Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

It would be another hour before anyone was scheduled to check the hangar bay or deliver breakfast to the detention cells.

Should be more than enough time.

“Okay, we’re well outside the fleet perimeter,” Cole thought. “Any further and they’ll wonder what we’re patrolling.”

Molly laughed and glanced through the starboard porthole; the constellation of cruisers and destroyers flashed and twinkled like bright, nearby stars.

“This’ll do,” she agreed.

“What’ss sso funny?” Walter asked her. “I wanna wear a red band.”

“They aren’t toys, now keep it down so I can concentrate.”

Walter sank in the nav seat. “What a wasste, ssending one with him,” he grumbled.

Molly ignored Walter and reached for the tow release. “Disengaging,” she thought, as she pulled the handle. The taut cable ahead of her wavered with the release of tension, and they were free, drifting with their forward momentum. Cole pulled the Firehawk far enough away to not throw her jump off with its small bit of gravity.

“Ladies first,” he thought.

She smiled, but there were better reasons for her to jump before he did. It wouldn’t look great if his ship ID disappeared from the fleet’s SADAR, leaving hers exposed. Plus, if he jumped from the same general area, it might confuse both of their hyperspace signatures, confounding, or at least confusing, the pursuit efforts.

Her hyperdrive had been spinning up ever since they left the carrier. Molly brought the rest of Parsona on-line, her ship’s identification moments from broadcasting to the fleet. She watched the nav screen, just waiting for the jump coordinates to register, her finger hovering over the hyperdrive switch.

“Be careful,” she thought.

“You, too,” Cole replied.

The ship came on-line. Half a second later, the nav indicator flashed green.

“I wanna pussh it!” Walter yelled.

But it was too late. The stars had already shifted.

Cole watched his SADAR display intently. Parsona ’s ship ID flashed for a brief moment, then winked away.

Success.

His own hyperdrive was already spinning up; he checked the coordinates on his nav display one final time.

The radio on the dash cracked to life: “Flight three-two-seven, this is the Cruiser Denali . Riggs, we just had a glitch on our SADAR. Picked up a ship ID near you guys. Can you do us a favor and sweep that area? We might need to do a quick calibration with you.”

Riggs writhed against his restraints and shouted into his cheeks, desperate to signal his allies.

Cole saw an opportunity to delay the pursuit. “Roger, Denali , we have an anomaly out here; we’re gonna check it out for the science boys. Be right back.”

After a pause, the radio cackled with more questions as Cole lifted the cover on the jump button. But something came through his consciousness besides the radio: Molly’s words slicing through his own thoughts.

“Did you say something?”

“Molly?”

“Yeah? Where are you?”

“We haven’t jumped yet. Uh, wow. I guess we’ll be able to keep in touch on the way to Lok.”

“Well, it might not be good for whatever kinda batteries these run on.”

“Yeah. Hey, I gotta jump. One of the cruisers saw you leave.”

“Okay. Hey, Cole?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Me, too. See you soon.”

But Cole was wrong. Dead wrong.

He pressed the red button with his gloved finger, and the instruction to jump coursed down a fiber optic wire, racing through the nav computer on its way to the hyperdrive. Normally, it would pick up the coordinates locked into the dash display and carry this location to the drive in the rear of the Firehawk.

Not this time. The program had been changed. No matter what numbers were computed in the nav display, only one set of coordinates were ever going to be sent to the hyperdrive ever again. Those numbers were picked up and sent back. If Cole could have seen them, looked at what they referenced on his nav chart, he would have been screaming right along with Riggs.

The Firehawk containing the two old friends winked out of space, departing the fleet forever.

The ship reappeared four light-years away, directly in the center of Delphi II.

The largest star within a single jump of the fleet.

The Light of Turn crept in front of Edison, signaling his chance to speak. Lord Rooo concluded his argument with a polite nod to the new member, gathered his tunics in both hands, and crossed to the wooden steps that led up and over the unbroken circle of the council table.

Edison rose, pushing back his stone chair with a loud squeak. “I defer my time to Lady Hooo,” he said.

As he lowered himself back down, there were murmurs of disappointment in the crowd, likely from the xenophobes eager to see the hairy barbarian trounced by savvy, lifetime politicians.

Anlyn ignored them and rose from her seat. She walked clockwise around the circle, trailing Lord Rooo as he made his way back to his place. When she reached the legendary steps, she gathered her tunics and steeled her nerves for the walk over.

Looking down at the wooden treads, their centers worn concave with thousands of years of steady use, she took a slow first step, wondering when last a female had done so. She marched up and across the top of the bridge without pausing, not wanting any rumors of her lingering to spread among the spectators and leave the Pinnacle. If any action could be misread, she was certain it would be.

A spot of light stood in the center of the circle, an unmoving disc of photons from Hori I. Anlyn entered the shaft and felt the heat on her skin. She wondered if it had been a mistake to not coat herself in the new cosmetics used by wily politicians. She tried not to think about perspiring—knowing it would just hasten it—and surveyed those around her.

Large Drenard males, the most powerful figures in the race’s empire, returned her gaze. Many of them had worn thin expressions of bemusement at Bodi’s expense less than an hour ago. Those looks seemed to melt away as they absorbed the wisp of a female standing before them. Anlyn doubted the Chair on Drenard Cultural History could even remember how many cycles ago a woman had last served.

She bowed slightly to Edison—a Circle formality for deferred time—but also as a personal gesture. He flashed his teeth at her, wishing her well.

Anlyn thought back to a month ago, to watching him drill a small hole in one of her slave-chain links. Edison had worked the drill back and forth, hollowing out a thin channel, then had cleaned up the shavings. He had made sure she watched as he pantomimed snapping the link in half. Although both spoke English well enough, neither had said a word.

Edison explained later that it had been a favor for Molly, but that it had eventually liberated something within his own heart.

Two days after that scene, Anlyn had helped free Edison from a set of restraints aboard Parsona . The symbolism was not lost on them, and neither was the fact that both had felt alone in the universe: Edison by virtue of being one of the last of his kind, Anlyn due to her voluntary exile.

The week they’d spent together in the Darrin system, alone and working to repair Parsona , had blossomed into something more powerful than love. It was a connection that defied differences in species and their own internal barriers to being loved.

Anlyn shook the pleasant memories out of her head and cleared her throat to address the Circle, then she worried both gestures would be taken for weakness. She needed to appear strong, even though she felt weak. Brave, even though she felt scared. She concentrated on Edison’s smile and began to recite the words her aunt had taught her: