Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

Timing would be everything.

The trio set off through the woods on a long, circuitous hike that would bypass the activity around the Campton hill. It would be an excruciating hike for Edison. Cole felt horrible, but he was useless for helping with the load. He had tried to assist in removing it from the case, but he was unable to budge the thing. It certainly was an impressive device, able to pass for a nuke even to his Naval eye.

He thought about the trap the Leefs would set with it, their fury when the weapon proved to be nothing more than an electro-magnetic pulse, scouring the hidden bunkers as Parsona broke through the atmosphere.

Cole’s eyes drifted from the device to Edison’s tense frame. He couldn’t work out what the Glemot youth was getting out of this. Sure, if the Leef trap ended up a Campton rout, he could take credit for the plan and assure his fame and fortune. But was that really enough to explain the brutality they’d witnessed below the forest floor? What about Orville? Why keep him alive?

Could Glemots really be this calculating over what they thought was right or wrong? Maybe they had some evolutionary advantage that prevented emotion from usurping their decision-making. Cole considered this possibility and wondered about his own habit of using people to achieve his own goals. Did it excuse him that he felt bad about it later? His brief time on Glemot had been punctuated by little lies to every side. What made him any different? He glanced at Molly and cringed from other lies he’s told, despite his powerful reasons for telling them.

The guilt served to distract him from his plan’s worst-case scenario: disturbing the balance on Glemot. If they set this force loose on the galaxy—this trinity of wrath, genius, and power—it could mean the end of everything else. Perhaps in the universe.

No, that was not something Cole could afford to dwell on. Thoughts like that made action impossible.

By the time they arrived at the meeting spot, Edison was visibly worn out. They hid the EMP nearby and Molly paced nervously, looking back to where the sun had disappeared over the horizon. She fretted over whether or not they’d been too late.

Out of the darkness, a dozen forms emerged. The Leef warriors. They surrounded them noiselessly and pressed in. One warrior spoke quietly to Edison, noting the matted blood in the pup’s fur. Several other warriors approached the youth and patted him, speaking softly. Molly could make no sense of this other than some sort of alien cultural tradition.

The plan had been to get Molly and Cole to their ship to oversee the repairs. Only then would the “nuke” be handed over. But time had grown short; exhaustion within both parties moved them along the shorter path of faith and trust. They agreed to exchange the device right there and rush the repairs.

Edison, Molly, and Cole huddled for a brief moment to touch and speak, sharing the electricity that courses through those who have been willing to die for one another.

Molly wished Edison the best of luck as Cole pulled her away, allowing their guide to lead them toward their ship. By the time her thoughts had returned to the task at hand, she realized they were going the wrong way. She tugged on Cole’s arm and gave him a questioning look.

“They probably moved it,” he said, shrugging.

A pan-galactic starship? Through a forest? With no mechanical advantage? Molly assumed the ship would be repaired in place, the Camptons too busy war-planning to guard it adequately. If her ship was safer, she couldn’t complain, but something in the demeanor of their new allies told her that all was not honest with them. She wished Walter was here with his olfactory lie-detector.

Her growing mistrust melted when she heard the rattle and clang of construction filtering through the trees. A shifting light could be seen ahead, dancing like a hundred fairies. It sounded and looked like a party of sprites celebrating by banging pots and pans.

They followed their guide through a line of trees and popped into a massive clearing. Molly gasped aloud. Hundreds of Glemots crawled over the frame of her ship, many of them wearing straps on their wrists that glowed with enough light to work by. They worked furiously and efficiently. Lines of smaller Glemots passed parts along, communicating softly.

Ahead of them stood one large adult who surveyed the progress, his paws on his hips. Their escort approached this figure and tapped him on the shoulder. The adult whirled to take in Molly and Cole. She thought she recognized his posture, but couldn’t make out his face, silhouetted as it was by the floating lights beyond.

Their escort returned. “Follow,” he said. The other Glemot spun to face the work before him.

Molly led Cole down to the ship, hope rising in her chest. Fifty meters away from Parsona , they were spotted and Walter came bolting out of the cargo bay, his face almost nothing but teeth. He rushed straight for Molly and practically tackled her with a hug.

“Molly,” he said, his silver face pressing against her shoulder.

She could feel the coolness of his skin warming with joy. She hugged him with one arm and fought to keep the other from being broken again.

After a moment she had to push away, confident Walter would have remained like this forever. “It’s good to see my Cargo Officer is still on duty.”

“Molly, thesse animalss are putting everything in the wrong placsse.” He swept his hands around the scene and seemed absolutely anguished at the ruining of his organizational system.

She squeezed his shoulder firmly, as a good Captain might a real crew member, and said with seriousness, “We’ll have plenty of time to fix it when we get out of here, okay?”

Walter sniffed and nodded. Molly watched Cole rush over to offer some advice and realized she could be useful here as well. “Get back to work, Officer.”

Walter grinned. If he knew how to salute properly, she felt certain he would have done it right then. He spun back into the cargo bay, shouting orders to Glemots several times his size.

It was going to be a long night, Molly realized.

Molly stood in the cockpit doorway and watched as one of the smallest Leefs installed the last panel. The first rays of morning sunlight sliced through the tall trees and sparkled against the carboglass. All night she’d been mesmerized by the way the Glemots worked individually and in groups, and she finally had a chance to see what their prehensile claws could do, twisting into various shapes for driving screws or shaping metal. They were not above digging into Parsona’s well-stocked tool chests, but rarely needed to.

The Glemot took a step back from his work and indicator lights lit up the dash. Molly threw her arms around the pup and squeezed him. She leaned over the dash and pulled up the nav computer and the SADAR—it felt like a miracle had been performed. She turned and looked up at this young member of the Leef tribe; he beamed with pride. Molly smiled back, but the closer they got to leaving, and the more she’d worked with these people, the worse she felt about betraying them. She patted him on the shoulder and hurried out to find Cole.

In the cargo bay, Walter was conducting an orchestra of organizational activity. Most of the repair crew had already departed to join the warriors, leaving just the children to help clean up. Walter had pulled them off those duties and was using them to sort and arrange Parsona’s gear. Most were smaller than Edison, but this still meant a crowded cargo bay and a lot of noisy stomping. Molly weaved through the activity, shaking her head.

Outside, Cole was conferring with the few remaining adults. Molly walked up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “We have basic systems running right now,” she told him. “The ship is going through its diagnostics and I’m cycling the hyperdrive.”