Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

Molly shook her head. “I don’t like it,” she said, as she helped pull Riggs up to the cockpit. He tried to kick off the steps, so Cole reached down and grabbed the knot of his shoestrings, pulling both of his feet up. Molly held up half of him with both arms, and they literally carried him up the steps.

“What don’t you like? We need the Firehawk’s signature on SADAR to get out of here, and we need Riggs’s auth code to get the signature.” They pushed Riggs down in the navigator’s seat and Cole fastened his harness, locking him in place. Riggs wiggled, testing them, and blew out his cheeks. Molly pulled Cole down the steps.

“I don’t like bringing him along. I know what you’re doing, and I love that about you, but Riggs is not going to come around, especially not bound and gagged. He’s not our friend anymore, Cole. I mean, he thinks I’m working with the Drenards , for galaxy’s sake. Walter can easily—”

Cole pulled her further down the steps. “Technically, you are a Drenard.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, and you know I need to try. I just need some more time with him.”

“I get that, that’s fine, but all this vacuum transfer nonsense—it just feels too risky.” Molly glanced up at the cockpit. “Why don’t we just meet at Lok? It’s only a few jumps from here—”

“That’s even riskier,” Cole said. “The Navy will have two signatures to follow and more motivation to catch us. Plus, do you really want Riggs knowing where we go and what we do there?”

“Isn’t that the reason you want him along?”

Cole shook his head. “Gods, I don’t know. Maybe I’m being selfish; maybe I just want him to not hate us.”

“Hey, if you need to do this for you , that’s an even more compelling argument. Just say so. But no cowboy transfers in the vacuum. Let’s meet on Lok and stagger our jump coordinates, give the Navy two trails to sniff. If we both double back at least once, or they’re slow to mobilize, they’ll never find us.”

Cole sighed. “Okay. The only logistical problem left is coordinating the tow without the fleet picking up our transmission over the radios. I haven’t quite sorted out how we’re gonna time that.”

Molly smiled. “Let’s go change into our flightsuits. I have just the thing.”

“Can you hear me?” Molly thought.

“Loud and clear,” came Cole’s words, but in Molly’s voice. “The helmet makes the band ride down to my ears, though.”

“Same here. What we need to do is sew these things into the liners. It’d be stellar to not have to thumb the mic to talk in the cockpit.”

“Or worry that Walter’s listening in,” Cole added.

“Then again, it might not be too nebular to have Cole hearing everything,” Molly thought to herself.

“Like what?”

“Huh?… That, uh, was a joke, silly. Um, my thrusters are warm if you wanna pull in the lock.”

“Roger.”

Molly watched the Firehawk rise off the hangar deck and fly down the center lane. She lifted up Parsona and pulled into his wash, following him toward the massive airlock at the end of the bay. During major engagements, the entire deck would be depressurized, pilots and navigators using the dozens of personnel locks to enter the StarCarrier’s vacuum, allowing rapid take-offs and landings. For maintenance and patrol, the entire bay was kept pressurized to allow support personnel to work freely and without helmets.

With a little maneuvering, both ships fit in the airlock with room to spare.

Molly didn’t have a prisoner to watch, so cable-duty fell to her. She typed a caution to her mother in the nav computer, moved the Wadi from her lap to the back of her seat, and gave Walter a pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t touch anything,” she told him for the third time.

He smiled through his visor and turned in the nav seat to watch her go. Molly grabbed the commercial nanotube towline and stomped down the cargo ramp.

Outside, she snapped one end to the eyebolt under Parsona’s nose. The cockpit glass was too far above for her to check in on Walter, filling her with paranoia that he might be fiddling with instruments on the dash, or discovering her mother. She had to force herself to not rush the job.

Double-checking the connection on her ship, she made sure the release mechanism wasn’t stuck, then pulled the line to the back of Riggs’s Firehawk, careful of the hot metal around the thrusters. She secured the other end of the line to a tow bolt outside the jet wash’s cone of influence.

“All set,” she thought to Cole.

“Great. Make sure you shut everything down—”

“I know.”

“And after we disconnect the tow line, let me pull away before you jump out—”

“I know the plan, Cole.”

“Come up to the nose for a sec.”

Molly walked quickly to the front of the Firehawk, ducking under the stubby wings. She was surprised to see the hatch open, Cole’s visor up.

“Problem?” she asked.

“No, I just felt like saying goodbye so you hear it in my voice.”

“I appreciate you being romantic, but we don’t have much—”

“I love you.”

Molly snapped her visor closed and popped her helmet off. She brushed her hair back off her forehead and looked up at him.

“I love you, too. And stop worrying, this is gonna go smooth as milk.” She watched the lines of worry in Cole’s forehead deepen. “I’ll see you on Lok,” she said. “Walter’s in your seat, and he’ll have my back.”

Cole laughed. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?” He smiled down at her. “All right, see you in a bit.”

With that, he snapped his head forward, throwing the visor of his helmet down without touching it. Molly laughed at the hotshot maneuver and watched the cockpit glass slide forward and seal tight. She ducked under the fuselage and looked up at Riggs, but only the side of his helmet was visible. She ran back to Parsona, pulling her own helmet back on.

Inside, she settled into her seat and nodded at Walter, giving him the okay to depressurize the airlock. He punched commands into his computer, and the atmosphere within the chamber became visible as it was sucked into the large side vents, condensing into moisture as the pressure changed.

Molly watched the thrusters ahead of her fire up, the Firehawk humming to life. She had to fight the urge to do the same with Parsona. It felt unnatural to watch the airlock empty of atmosphere while keeping her ship powered down.

As soon as the air had been completely evacuated, she gave Walter another thumbs-up. For Cole’s benefit, she tried to keep her surface thoughts to a minimum; she didn’t want to distract him while he sweet-talked the patrol watch.

In her own head, meanwhile, she could hear Cole read off Riggs’s authorization numbers, sensing them on the surface of his mind as he spoke them, and then feeling the tension as he waited for the guard to acknowledge.

Beside the hangar bay’s red atmosphere light, the integrity light went from green to red. The doors opened a crack, then slid apart and revealed the star field beyond. Cole eased forward, pulling the slack out of the towline. Parsona lurched, the landing gear scraped on the deck, then Cole angled up and brought both ships high in the lock before they exited into clear space.

As the two ships pulled out of the massive StarCarrier, the only eyes looking their way were electronic ones. Their signature on SADAR would appear a little larger than normal, but communications officers aren’t taught to fear anything leaving the belly of their own ship, which meant the duo didn’t merit a second glace. And besides, the ship ID blinking over the blip would perfectly match the newly revised patrol roster. Screen-watchers no doubt would sip their cold coffee and continue swapping lewd jokes and lewder lies.