Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

Bodi had just succeeded in changing the nature of the vote. No longer would it be between war and peace; rather, it would be between a massacre they controlled or a rebellion they fomented.

Anlyn reached over and groped for Edison’s hand, her plan unraveling before her eyes. The decision would now come before the end of the day.

And either way, it would spell the end of the Humans.

“They’re killing us to protect us? That’s crap, Mom. What are they really hiding?”

“Sweetheart, the universe is bigger than you know—”

“No more riddles, Mom. And you have seven minutes before I go look for Cole.”

“No riddles, just facts.”

It was eerie for Molly to hear an artificial voice fighting to remain calm, but that’s what her mother seemed to be doing.

“Humans have had a hard time accepting changes in scope,” Parsona said. “First, realizing the Earth was round, then that the stars are more suns, finally that the nebulae were entire galaxies. In many ways, being the dominant technological race in our galaxy has been a detriment to our growth, not the boon that we are—”

“Six minutes, Mom, and you still haven’t told me anything.”

“Our entire galaxy is at risk, Mollie. And other galaxies. All at risk of being invaded and completely taken over by a force of evil you can’t comprehend. They are known to many other races, the Drenards included, as the Bern. They control most of the universe, perhaps all except the Local Group. For many years, they’ve been trying to invade and add us to their territory. The Drenards guard the hole in the Milky Way through which the Bern have been trying to enter—”

“Then why not just tell us this? Why keep it a secret?”

“Because the truth is, and this is something I shouldn’t tell you: the Bern look a lot like humans. Or vice versa. We’re almost identical to them. Now, can you imagine the witch hunt if this were common knowledge? It would tear us apart quicker than the Drenards could. Besides, there’s a good chance the Navy is riddled with them, that the Navy is being run by people without our best interests—”

“ Byrne ,” Molly muttered to herself, the pieces falling in place.

“Mollie. Where have you heard that name? Tell me this instant.”

“He was on Dakura. He was in your—in the other Parsona’s head. He came for me , Mom. Had me tied up in his ship…”

The Wadi flicked out her tongue, jumped from the dresser to the bunk, and ran up to Molly’s chest.

“That’s why we were fleeing Dakura, why we had that other ship airlocked to you. I’m sorry, but there wasn’t any time to tell you—”

“Where is he now?” Parsona asked.

“Was he a Bern?” Molly thought about him standing in the hangar, smiling in the vacuum of space.

“Yes, one of the very worst kind. Do you know where he is? Did he talk to—did he get a chance to talk to the other Parsona?”

“Yeah. Oh, Mom, they had me strapped to a dentist chair, there was nothing I could—”

“It’s okay. It’s fine. We need to get to Lok, sweetheart.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m reading too much into those bands. Cole’s probably gonna get there before me and start to worry.”

Molly stopped petting the Wadi and glanced at the clock by her bed.

“Drenards,” she said. “We shoulda jumped out of here two minutes ago.”

She threw the pillow aside and ran toward the cockpit.

Anlyn sank in her seat as Lord Vahi cast his vote for war. She and Edison hadn’t voted yet, and it wouldn’t even matter. Not that there had been a viable option, but her choice to abstain would have meant something different before the subject was already decided. Any formal complaint would now be registered as indecision.

The cooing in the crowd grew, nearly drowning out Lord Yesher’s vote. Several Counselors slapped the table for order. The Counterclockwise door flung open, and several spectators from the balcony spilled out to relay the news. Others took this as a sign that the proceedings were over and began pushing their way to the aisles.

They were hoping to get out before a throng formed.

But they just became the throng.

Two more Counselors cast a vote for Bodi, becoming part of another mob, one protecting its political legacy by moving with the crowd. The member beside Edison voted the same and had the audacity to stand, preparing to race out after votes from the least senior members. The entire Pinnacle thrummed in anticipation. Males felt an urge to return home to families and prepare for the next step, the step the Circle had voted for:

War.

Edison growled “Abstain,” but nobody heard. Only the Keeper of Time seemed to notice, moving the Light of Turn to Anlyn.

She stared at the circle of sunlight on the marble before her. Her peripheral vision vibrated with movement. The balcony doors opened and shut like organ valves, pumping hysteria into the streets and throughout the city. The noise had become a persistent roar, a growling fervor.

“Minority Position,” Anlyn said to herself.

Louder: “Minority Position.”

The Keeper of Time mistook her moving lips and ushered the Light of Turn onward, ending her chance to speak.

Anlyn watched the spot move away, a shock of resignation coursing through her. She rebelled against it. Wouldn’t stand for it. She stood up in her chair, jumped to the top of the table, and grabbed Edison’s lance. Fumbling with the switches, she wished she’d paid more attention to his demonstration. Several Counselors scrambled for her, ready to pull her down. Edison pushed them back as several Drenards in blue scrambled down the aisles, wading through the frantic crowd.

“I invoke Minority Position!” Anlyn yelled, as loud as she could. She rested the butt of the large lance on the table, ducked her head, and pulled the trigger.

The tip of the lance erupted in a shower of light. Dozens of hues pulsed out in a spray of pyrotechnics, the charged plasma deflected by prismatic filters into harmless sparks of fire. The blossom radiated upward, arcing to the ceiling, bouncing off and exploding into even smaller slivers of flame.

Anlyn covered her head to protect it from the shower and squeezed the trigger all the way. The lance hummed, casting out Edison’s favorite note at 349.229 hertz. It was “F” below middle C. The precise sound wave that creates supernovas, vibrating out from the core of collapsing stars and throwing entire solar systems apart.

It was the note of nebulas. The sound of destruction and creation.

Those that remained in the Pinnacle froze, including the Counselors and the guards. They shielded their eyes, but couldn’t turn away. Thousands of tiny bones, deep in hearing canals, resonated with the pure note, that lone chord of the cosmos.

Anlyn released the trigger and stood upright in the remnants of the plasma falling to the floor.

“I invoke Minority Position,” she said, loud and confident. “I vote for telling the humans about the Bern threat, and I demand to give voice to the dissenters.”

She looked down at Edison, needing another dissenter, an abstainer to change his vote.

“I second,” he said.

The few that had not voted for war early on threw in their assent. The Keeper of Time, gathering his wits from the control booth, returned the Light of Turn to Anlyn.

The Light of Speak, meanwhile, stood empty in the center of the Circle. Throughout the beam, a shower of fine ash could be seen descending from the ceiling. The spectators that had not yet fled into the Apex stopped. They watched Anlyn.

And waited.