Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

“Let me have that seat, Walter.”

He unbuckled himself and jumped out, his eyes fixed on the sight of the large ship that had jumped in-system.

Molly peered through the carboglass. “That’s a StarCarrier,” she murmured, awed. She’d never seen one in person. It lay out in the L1 between the moon and Dakura, but its blocky outline was instantly recognizable.

She took over control of the ship with her left hand and nosed around for the back of the moon. “They probably won’t even notice we’re here,” she said. “We’ll get on the other side and thrust out to clear space—”

“GN-290 Parsona , KML32, this is GN Naval Command Task Force Zebra KPR98. Maintain altitude and respond, over.”

“Damn. Not good,” Cole muttered.

Molly increased thrust. She’d developed a small habit of running whenever anyone said “freeze.”

A second voice came through the radio: “Molly, this is Admiral Saunders from the Academy. We’re prepping to jump Firehawks to the other side of the moon. Do not spin up your hyperdrive. If you do, I’m going to send every missile in our fleet down your tailpipes. Reduce thrust this instant or become a fireworks display. Your choice.”

Molly took in the SADAR and nav charts. Several new contacts popped up in the free space she’d planned on escaping to. Her brain whirled, looking for an idea.

“This isn’t good,” Cole said again.

“Mollie… I don’t think we have a choice.” It was her mother’s voice. In many ways, more familiar and real than the one she’d just spent hours with—

“We could jump blindly,” Molly suggested.

Cole opened his mouth to protest, but it was Parsona that vetoed the idea first. “Absolutely not , Mollie Fyde. Don’t you dare. It would jeopardize everything .”

“As will being caught!” she countered.

“Who iss that talking?” Walter asked.

“The radio,” Cole lied. “You might wanna go strap in, buddy.”

Walter nodded and ran back to his seat.

“Molly, Admiral Saunders. We’re firing missiles in five seconds. Reduce thrust and maintain altitude.”

Molly thought about the last time she’d seen Saunders, just a few weeks ago. He’d been a Captain, then, and doubled over from a blow between the legs. Lucin, his boss, lay slumped over a desk, dead. She had a hunch the missiles weren’t an empty threat.

She keyed the microphone. “Reducing thrust,” she said, pulling back to hold her current altitude.

“What’s the plan?” Cole asked.

“I don’t have one,” she admitted.

“You had better encrypt me if you guys are planning on getting caught,” Parsona suggested. “If anyone searches the computer while I’m active, they’ll see this isn’t nav data, and your father went through a lot of effort to hide me from the Navy.”

Molly looked at Cole. “I guess the plan is to be caught,” she groaned.

“Thank you for complying, Parsona ,” the first voice said. “Hold position and prepare to enter hangar bay four.”

“Roger. Hangar bay four,” she radioed back to the Navy. She flipped off the mic and turned to Cole. “Get the Wadi plenty of food and water. Enough for a few weeks. Put it in the lazarrette under one of the thruster panels. Make sure the door’s sealed to keep the atmosphere in there.”

“It’s in your quarters?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure it won’t bite me?”

“I’m sure. While you’re in there, grab the two red bands in the top drawer of my dresser. Hide them with the Wadi.”

“Gotcha.”

“Oh, and tell Walter to go along with whatever happens and to keep his mouth shut.”

“With pleasure.”

Cole shook himself out of the tall spacesuit and headed back to lecture Walter. Molly pulled up the nav screen and sighed.

“Tell me what I need to do to encrypt you,” she said to her ship.

To her mother.

The balcony inside the Pinnacle stood thick with spectators, far more than Anlyn could remember in any of her childhood visits. She and Edison pushed through them, out onto the clockwise landing that overlooked the gathered Circle members below. A low murmur rippled through the crowded seats, and heads—even those around the Circle—turned to survey the source of the distraction.

Anlyn led Edison down the flight of steps between the rows of seated onlookers. Below lay the large circular table around which the council manipulated an entire empire. Anlyn noted grimly that several seats stood empty, draped with white mourning cloths. She forced herself to look straight ahead, ignoring the legion of onlookers filling the seats to either side of the aisle and stretching out through the darkness all the way around the Pinnacle.

The timing of their arrival, she saw, couldn’t have been better. Bodi stood in the bright light that shone down within the circle, the table before his empty seat illuminated by a second shaft of harsh rays, signifying his turn to speak. She nodded to her former fiancé, baiting him, as she walked around the back of the Circle members and approached one of the empty seats.

“Anlyn,” Bodi murmured, a hint of false surprise in his voice. He stood in full Royal regalia, some layers of which he hadn’t actually earned, only borrowed thanks to their supposed engagement.

Several members turned to him before looking back to Anlyn, following her with curious gazes. She took her place behind Bedder’s empty seat, and waited while a council page hurried forward, confused, to remove the mourning cloths.

Anlyn rested her hands on the high back of the stone chair, the old petrified tree cool to the touch. Her eyes traveled up from the empty seat to meet Bodi’s. “I am assuming Bedder Dooo’s position within the Circle.” She turned slowly to sweep the words across the entire gathering. Edison took his place beside her at Muder Dooo’s chair. The page hesitated, not sure what to do.

Bodi broke the tense silence from the Light of Speak: “Lady Hooo, you have been through much these past few months—”

“And I have learned much from these ordeals.” The words contained a coo of sarcasm. Anlyn tilted her head slightly and used a wry smile to punctuate her bitterness. Everyone present knew full well Anlyn had fled Drenard to get away from Bodi. And his role in the recent ambush on her and her friends was assumed by all present.

Bodi smiled back at her, defusing the barb by pretending her warmness contained sincerity. “One of your high measure must also know that war planning is a lowly endeavor. Beneath your station and—”

Anlyn interrupted again, ignoring the Center of Speak and causing expensive tunics to shift uneasily. “Nonsense,” she said. “The fate of our empire means more to me as a result of my position.”

Bodi switched tactics. “Then perhaps I may appeal to your fairer sex and caution against getting dirt on—”

“Counselors.” Anlyn looked at each of the dozen or more members. “I will—”

“You violate the Center of Speak!”

It was Tottor, the Navy Counselor, a distant cousin of Anlyn’s. He’d won his high post over several other candidates whose Wadi were larger in every way—but those counselors did not have Royal blood within them.

Anlyn turned to address his outburst. “No, Counselor, it is you who violates the Center of Speak.” Tunics fluttered at this. “When I entered the Circle, as is my right , I was addressed by Lord Thooo, who holds the Center. This conversation is his choosing, and it is over when he says it is over.”

Anlyn turned back to Bodi while Totter seethed, his blue skin purpling with rage. Several members of the Circle who had won their posts due to merit attempted to cover their panting chuckles.