlesss they’re told to lie,” he mused aloud.

The elevator opened up on the lobby with the glass partitions. Cold strode out and saw another group standing nearby, waiting to enter a neighboring lift. It dinged open just as Walter strolled out. The Stanley with the group turned to survey the two boys.

Cole froze, speechless. He could see that they were about to get busted for walking around without an escort.

Walter didn’t miss a beat. He turned and looked back into the empty elevator they’d just exited. “After we tour thiss level, can we get ssomething to eat?” he asked, as if there was someone in there.

Cole glanced from Walter, to the empty lift, then over at the Stanley. The android gave him a fake smile and joined his potential clients in the neighboring elevator. The doors closed, meeting with a soft thud.

“We musst hurry,” Walter said. Cole nodded. He watched the boy hold his computer level and stare down at it, swiveling in place as if he needed to line up the virtual with the real in order to get his bearings. He pointed to one of the glass partitions, then started walking in that direction; Cole followed.

The stolen passcard opened the glass door without a problem, and they hurried inside as an elevator dinged behind them. “Down here,” Cole snapped, grabbing Walter and pulling him into the first hallway.

“No,” Walter complained. “Third on the left!”

Cole put his hand on the Palan’s mouth and tried not to recoil at the odd coolness of the boy’s flesh. “In a second,” he whispered. “We have to wait for the lobby to be empty.”