Molly Fyde and the Land of Light tbs-2

by Hugh Howey

  She worked her jaw, trying to ignore the residual hiss in her head as she regained her senses. She could barely hear herself ask if her three hours were up. The Stanley nodded. Something else swayed in her vision. A clear bag of fluids. The IV.

  She looked past it and the Stanley to the metal panels above her. This isn’t the visitation room, she realized.

  “Where am I?”

  The Stanley ignored her. He tightened one of the straps across her chest before packing away various electrical gear. When he pulled the contraption from her head, he did it so roughly that it took clumps of her hair with it.

  “Ow!” she complained. “Hey, loosen the straps, and I’ll help you.”

  The Stanley said nothing. Molly heard him zip a bag below her, then watched him rise and stroll away.

  “Help me take these straps off!” she begged.

  Footsteps banged down a metal ramp—then she was alone.

  Molly pressed her chin to her sternum to peer down her body. She was lying flat on a hard surface, dozens of strips of webbing pinning her down. She could see an IV needle taped to the crook of her left elbow.

  She gasped, then began crying out for help.

  But the only person heading her way at that moment was a tall, thin man, who only needed to stop at the registration counter to thank his hosts for their call and hospitality.

  ••••

  Cole felt his head lighten as blood struggled to reach his brain. He would pass out before the choking killed him, he realized. His eyes watered from the effort it took to breathe—and the odd sensation of not being able to manage a sound, even a grunt.

  He pleaded with his eyes in Walter’s direction, who still hadn’t moved from his corner of the elevator. With both hands, he pried at the fingers on his throat, but it was like trying to bend steel. He kicked and punched at the Stanley, but only hurt himself. Grabbing the collar of the android’s suit, he clenched the fabric in pain as his grip on consciousness slipped.

  One of his hands came loose as he began blacking out. It slid down Stanley’s coat, lifeless, and caught in the robot’s pocket. He felt something there. A feeble signal tried to worm its way through Cole’s dying brain:

  Passcard.

  Some still-conscious sliver of him heard the message. He fumbled for the plastic card with a numb hand, as uncoordinated as a poorly controlled robot. He felt it between his finger and thumb, yanked it free, and tossed it in Walter’s direction.

  Then his world went black.

  ••••

  Walter watched the glint of red plastic fly through the air and settle on the elevator floor. Cole’s body had stopped fighting, his legs and head completely limp, but the Stanley continued to hold him off the ground.

  It hadn’t noticed Walter yet.

  This is working out pretty good, he thought.

  Then he wondered what would come next. Would he have to fly a spaceship to rescue Molly? Would he have to fight a Stanley in the hangar hall? So many unknowns ahead, but one thing he felt sure of: he could get rid of Cole any time he wanted. The human thought he was stupid, which made him the dumb one.

  He reached for the card, amazed at how easily his fingers could pry it off the floor. He studied it, then carefully punched the ID number into his computer. Taking control of these things had already become routine. He imagined the power he could wield if he lived here, or if he could just take a few of these androids with him.

  I’d need better control inputs, he thought.

  It wasn’t obvious which direction on the analog stick would loosen the grip and which would tighten it. He tried one way and watched Cole’s face turn a darker shade of purple. He chuckled to himself and moved the stick the other way.

  The human boy fell free and collapsed in a heap.

  Walter stepped around the motionless robot to try to rouse him.

  He sure hoped he wouldn’t regret saving this loser.

  Again.

  ••••

  She was in a starship, but not hers. Human-built. A GU-Class bird. Molly couldn’t tell the exact model from her surroundings. The interior panels looked new—or possibly just incredibly well-maintained. A medical station had been cobbled together and secured against a bulkhead. She could almost see across and into the cockpit, but the strap across her shoulders made it impossible to turn or sit up.

  Outside, she heard footsteps; they stomped her way, clanging up the cargo ramp and near her feet. She didn’t have time to scream for help, they arrived so fast.

  One of the figures yelled her name.

  “Cole?”

  He bent over her, his face red, his hair matted down with sweat. “Hold on,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “We’re getting you out of here.”

  “What’s going on?” Molly asked. “Are you okay? Your neck looks—”

  “I’m fine,” he assured her.

  “Thankss to me.”

  Molly looked down her body to see Walter fumbling with the straps across her thighs.

  “What’s going on?” she asked again.

  Cole flipped back the strap across her shoulders and helped her sit up. “No idea and no time to discuss it. We need to get out of here.”

  “I ssaved Cole’ss life.” Walter said. “Now I’m resscuing you.”

  Molly pried the tape off of her arm and slid the IV needle out with a gasp, mostly from the sight of the metal leaving her flesh. “What’re you saving me from?”

  Cole tore open a box of bandages, spilling them everywhere. She watched him pluck one and fumble with the paper. “Whose ship is this?” she asked. “Where’s Parsona?”

  Cole grabbed her arm and took her fingers off the wound so he could apply the adhesive strip.

  “No idea and no idea,” he whispered. “Our plan was just to get to you. We haven’t had a lot of time to think past that.”

  “Company,” Walter told them. He peered at the computer screen, but Molly could hear for herself: the sound of more feet approaching.

  Cole reached over and hit the cargo ramp controls, bringing the door up. The stomping outside quickened into a run. Someone yelled, “Hey!” as the ramp came up too far to board.

  Molly’s head continued to spin, making her useless in whatever was going on, but she couldn’t stand to be alone, either. She swung her feet off the gurney, steadied herself, then staggered over to join Walter and Cole by the door.

  When an angry face flashed in front of the porthole, her wobbly legs nearly gave out.

  “Byrne!” She pushed Walter to the side for a better view, holding onto him and Cole for stability. The tall, pale man stood outside, looking at the cargo ramp in a mixture of confusion and fury. When he saw Molly peering through the glass, his eyes narrowed, his lips clamping down into a flat line.

  The line turned into an evil smile as he reached to the side of the porthole. Through the door, Molly could hear the hinges of an access panel open, and knew he was about to manually lower the ramp.

  “We have to do something,” Cole said, looking around the bay.

  “What?” Molly asked. “He’s got the captain’s codes.”

  Walter fumbled with his computer while Cole looked around in frustration. Molly remained frozen at the sight of the strange man in the flesh—just as he had appeared in her mother’s fantasy.

  Walter hissed. Molly turned to see him smiling—or sneering. The green environment and atmosphere lights above their heads flashed from green to red. Molly spun back to the porthole, confused. Wisps of white could be seen rushing up, swirling like a disturbed fog. The air in the hangar was rushing out through the ceiling; Byrne’s jacket flapped up around his thin shoulders and vibrated there.

  Molly watched him peer from the access panel to the opening hangar doors above. He looked back though the porthole at her as his suit settled in the new vacuum outside.

  Byrne’s nostrils flared, despite the absence of air.

  He appeared extremely annoyed.

  ••••

&nb
sp; “What did you do?” Cole asked Walter.

  “Killed him.”

  Molly shook her head, her eyes never leaving Byrne’s. “He’s not dead. I don’t think he’s human.” She turned to her two friends. “How are we gonna get to Parsona?”

  Cole pointed at the cockpit. “Can we fly?”

  “I know where sshe iss parked,” said Walter.

  Molly nodded. “Cole, round up some space suits, we’ll still be in a vacuum when we get there. Walter, come navigate.”

  Cole headed off to the rear of the ship while a giddy Walter followed her to the cockpit. The two of them settled into the flight seats. Byrne had a 500-series, Molly noticed. The seats were closer together in a narrower cockpit, and duplicate flight controls sat in front of each crew member.

  “Don’t touch anything,” she commanded.

  Walter nodded and pulled the harness over his shoulders, working it tight. Molly started the warm-up for the thrusters. She wasn’t worried about Mr. Byrne getting inside—overriding the atmosphere sensors could only be done from within the airlock—but she did feel a sense of panic rubbing off from Walter and Cole. Yet again, they needed to get away in a hurry.

  And the fancy thrusters were taking forever to check themselves out—too many mechanical systems in this model had given way to solid-state electronics.

  “What’s the danger, here, Walter? Who’s after us?”

  “That guy outsside. And Sstanley.”

  “Our Stanley?”

  Walter paused. “All of them,” he said quietly.

  Molly cursed under her breath. The thrusters finally went green, and she saw through the carboglass above that the hangar doors were open. The ceiling of the parking chamber, which held up the underside of the moon’s crust, loomed beyond.

  “Going up!” she yelled over her shoulder. She directed the rear thrusters down and routed some of their energy through maneuvering channels to the nose jets. The ship lifted slowly and evenly off the ground.

  Walter pressed his head to the glass on his side. “That skinny guy issn’t sso happy,” he said, laughing.

  “I bet not.”

  Cole ran up into the cockpit. “Bad news. Only one suit on the ship. I checked the staterooms and the airlock.”

  “Is it an extra-tall?”

  “You got it.”

  “Okay,” Molly said. “You’ll have to go over to Parsona through the airlock and bring our suits over.”

  The cockpit of the GU-500 rose up into the parking cavern where a sea of gleaming hulls spread out in all directions. In the distance, a crane could be seen moving one of the ships further away from them, a new arrival. Several other parking cranes stood idle, but one approached them with a ship in its clutches.

  “I don’t think we’re gonna have time for that,” Cole said, pointing toward the crane. It clutched a military hull, the words “LIFE SECURITY” emblazoned across the side. Missile pods could be seen under the wing as the crane lowered the ship into the hangar next to theirs.

  Molly heard Cole swallow.

  “I think that’s meant for us,” he said.

  ••••

  The roof of the parking bay had several square openings in it from the lowered landing pads above. Molly spotted stars and the promise of open space through them—they should have more than enough time to fly out and make it to a safe jump point before the security ship warmed up. The Stanleys would have to pressurize the hangar in order to board. Just because they were androids, that didn’t mean they could vacuum the entire hallway beyond. Without airlocks, their clients would be killed.

  She considered the easy and quick escape, but only for a moment. Whatever was inside her father’s old ship, it felt more like a mother than the one she’d just spent time with. And the ship itself was the only place that felt like home, where the nightmares of being left behind never tormented her sleep. Then there was the Wadi to consider, some sort of national treasure that had become another companion, another part of her family. She gave the stars another wistful glance, then turned to follow Walter’s directions, who was pointing in the direction of Parsona.

  Cole gripped the arm of her flight seat and turned as the ship did, watching the menacing security ship dip into the hangar bay.

  “What’s the plan?” he asked.

  Molly estimated how long it would take to land near Parsona, airlock Cole out of this ship, have him airlock into Parsona, retrieve their flightsuits, then repeat the steps to get back. She and Walter would then need to get suited up before all three of them airlocked over one final time. There simply wasn’t enough time for that many depressurizations.

  “How strong are airlock collars?” she asked Cole.

  “I dunno. Why? What’re you thinking?”

  “You probably don’t want to know.” Regardless, Molly thought she knew the answer: most ships were designed to airlock with the old-fashioned stations that spun up for gravity, rather than manufacture it with expensive grav plates. If ships could hang from their own weight at the outermost ring of those spinning stations, it meant her idea just might work.

  “How far to our ship?” she asked Walter.

  He checked his computer. “Half a mile.”

  “I’m not good with Imperial—”

  “Less than a klick,” Cole said.

  “Alright. Cole, get in that suit. You might not need it, but just in case.”

  He plopped down in the cockpit hallway and started worming into the oversized suit. “What exactly am I gonna be doing?”

  “Warming up Parsona’s thrusters as fast as you can.”

  Molly slid the accelerator forward, moving off in the direction Walter indicated.

  Below them, the hangar doors snapped shut on a furious Mr. Byrne.

  ••••

  Cole stationed himself in the airlock as Molly began her crazy maneuver. He couldn’t believe what she was trying. Through the small porthole, he watched the world slowly turn on its side as Molly rolled the ship over, the gravity panels keeping his boots firmly planted on the deck. Below, he could see Parsona’s hull slide into view.

  “Ten meters,” he said into his mic.

  “Copy.”

  They were nearly inverted now. The airlocks on both ships were arranged three quarters of the way up their hulls, out of the way of the wings. Molly was attempting to do something in the gravity of a large moon that most pilots have a hard time learning to do in zero Gs.

  “Three meters,” he said, calling out numbers like this was an ordinary docking maneuver.

  “Copy,” she said.

  “Go one meter aft.” In the reflection of Parsona’s hull, Cole could see the wash of the 500’s thrusters licking out as Molly fought to hold them in an unnatural angle. “Two meters. Just a touch aft,” he cautioned.

  “Copy.”

  Damn. Her voice sounded so calm. As if she’d done this a million times. Cole had seen her work plenty of miracles in the simulators, but watching them in real life, like the rescue from the Palan canyons, it filled him with awe. And made him love her even more.

  “You need to rotate a few degrees flatter, honey, and a few more centimeters aft. One meter.” He already had the inner airlock door closed and the room vacuumed. One hand squeezed a grip by the porthole, the other hovered over the airlock controls.

  “Copy. And don’t call me ‘honey.’”

  The two hulls banged together, spot on. Cole engaged the collar locks and listened for them to snap into place.

  “Secured,” he said.

  As the outer airlock doors slid open, he wondered if he’d ever be allowed to call her any pet names.

  “Going up,” Molly radioed. Cole felt the hull vibrate as the thrusters strained with the added weight. Parsona would get a few new burn marks to go with the old, but both birds lifted off the ground, struggling against the moon’s gravity. Adding to the insanity: Molly’s plan required Cole to transfer in flight, as Parsona’s landing gear would never withstand the weight and imbala
nce of a ship attached to one side.

  As she took them back toward one of the holes in the moon’s crust, Cole considered his long jump from one airlock to the other. The two ship’s ideas of “down” didn’t match, which meant he’d be jumping through the side of one and into the roof of another. And his suit had a lot of extra material around the legs, making him feel clumsy. He held himself by the lip of the 500’s hatch, swung out until the other grav plates grabbed him, dangled for a moment, then let himself fall to the metal plating inside Parsona. He rolled as he hit, trying to absorb the impact in all his joints instead of just a few.

  Not bad, he thought, struggling to his feet. He looked up through the hatch into the 500, where the world that once seemed level now looked askew. Above Parsona’s inner hatch, the atmosphere and pressure lights were green; Cole thumbed the doors open.

  “I’m in,” he radioed, stumbling toward the cockpit. Parsona said something through the speakers as he staggered through the cargo bay, the crotch of his outfit down around his knees. He couldn’t hear her clearly through the helmet, so he popped it off and tossed it aside.

  “Fire up the thrusters!” he told the ship as he made his way forward.

  “I’m sorry, Cole. I can’t do anything like that.”

  He waddled into the cockpit and reached over the flight controls to start the procedure himself.

  “Is everything okay?” the ship asked. “Where’s Mollie?”

  “She’s in the ship airlocked to you,” Cole explained. “So, no. Everything is not okay.”

  ••••

  Molly turned both ships around and headed back for one of the openings created by the lowered landing lift. She didn’t like the sight beyond the first hole: the security ship could be seen rising up through its hangar. She gave the 500 full thrust, filling the docking bay with a glow of harsh plasma and hoped Cole still had his suit on in case the locking collars broke loose, dispelling Parsona’s air into the vacuum.

  “Thrusters are coming up now,” Cole radioed. “But they won’t be ready for a full burn for a bit longer.”