Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

Three of the gamblers had gotten lucky and were clear favorites. They would reach Parsona well ahead of the others, who were too busy fighting amongst themselves. Molly could almost sense the frustration of the herd as their vectors fluctuated. The uncoordinated insanity made her more nervous than a textbook attack would have.

“Not enough space,” Cole said. He’d completed the mass equations on the computer that Molly had performed in her head.

“I know. I’m just culling a few from the herd. I want to see what they’re up to on a small scale. Didn’t want all the pack getting to us at once.”

“You thinking piracy?”

“Yeah. Scavengers or pirates. They want us alive and they want us bad. Hell, I haven’t felt this desirable since my first day at the Academy.”

“Ha. Until the boys realized you were better than them.”

“Yeah, I guess the romance didn’t last too long. Hold on.”

Two more maneuvers widened the lead for the three closest ships. Parsona felt a little sluggish to Molly. Maybe they’d done some real damage backing down on that asteroid.

When the trio behind them got within a hundred kilometers, Molly knew for sure they weren’t out for a quick kill. She was being evasive, with random spirals and some standard low-G stuff, but they still could have tested her with laser fire. One thing she could see was that these guys were good , one of them especially. He was flying as the leader with the other two only keeping up by mimicking his every move. And some of those moves reminded Molly of the Tchung AI, but with more creativity.

Cole whistled at one point, obviously admiring the same thing.

“How are you guys doing back there?” Molly called over her shoulder. She really needed to get a suit and helmet for Edison; it seemed they couldn’t go anywhere in this galaxy without needing to pull serious Gs.

“Edisson won’t give me my game back!” Walter hollered.

Molly smiled and shot the vid screen a look. She was going too easy on them. She moved the G-warning up to twenty, giving her more room to play. Now she really started toying with the guys behind her. She’d set up some obvious habits earlier, like a boxer who would always lower one glove before a hook. She quickly switched to the same tell for jabs. It was a feinting process that worked well on experts, the pilots that memorized patterns during dogfights. It almost made two of the ships careen into one another. The third seemed to anticipate it—or he was just getting lucky again and again.

“I think they just want to play ‘tag,’” Cole said.

He had a point. Mr. Lucky was within a few hundred meters now, and there was no other reason to get so close at these velocities. She could hit the brakes or turn the wrong way and they’d both be in a galaxy of trouble. In fact, the closer the ship got, the less she could try to do in order to shake him. Any bold move would spell suicide and the two stragglers were making up ground. Parsona was pinned.

The lead ship rolled around her and presented its belly; Molly recognized the maneuver, even if she didn’t understand it. She eased back on the throttle and held a steady course. “Turn on the outer airlock lights and prepare for boarders. Whoever this ’troid is just won the rare honor of meeting a Glemot.”

Cole laughed nervously and flipped the docking switches. He unplugged his suit and gave her shoulder a squeeze before heading aft.

Her suitor made his move, darting in with such suddenness and skill that the maneuver was over before she realized it’d started. The airlock collar clicked, confirming the union. The rest of the blips on SADAR reacted at once, breaking off the chase and vectoring back to their lairs. In a way, the response was even eerier than the manner with which the hunt had begun.

Molly didn’t waste time pondering the strange behavior; she launched herself away from the helm and headed after her crew, ready to kill with her bare hands if needed.

Edison had already set up for an ambush; he stood aft of the airlock passage, just inside Walter’s room. Molly took up a position with Cole and Walter at the end of the cargo bay to serve as a distraction. Cole handed her a wrench, his eyebrows arched with worry.

The airlock door hissed open. Their own door. Not blasted down, but sliding aside as if welcoming company. Molly tried to stay focused, expecting a flood of boarders with weapons drawn.

In strolled a man wearing a business suit and swinging a briefcase.

“Wai—” She nearly got it out before Edison lunged. The Glemot pup swung a set of claws at the man’s head, and it looked like a direct hit. But instead of decapitating the man, Edison’s fist snapped back and he howled in pain. Molly reached out to grab Cole and Walter, but they were both too stunned to make a move anyway.

The businessman seemed untouched. He turned his back on Edison and approached Cole, a pale, meaty hand outstretched. Fine wisps of hair were combed from one ear to the other over a bald pate and his fat cheeks were held apart by a small, smiling mouth. His suit sang as it rubbed on itself, shiny in the way expensive things were when they begged to be admired.

“Excellent choice, my good sir,” he told Cole. “You’ll not be disappointed. Albert Gaines at your service. I look forward to doing business with you.” His jabbering filled a cargo bay full of naught else but shocked silence.

Molly watched Cole accept the hand and allow it to be pumped. Edison, still holding his arm, looked to her for orders to try again. She raised her hand slightly, palm down. Edison nodded and examined his hand, brushing aside fur as if some mystery lay beneath.

Albert dropped Cole’s hand and looked appreciably around the cargo bay, sizing it up like someone looking for an apartment to rent. “Excellent. Wonderful bones. Obviously in need of some improvements, am I right?” He met each of their eyes with a glow that suggested they were all his favorite. “I’m right,” he confirmed. He held out his briefcase level with the ground, his bushy eyebrows raised as if to say, “there should be a table here for this, but there isn’t—what gives?”

Molly broke the spell that had fallen over her crew. “Just what in hyperspace do you think you’re doing here?” She stepped forward and pulled Cole back at the same time, a maneuver he seemed more than happy to go along with. “I’m the Captain of this ship, and I want to know who you are and what you were thinking out there. You nearly got us all killed!”

Albert dropped the briefcase to his side and let out an exasperated sigh. He reached into his coat, creating a clichéd sense of panic in the entire crew. Out came his pudgy hand, holding a business card. The expensive-looking suit made more noise as he extended it to Molly. “Albert Gaines, Ships Armaments and Defense Procurement. And I assure you that I was not trying to get you killed out there. The opposite is true, my dear lady. I was merely protecting you from those… vultures .” He spat out the last with clear contempt.

Raising the briefcase up with both hands flat underneath, like a babe being offered to the gods, Albert asked, “Now, where should we put this so we can go over the contracts?”

Molly and Cole locked eyes, each probably hoping the other was going to take over. The stalemate left Molly in charge. “Contracts?” she asked.

Albert pulled in a breath and looked her up and down. There was nothing sexual about the leer, but it gave her the creeps nonetheless. She felt like he was sizing her up for a coffin, or figuring out the best way to shear her. He smiled, brushed past Walter, and plopped into one of the crew chairs with the briefcase placed across the perfect creases along his thighs. Two gold-colored locks flicked opened with a loud click. The lid swung up and out came several pieces of paper. He tapped their edges on top of the briefcase to line them up.