Hugh Howey: Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

Molly watched the SADAR to see if another missile would punctuate Cole’s lie. This was the first time she’d seen his charms fail so spectacularly; she’d always thought it’d be an enjoyable experience if it ever happened—but she was wrong. Without doing the math, she could see the missile would reach them well before they got a boost from the star’s gravity.

“Less comms, more chaff,” she said.

Cole keyed up their new chaff modules. “You want me to release early so we have time to arm the second pod?”

Good question, Molly thought. If they waited too long, they were giving themselves only one chance to fool the missile. On the other hand, if they showed their cards too soon, the Navy would see they were dealing with an armed vessel and ramp up the attack.

As a team, Molly and Cole had hundreds of hours in Navy simulators together, facing these exact tactical quandaries. They always tried to pretend the situations were actually occurring—to truly feel the specter of death hovering over them, pressuring them to make mistakes. It was the only proper way to train their minds as well as their reflexes.

Now they were in actual danger. A blinking red light crept across the SADAR screen, making its way to the center of the concentric range circles like a bullet homing in on a bull’s-eye. Only, this time, it wasn’t for keeping score; they wouldn’t get yelled at if they made the wrong decision. That red dot was not part of a game or training exercise—it represented their deaths.

Molly considered all this in a flash and marveled at how calm she felt. Her brain seemed clearer than it had ever been in the simulator. Despite the reversal of roles—her piloting from the left while Cole asked her advice—she felt like this was what they’d trained for. And it was more than just the thousands of hours in the simulator. In many ways, the fear of dying could not match the anxiety of humiliation. Not for her, at least. She considered the approaching missile and the timing on the chaff pods, performing some quick and dirty math.

“Wait for it,” she told Cole. She keyed the shortwave radio and tried a bit of old-fashioned honesty.

“This is KML32 Parsona , Captain Molly Fyde speaking. I’m a former Naval cadet. There are children onboard this ship, I repeat, there’s a crew of five youth aboard this ship. Cease firing. Over.”

A second missile spat out of a neighboring Firehawk.

Cole fired a curse at his SADAR screen. Molly started to protest, but the radio chimed in before she could. “ Parsona, Naval Task Force Delta. If you cease thruster burn, we will de-arm both missiles prior to impact. This is your final warning. Cease thruster burn and prepare to be boarded. The missiles will be de-armed. Over.”

Molly pulled her hand away from the mic and rested it on the accelerator controls, contemplating pulling back. “What are our chances here?” she asked.

Cole surveyed the situation on SADAR, watching the second missile speed after its companion. “If both chaff work, we could stop these two and probably get to your slingshot gambit in time. But only if they don’t fire any more in the next few minutes.” He looked over at Molly and raised his visor; she could see the worry on his face, clear as carboglass. “I don’t think it’ll go well for you and me if they pick us up, but we gotta consider the rest of the crew.”

“Trust me, I am thinking about them. They’re the reason I haven’t pulled back on the throttle yet.”

“I don’t follow. And we have about two minutes before we need to decide.”

“You think they’re gonna to be harsh on you and me for Lucin’s death? And Palan? Think about Walter being sent back to his uncle after breaking us out and stealing Parsona from them. Think about what they’ll do to Anlyn, Cole. Or how kindly the Navy will take to Edison after they were run out of the Glemot system. I would poll them if we had the time, but I have a feeling they’d rather take their chances with the missiles.”

“We need to decide,” Cole said.

Molly tried. If it were just her and Cole, she probably would never have run in the first place. She would’ve taken their chances in a Navy courtroom, explaining the sequence of events that had led them to their current predicament, trusting their status as minors, anything to guarantee Cole would live another day. But they all were running from something, her crew especially. Each of the crewmembers had taken a massive risk to get away, placing his or her trust in them. They had to do anything they could to escape.

The radio crackled: “ Parsona , Naval Task Force Delta. Advise, you have one minute before impact. Cease thruster burn immediately. Over.”

Molly turned to look at Cole. They were pushing over sixteen Gs, and she could really feel it through her flightsuit and in her neck. Cole’s visor remained up, those hazel eyes of his wide with trust, awaiting an answer.

“Release chaff pod number one,” she commanded.

Cole thumbed the defense controls. The new and untested chaff module in the rear of their ship popped open and ejected the decoy. It showed up on SADAR as a second ship with the same signature and mass as Parsona. Molly altered course slightly to see if the missile would follow.

It stayed on its original vector, homing in on the chaff pod.

“How long before the second impact?” Molly asked.

Cole was already working on it. “Under two minutes—damn! Contact. Three more missiles incoming.”

Molly saw them on her SADAR screen. Things were getting ugly.

“They’re gonna reach us after we slingshot,” Cole said, confirmed what her mental calculations already suggested. “If they vector around the star after us, they’re gonna get the same boost we will. They’ll track us down before we get to clear space for a jump.”

Molly looked up from the nav screen and had to lower her visor. Her new course had them heading right for the star. The automatic filters in the carboglass handled most of the direct light and all the harmful radiation; the visor in her helmet took care of the rest, allowing her to gaze upon its surface. For a brief moment, she became lost in the sight of the fiery orb, transfixed by the hundreds of black spots on its surface, the “cooler” areas where magnetic disturbances prevented the plasma from mixing properly.

She followed the wide trail of fire that streamed out from the star to the black hole. They were approaching from above, but getting so close that the overall shape and beauty of the spiral had become lost.

Now it was just the massive, deadly, intoxicating details.

“Release chaff pod number two,” she said.

Cole thumbed the controls while she altered course, heading toward one edge of the star. The missile behind them jogged slightly, following Parsona rather than the pod.

“We’ve got a problem,” Cole said.

“I see it.” That was their last chaff pod, and the missile wasn’t fooled. Molly started composing their surrender in her head, losing herself in the beauty of the star and the long, curving river of plasma coursing off the surface. A solar flare had erupted recently, its smaller stream of hot matter jetting out tens of thousands of kilometers, curving close to their current heading.

Very close to their current heading.

Cole’s gift had become a threat, but Molly saw that it could also be their savior.

“Hold on,” she said, altering course slightly toward the thick column of plasma that made up the solar flare. Even the gradual change in direction could be felt at their high rate of acceleration. Molly glanced at the three crew members strapped in on the cargo cam. They were awfully still; she hoped that meant they were doing okay.