Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

“I won’t,” she grinned.

Because I’m not checking in on Edison , she added to herself.

Molly entered the hangar to the sounds of Edison hammering on Parsona’s aft section, performing repairs . She used the cover of the two ships and the loud noises to sneak up Lady Liberty’s gangway. Entering the cargo bay, she noticed the chain still led around the corner of the cockpit.

Molly hesitated for a moment.

Then she took a few steps toward the front of the ship, approaching from the side to get a clear view around the doorjamb while keeping her distance. When the chain rattled slightly, Molly nearly turned and fled out to the hangar, but somehow she kept her nerves in check.

The small, blue head peeked out at her. Molly raised both hands, showing her palms to the alien. The eyes withdrew, but she could still see the crown of its bald scalp, the light from the hangar filtering into the carboglass and then through its clear skin. It looked like a mere child, half the mass of an adult Drenard. Molly’s size.

So frail , she thought to herself.

Molly took a few more steps forward and the rest of the head withdrew. She called out softly, “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m a friend, okay? My name’s Molly.” She continued to reassure the Drenard, and herself, as she crept into the rear portion of the cockpit. When she could see its shoulder over the edge of the nav chair, she stopped. Fighting to keep her voice steady, she asked, “Your name is Anlyn, right? That’s a very pretty name, Anlyn. Very pretty. My name’s Molly. Can you say my name?”

“Molly.” It came out less than a whisper but more than a sigh. The pronunciation was flawless. It seemed the act of communicating at all was what the creature needed practice with.

“That’s right. My name’s Molly. I’m a ship captain. A pilot. Do you like to fly?”

Molly saw an immediate reaction. The alien’s smooth head turned to her, its pale eyes locking with her own. The sight of this poor thing gazing up at her filled Molly with the anguish of conflicting emotions. Part of her wanted to sweep the girl into her arms. Part of her just wanted to bash those chains. And years of training lashed out at both ideas.

Anlyn parted her thin, blue lips. “I can fly,” she said. “But I don’t like to.”

Molly wanted to ask her why, but the Drenard cut her off.

“You’re not supposed to be here, and I’m not supposed to talk to you. Albert will hurt me if he finds us. Go, please,” she whispered.

Her head pressed back to her knees, her eyes fixed on her toes.

Molly thought of a dozen things to say, but remained silent. She imagined herself walking a little further and touching that clear shoulder, but she didn’t. Instead, she became overcome with sadness. A new kind. Directed at someone besides herself.

She turned and followed the chain back to the cargo bay.

Molly found Edison at one of the workbenches, working a rag over some contraption. He turned to face her as she approached, a massive smile dominating his face. “Technology is spectacular,” he said. “I’m extremely appreciative of the opportunity to manipulate it.”

She scratched his arm and pressed her lips into a flat line. “Have you seen the girl in Albert’s ship?”

“The Drenard? Absolutely. Extremely fragile, in my estimation.”

“She’s a slave, Edison.”

“I concur. Liberated organisms do not decorate themselves with chains.”

Molly thought about some of her classmates at Avalon and wondered if arguing Edison’s point would serve any purpose. Probably not , she thought.

“You desire assisting her, correct?” Edison asked. “Emancipation? The similarities to Cole’s plan in liberating Walter immediately returns to my attention.”

“No, buddy. I mean, yeah, I wanna do something for her, but we’re not in any shape to help out. Nothing Albert’s about to sell us is gonna dent the stuff he keeps for himself.” She thought about this—about the obvious need for such an imbalance. You can’t sell arms that you don’t have your own defenses for. She glanced at the invisible hangar door. And you could never release defense technology like that into the wild; it would put an end to your arms trade. The irony of it all—the way the market worked here in Darrin—it hurt Molly’s brain the more she examined it.

“Hey, I need you to do me a favor. I’m not sure if it’ll help, but there’s an hour-long back-scratching just for trying, okay?”

Edison nodded vigorously, agreeing before she even got to the details.

Behind them, a pale blue head rose in the cockpit’s porthole and two small eyes watched the scene below.

The wetness on them could’ve been mistaken for the glare of hangar lights on carboglass.

Molly re-entered the lobby and found Cole, Walter, and Albert crowded around the store computer. Walter nodded gravely as Albert summed up the list Cole had picked out. Molly joined them on the other side of the desk to see for herself.

The list contained more than she felt comfortable getting, and more than she figured they could afford. Cole seemed satisfied, however, and she’d resigned herself to leaving him in charge of this. The more she could distance herself from this decision, the better off she’d be. If Lucin wanted to blow a gasket later, she’d blame the mods on Navy-boy.

“Excellent choices,” Albert said, slapping Cole on his back. “You guys sure are lucky to have come to me, and that I like you so much. You couldn’t get a deal like this anywhere else in the galaxy. Of course, my wife won’t be happy to see how well old Walter here talked me down. Haha!”

Walter, Molly noted, did not have the carriage of a victorious Palan. It was hard to think of their little Cargo Officer as a bastion of humility, but here he was, showered with compliments and shrinking from them as if they stung. Molly also noticed that he couldn’t stop sniffing the air around him. She tried to hurry things along. “Can Edison begin installing the gear soon?”

“Installing? My goodness, dear, we don’t have the facilities for that! My garage is for the upkeep of my own ship. Highly illegal and improper to have you cobbling your war plans together here in my shop.”

His look of feigned moral outrage almost seemed sincere. “No, no, these things are best left to the less scrupulous monsters over at Darrin the Second’s line of shady establishments. Of course, I would never recommend your going over there. Frightful place, naturally. Vicious people. It’s better to go somewhere else in the galaxy that does that sort of thing.”

“Are you kidding?” Molly frowned. “You’re gonna dump this gear in our cargo bay and send us somewhere else to have it installed? And where else can we go besides Darrin?”

“Dear, dear. I’m sorry for any confusion, but it’s all in the contract. We can’t be in the business of modifying starships for combat, no sirree. Wouldn’t do. We’d have the Navy around here asking too many questions. Those unscrupulous jerks over around Darrin the Second’s asteroid field, now those guys will do anything for the right price. Good thing they don’t sell gear, I tell you. They’d pull shady deals that might put us right out of business over here.

“Now, I say those rats can’t be trusted, but if you do decide to go over there—again I recommend against it—there is one guy I’d suggest you see. Not too bad as far as Darrin the Second folk go. I’ve had some dealings with him in the past. As straight-shooting as that lot gets. You tell him I sent you and he’ll cut you a deal, no doubt. I’ll even call and tell him you’re coming.”