Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

Molly nodded. She turned her head away from the beauty of the lake and looked up the hill. But there was no escaping the sensual pleasure of being here.

She listened as Cole got into the meat of his plan. Molly felt detached from it all but was able to point out some tactical flaws. She agreed it would work as long as the dozen or so various “ifs” they foresaw were the only ones that existed. And of course, a lot depended on the Glemots.

Maybe too much.

Molly had hoped she’d be able to chew on the tragedy of this place over dinner, but the event turned out to be too much of a distraction. Without exaggeration, the meal she had that night was one of the highlights of her life thus far.

Most of the food varieties on Glemot were the common forms of energy storage found all over the universe, the biological shortcuts nature was fond of taking. But each example was full of a rich vitality that knew no Earth equal. There were analogies to familiar foods, but no comparing the quality.

The main course, a species of large fish, had been roasting all day over a low fire. Encrusted with a thick layer of spices, it made Molly think of cinnamon, sage, and some sort of tangy pepper. The powerful combination was offset by a sweet cream slathered over top, much like Earth honey. Small shapes of cut fruit were arranged to the side and little berries dotted the plate. The berries looked hard, but they dissolved in her mouth, bursting with a fresh sweetness so unusual, it tasted like a primary color. Molly couldn’t believe her taste buds could be tickled in such an alien way.

Also on the side were large vegetables boiled creamy-soft and infused with something woody and citrus, like hickory and lime, only different . The combination, strange and intoxicating, delighted her. She followed these nibbles with bites from a large salad, each of its dozen constituent parts a unique meal on their own. A bowl of nuts passed by; the Glemots picked through these choosily, hunting for their favorites.

The Glemot distaste for furniture meant Molly and Cole were not uncomfortable around the dinner “table.” The entire tribe gathered around dozens of cloth mats, the pups getting up and rushing about to serve the adults each course in turn.

Every murmur of delight from Molly brought appreciative smiles from the Glemots, especially those who had helped prepare the meal. Then she noticed the look on Cole’s face and realized her joy just made this harder on him. She tried to contain herself. This became easier when a female across from Cole, out of nowhere and with a calm voice, let him know that Walter would be “naturalized” in the morning. She watched him fight any change in his behavior. He continued to smile and converse and chew his food thoughtfully, but she had felt it since their walk: Cole was wearing a thin veneer of compliance over a core of rage.

Thinking about Walter soured the meal for Molly as well. She picked at her food distractedly, still ended up eating too much, and retired as soon as the first Glemot from their mat rose. She and Cole carried their stone plates down to a brook to rinse them off.

“Cole?”

He looked around to see if any of the Glemots could hear them. Several were heading their way and would be within earshot in moments. “Yeah?”

“What if we went to the other side of the planet? Just got away from the war between these two tribes?”

Cole gave her a sad look, one he’d successfully concealed for most of the day. But Molly could see it vividly—even in the pale starlight.

“They’re all at war,” he said. He looked out over the lake, its calm surface reflecting the stars perfectly. It was like a hole in the planet through which the cosmos could be seen. “War is natural ,” he added, with disgust.

Then he turned and walked past the approaching Glemots, back to the tent they’d assigned him to. Molly wanted to rush up to him and hold him tight and make him happy. But right now she couldn’t even make herself happy. Even in this place, she couldn’t be the perfect thing she wanted to be.

Sitting alone by the bubbling brook, she sniffed quietly while nearby Glemots debated death.

The chirping of morning creatures pierced Molly’s tent, rescuing her from the return of bad dreams. One of the Glemot youth sat up beside her, rubbing his eyes.

“Edison?”

The pup turned to Molly, blinking. “You have me confused for my approximation.” He yawned, stretching his arms wide and flashing a dangerous mouth. “Pardon my reflexive inhalation. My designation is Orville.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Do you desire assisting in relocating the temporary structure?”

“We do what?” Molly shook her head. These guys were exhausting—especially first thing in the morning.

“Relocate the temporary structure. Our daily hibernation flattens grasses, occludes the sunlight from their photoreceptors. We relocate temporary structures every Glemot rotation to preserve the natural.”

“What’s natural about a tent?” Molly asked.

Orville frowned. “That statement reflects my approximation’s thoughts.” He rose, gathered his blanket, and stormed out without another word.

Molly sighed and adjusted her garment around her. It was a lovely way to dress if only it would stay put. Every movement shifted the fabric and threatened to bare her to the world. She wondered what Cole thought of her dressed up like this. He looked like a Roman statue in his, of course, but he treated the get-up like an annoying necessity, an “undercover prop,” as he would have put it.

Outside, Molly saw the tents being shifted in a carefully orchestrated pattern. She was the last sleeper out, which seemed to create a sense of relief from some of the adult Glemots. They hurried over and started carefully extracting stakes from the ground.

Molly tried to stay out of the way, peering around for some sign of Cole, but his tent was no longer where it had been the night before.

“Molly.” It was Watt, her doctor. He approached bearing a leaf slathered with his medicinal cream. Molly shrugged the sling off her head and presented her arm. He removed the splint first, carefully scrapped the old salve off, then reassembled his handiwork. Molly flexed her wrist a little, amazed at the reduction in pain. She wondered if perhaps she had just fractured the bone, and then remembered the odd angle it had been in before she passed out.

“Thank you very much.” She patted his arm as he tied up the sling.

“It is my function. I recommend minimal exertion for two rotations.” He smiled down at her and scratched her head with an uncanny gentleness. Molly smiled back and tried to picture Watt killing children in order to restore a sense of “balance.” Even with her brain bent into odd shapes, it still couldn’t wrap around the idea. She watched him lumber off and felt overwhelmed with how complex life was. If she and her friends got off Glemot alive, something new would be carried with her. She would never think on right and wrong, good and evil, beautiful and ugly the same way ever again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Cole’s voice leaking out of the woods behind the camp. She turned as he and the other Glemot youth emerged, the latter standing a good meter taller. Molly learned last night, as she noted who served the food, that a lot of the Glemots here were considered youths. Orville and Edison were mere babies as far as the adults were concerned. In thirty years, a short time for Glemots, Edison would be as big as the others. And then it would be time for a proper female to be selected for him, if he was designated a “procreator.”

Molly walked over to meet them. Cole nodded at her as she approached, as if to say, “all systems were go.”