Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

“Greetings for the third occurrence, Molly.”

“Hello, Edison. You boys been busy this morning?”

“Delightfully disturbing the balance all evening,” Edison said, his voice sonorous and soothing.

Cole put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

Edison nodded to both Humans and bounded off to help move a tent.

Molly walked with Cole to the woods, then let him take the lead. She was worried about the dark circles under his eyes. His shoulders also sagged with fatigue. He looked a lot like he’d been acting lately. Glum.

But even beat down and exhausted, she couldn’t help but admire the shape of his body. His Portuguese ancestry had blessed him with a bronze complexion that required no sunlight for upkeep. His back was a broad ‘V’ tapering down to a thin waist. Wide shoulders, even stooped as they were, rounded down into well-defined arms. She watched them swing easily in the revealing robe as they walked along in silence. He possessed a rare combination of strength and litheness that comforted her when they were in danger—but made her worry for her sanity when they were alone together.

Cole slowed so she could catch up, prematurely ending her anatomical inventory and making her blush as if she had been caught thinking aloud.

“We’re going to see the Parsona , I just want you to be prepared.”

Molly bit her lip and nodded. “How’s Walter?” she asked.

“Edison and I broke him out just in time.” Cole smiled at her. “‘Even sssteven,’ he told me.”

Molly managed a chuckle at Cole’s impersonation. Another cultural awareness lesson was probably in order, but it comforted her to see his mood lifting.

“Our very own Campton tribe has sent out a search party to look for their missing prisoner.” Cole pointed through the woods off to their right. “The warrior village and training grounds are just through there. Edison left behind a patch of his fur, so the Leefs will be suspected for nabbing Walter.”

Molly nodded. Little could go wrong with the first parts of their plan. Many “ifs” were to follow, though.

“Have you found the EMP yet?”

“No, but Edison thinks his twin brother Orville knows where it is. Orville’s tutor for the Council is the head of the Technology Prevention Subcommittee.”

“I can’t believe there is such a thing,” Molly mused aloud.

“Are you kidding? There’re several of them on every planet. Earth included. They usually go by something else, of course. I just wish we could get Orville in on this, but I don’t think he’s quite as open to change as his brother.”

“Don’t be greedy. I’m shocked you found a Glemot who would turn on his own tribe. I feel guilty using him this way.”

“Who’s using whom? Did you know that when your America was being overrun by my European ancestors, the natives thought they were using these pale men in their schemes to wipe out neighboring tribes?”

Molly shook her head. “That’s not what I learned.”

“Trust me. This planet’s history is a detail of groups splintering apart. Hell, I’m not sure if I talked him into this plan, or if he talked me into it. The kid—gods, the guy is bigger than me, smarter than me, and older than me, and I refer to him as ‘the kid’—he’s been jockeying for something like this for a long time. I think he sees us as a sign or something.”

“Okay, I get it. Now I feel used instead of guilty.”

“Funny. Now listen, the timing on this will be intense. We’re about to meet with members of the Leef council, and we need to have our story straight.”

“I know my part,” Molly insisted. After a pause, “But let’s go over it one more time.”

They conferred as they walked. A few minutes later the couple ascended a rise, the trees thinned, and they could see Parsona below. Molly fell silent, save for a pained intake of air. Her good hand came up to her chin, resting her fingers there, trying to prevent her jaw from dropping any further.

The ship stood alone in the clearing below, its profile recognizable, but just barely. Molly and Cole could see straight through the once-mighty machine in many places. Parts, panels, equipment, gear—it was all spread out across the grass. A checkerboard of dirt scratches marked off a grid of some sort. Cole explained that every piece was set for repurposing in the Campton’s anti-tech cause or designated for complete destruction.

Behind the ship, Molly could see patches of grass charred black from the landing. The thrusters above the dark spots were in a state of mid-disassembly. She was sure the ship would never fly again. She had owned it for less than a week.

Cole put an arm across Molly’s shoulders, pulling her close and trying to console her. “Hey, keep in mind that a small group took this apart in just a day. They’ve been pulled off for the battle, but a large group of Glemots just as skilled can put her back together in no time.” Cole paused. “At least Edison seems to think so.”

“She’s dead.” It was all Molly could say.

Cole kept his arm around her, guiding her back through woods and on to their meeting spot. “She’s close to dead. You and I have been there. Look at us now.”

Molly did. She noted the light bruises on Cole’s face from his beating by the Palan guards. She glanced down at her shattered arm. She didn’t answer at first. Instead, she walked along, her head tilted into Cole’s chest as she sought a rhythm to match his—something to keep their wounds from smarting.

“Yeah,” she eventually said. “Look at us now.”

They walked in silence to their meeting spot with the Leefs. At one point they crouched down to sneak along quietly as the sounds of the Camptons drilling for war thundered nearby. Eventually, they reached the clearing where Cole said they’d handed a freed Walter over to the Leefs. They stepped into a pool of daylight and three Glemots left the concealment of the trees and greeted them.

“Your presence is recognized, humans,” the largest one said, his fur just starting to show the faintest signs of black. Molly was beginning to associate the coloring with age, or rank, but she still didn’t have a clue how old these people were.

“Detail the coordinates of the tactical fusion warhead—” blurted a smaller Glemot standing to one side. The middle figure held up his paw, cutting the words off.

Tension formed; Cole prodded it. “First, we’ll tell you where our ship is. When it’s fully repaired, you guys receive the nuke. It needs to be no later than tomorrow morning, before the battle.”

“Extreme confidence for a diminutive one,” the smaller Glemot joked. All three Leefs chuckled—it sounded like semi-flat tires rolling on pavement.

The larger Glemot spoke again. “Our accomplishments will be swift and precise while your limitations are apparent. The fusion device will be transferred prior to the local horizon’s occlusion of the nearest star by the rotation of Glemot.”

Molly and Cole looked to one another. “Before nightfall?” she suggested.

There were nods and grunts of assent from the aliens.

“Fine,” Cole said. “We’ll meet here with the nuke. Oh, and just so you know, there’s some Camptons drilling nearby—”

The large Glemot waved him off. “Previously known.” They turned to go.

“Wait,” Molly said. They stopped and turned. “How’s Walter?” she asked.

The darkest Glemot shifted uncomfortably. “The metal one is… adequately secured,” he said. With that, they thundered into the trees.

Molly and Cole were left in the clearing with their troubled thoughts. Molly felt awful for Walter but glad that he was alive. Her stomach knotted with worry. And guilt. She had betrayed the people who patched her arm, housed her, and fed her. She tried to focus on the millions of Glemots the Camptons had killed, but weighing impersonal facts—a million souls extinguished—against her own experiences produced sickening results. Shouldn’t the former outweigh the latter?