Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions tbs-3

by Hugh Howey

  “Seriously? You can crack a StarCarrier mainframe and remotely hack a Navy-issue missile, but you can’t get a wireless signal in a cafe? Look, just let me pay for it.” She glanced at her poor pinky, rationalizing the sacrifice.

  Suddenly, the roar of thrusters in the atmosphere caused everyone in the café to glance up. It sounded at first like another Bern ship heading off to orbit, but they were too far from the rift for it to be that. She and Walter joined the rest of the patrons in searching the sky for the source.

  She finally spotted the vertical plume from the lift-off. The tiny ship at its head didn’t match up with the sonic boom it created, as the sight of it reached them well ahead of the lagging noise. It was a strange optical illusion: a silent ship being chased by the grumble of an invisible one. It was especially unnerving as Molly still had not gotten used to hearing spacecraft move.

  She looked away from the ship and watched the other patrons follow the scene. They soon began arguing politics amongst themselves, often saying something about Callites and immigration laws.

  Walter peered down at his computer, frowning. “Coffee sshopss are much tougher than Naval encryption,” he said, still smarting over her jab at his technical prowess. “They update their sstuff weekly—the Navy takes decadess. Thiss sshop csycle’ss its passsword every half-hour and they usse ten twenty-four bit encryption.” He took a sip of his gelatte and wiped the foam off his lips with the back of his hand. “If the Navy took half thesse precautsionss, you’d probably be dead.”

  He smiled up at her. “Twicse,” he added with a grin.

  Molly glared at him over the lip of her glass. “You can’t die twice—”

  A gasp from the upward-gazing crowd cut her off. Molly shielded her eyes and looked up as well. A second later, the distant roar of the spacebound ship went silent. As she followed the plume of exhaust upward to locate the ship, she saw the craft tumbling down past the pillar of smoke it had created, bow spinning over thrusters, over and over.

  Everything in the café froze as the patrons watched solemnly, waitresses frozen in place with pitchers of water dripping condensation. When the plummeting hull disappeared behind the building’s awning, there was a distant rumble, the sound coming from many kilometers away. Everyone gradually looked back to their food. Forks tinked against plates. Whispers began to grow back into conversations.

  Molly took it all in, desperate to know what had just happened. Were they testing some kind of new craft? Something to use against the fleet? Everyone else seemed to know something, or at least they weren’t terribly shocked by the display. She leaned over to ask a nearby table, when Walter hissed excitedly.

  “I’m in,” he said, his face glowing. He bent over the computer, typing furiously and sneering.

  Molly reached across the table. “Let me see it.”

  Walter continued to peck away.

  “Walter, it’s important. Give it here.”

  He frowned and handed over the computer. “Won’t be long before you’re kicked off,” he said.

  Molly nodded and moved to swipe the top screen away, then noticed it was Palan’s planetary homepage. The weather forecast was being displayed, showing the projected hour for the next rains. She glanced up at Walter, who was looking back over his shoulder at a political dispute in the alley. She felt a sudden pang of sadness for him as she realized he must be feeling homesick.

  Swiping the page to the side, Molly dragged up a new one from the bottom. The few times they’d been connected to the Net in the past two weeks, the datastream had been too thin to do even the most rudimentary of tasks. The remote Lokian villages had suffered from poor connectivity and bandwidth, even when they were lucky enough to find an available signal. A seemingly countless number of items had built up over the past weeks that she really wanted to check on, but first there were a few she had to.

  Using the virtual keyboard, she typed: “Molly; Fyde; Navy,” and hit enter. Hundreds of hits registered, but she could see most of them were junk. Lots of false positives and a ton of spelling suggestions for “mollified.” She sorted the results by date, looking for something recent, but there wasn’t anything within the last two months.

  She swiped that away and tried: “Parsona; Ship; Navy.”

  “You looking for newss about thosse sshipss?” Walter asked. “The oness from the bright light?”

  “No. I probably know more about them than the Bel Tra do. Not that that’s saying much. I’m actually looking for news about us. Trying to find out how much trouble we’re in.”

  Walter pushed up from his chair and leaned forward. “You ssearching on Latticse?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Don’t worry about—”

  Walter leaned over the table and snatched the computer away from her. He pecked furiously at the keys while Molly tried to snag it back. “I said not to worry about—”

  Walter relinquished the computer. Molly glanced at the screen and nearly dropped the device. She looked behind herself, scanned the crowd, then moved the tablet to her lap and stared at the screen.

  It showed the welcome page for the GN Naval database.

  “How did you do that?” she whispered.

  “Eassy. I already had the passsword.” He slurped through ice cubes for the last of his drink, then looked around for their waitress.

  “Is this how you hacked the missiles?”

  He frowned at her as if the question didn’t merit answering. “Completely different,” he said.

  The waitress came up from behind. Molly moved the computer under the table and threw her napkin over it. Some more water was sloshed in their glasses—their one free refill. Walter was told the gelate top-up would cost. He demurred, peering at the pads of his fingers. Molly glared at him, jerking her head to the side to let him know she needed some privacy.

  He finally said “no thankss,” and the waitress moved on. Molly placed the computer on the table as the Wadi munched on her napkin. She looked over the welcome page for the Navy database, the appearance of the familiar site filling her with memories of the Academy. The only difference was the tall stack of red bars running down one side of the screen, indicating her current clearance level. She had no idea it even went that high.

  Pulling up the keyboard display, she repeated her search query from Lattice and hit enter.

  ••••

  Classified. Zebra Log. 2148.08.12.2214.

  Today, at precisely 1934 UTC, the 12th of Eight 2148, two prisoners (Molly Fyde and Ensign-II Cole Mendonça) escaped from Star Carrier Zebra with the aid of an informant (Walter Hommul) and a suspected Navy accomplice (Captain-III Jason Riggs). Along with their escape, Zebra command suffered the theft of a loaded and armed Firehawk (s/n 492857295-F) and an impounded craft (GN-290 Parsona). The latter had already been deemed both a C-8 High Target and an L-10 Object of Interest.

  Memo: Escape was effected by the use of a high-level hack of StarCarrier Zebra’s mainframe and the re-routing of personnel. All, repeat, ALL Navy admins should change their login and password information immediately and begin cycling them according to Navy regs.

  Memo: Whereabouts of both craft unknown at this time, but hyperspace signature for stolen Firehawk was found and traced by the science team on the Cruiser Sagan. Whether or not the result was a case of negligent navigation, a suicide mission, or an attempt to cover their tracks remotely, has yet to be determined. The hyperspace signature led straight to the core of Delphi’s primary star, leaving a trace strong enough to drown out Parsona’s exit coordinates. A deeper analysis of the trace will be performed, as will further scans for Parsona’s trajectory.

  Memo: All targets and personnel in this case have been upgraded to L-15 Objects of Interest. Zebra command takes full responsibility for the loss, but gladly accepts the High Admiral’s confidence and charge of reclaiming the Navy’s property.

  Memo: Please reference Palan Log 2148.06.23.0715 for more on Mendonça and Fyde. The same suspects were involved in the death of three Navy staff a
nd the destruction of Navy property. They were subsequently assigned L-5 ratings, each.

  Memo: Please reference Earth Log 2148.07.18.1640.3 for even more on Mendonça and Fyde. The same suspects were involved in the death of Rear Admiral Lucin and an attack on other Navy personnel. They were both upgraded to L-10 Objects of Interest following the events detailed therein.

  Admiral Griffin Saunders

  Z-HQ StarCarrier Zebra

  ••••

  Molly scanned the report one more time, frowning at the results of the hyperspace signature scan. Somehow, it actually felt comforting to know what had happened, that Cole had definitely jumped into an object with mass and would likely have ended up in hyperspace. But how had he mistakenly jumped into a star? Did Riggs play some part in that? She peeked up at Walter, who was holding his empty gelate to the sun as if to make the ice melt faster.

  The database search also showed the older memos linked to the most recent one. She glanced over the one detailing her and Cole’s escape from the Academy, but she didn’t read it. She could get lost in that memory: the door banging, Lucin yelling, the silent shots, just a crinkle of glass and a life ended…

  The overall image created by the search results made her feel nauseous. Two escapes, several deaths, theft of Navy property, and a string of violence. She couldn’t imagine what more the higher-ups would be saying about her if they weren’t so busy dealing with the Bern invasion overhead, or the rumored expansion of Drenard hostilities.

  Her mother, of course, had insisted that none of this was her fault, that perhaps things foreseen couldn’t be stopped—but Molly didn’t believe that. The mistakes she’d made, with the Navy and now on Lok, it was Glemot all over again. But unimaginably, impossibly, on an even larger scale.

  “You’re wassting the connection,” Walter hissed.

  Molly shook her head and looked back to the screen. She tried searching for: “Cat; Catherine; Lok,” but once again got too many hits to weed through them or make sense of it all. Most went too far back to be the correct person. She cleared the computer screen and handed it to Walter, then thought about the odd fatality count reported from Palan. She felt certain four people had died in those flooded streets. And yet: Lucin, Saunders, and now the official reports all claimed three. Did someone survive the rains? Or did they just not find the body?

  “We’re in trouble,” Walter hissed.

  Molly snapped her head around, her hands moving to the table and ready to push off, to flee or fight. The Wadi, asleep in her lap, jumped up and hit its head on the bottom of the table and came out woozy. But Walter was just looking at the computer. She could see the reports she’d just found back up on the screen.

  “Close that stuff out!” she hissed at him. “And you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  He looked up. “Ssorry, but if you didn’t want me to ssee it, you sshould’ve cleared the hisstory tab.”

  Molly settled back down, her heart racing. “No, Walter, that’s not the way it works.” She patted the Wadi on the head, comforting it, then leaned forward, hoping he’d see how serious she was. “If I wanted you to see what I was looking at, I would’ve left it up or shown it to you, understand? You can’t take stuff that’s not offered to you. At the very least, you need to learn to ask.”

  “Why? If I don’t take it, ssomeone elsse will. What’ss the differencse? It’ss sstill taken, but then I don’t have it.”

  “You shouldn’t even want something stolen. You—haven’t you ever had someone give you something?”

  “No, not—” he looked down at his flightsuit, his name scrawled across the breast with a black marker. “Thiss,” he said, placing one hand on his chest.

  “Okay, and how do you feel about that flightsuit? You love it, right?”

  Walter nodded.

  “More than that computer, am I right? And yes, I know you stole the computer from your uncle back on Palan.”

  Walter looked at his computer, then ran his fingers over the bare patch of material on his suit where he had printed his name.

  “I like the computer better,” he said.

  Molly threw her hands up. “Oh, forget it.” She threw some credit chips on the table for a tip and shooed the Wadi up to her shoulder.

  “C’mon, I think the waitress is telling us to buy something or scram. We’ll go hang at the square for an hour and wait until the show starts.”

  She stood up and began weaving through the tables to reach the alley. Walter remained seated. He stared at his computer some more, then looked down at his flightsuit.

  “Thiss iss my favorite outfit,” he muttered to himself.

  12

  Anlyn piloted the Bern ship through the Great Rift, sliding from one galaxy to another. As she scanned the backdrop of stars ahead of her, checking out the various structures floating in the void beyond, Edison began his prepared spiel in flawless Bern. She couldn’t understand most of the individual words—her Bern in deplorable shape for a member of royalty—but she’d helped write the speech in Drenard, so she could somewhat keep up, translating in her head:

  “Greetings, members of the great Bern race. We come unarmed and without malice. Please do not fire upon us. As ambassadors for the Drenard empire, we wish to communicate, nothing more. Please do not fire. We wish to speak in peace with your cultural representatives.”

  Edison lowered the mic and Anlyn checked the SADAR screen, or whatever the Bern called their version of it. Seeing nothing, she peered forward, squinting at the large structures floating silently in the distance.

  “Another iteration?” Edison asked.

  Anlyn shook her head. “I don’t think anyone will hear you.” She spread her hands toward the view through the canopy. “Where are the ships? All the activity?”

  “The prophecy contained much accuracy,” Edison said, chortling.

  Anlyn didn’t laugh. She settled back into her seat and grabbed the flight controls, spinning the ship in place. “We should tell Bishar. The Circle will want to—”

  She fell silent. Looking back, a solid wall of gold stood in the open slit of space. The last hole in the barrier could be seen squeezing shut, one of the armored canisters brought forward and locked into place.

  Anlyn reached for the radio. “Bishar, this is Anlyn, respond.” She waited a moment for a reply. “Hello? Anyone, please answer.”

  Nothing.

  Her hand dropped to her lap in frustration.

  Edison took the radio from her grasp and returned it to the dash. “Reveal your ruminations,” he said.

  “You want to know what I think? I’m starting to wonder what we’re doing here. Where are the Bern? I don’t—we aren’t supposed to be doing this by ourselves.” Anlyn looked down at her lap. “Those two boys playing with your lance… what were their names—?”

  “Who? You speak with adequate volume,” Edison said, “but it appears self-directed.”

  “This was all a mistake. Everything. The speech, the prophecy, all those people…” Anlyn glanced over at Edison, then looked away. “I’m sorry, I think I really messed up this time—”

  Edison reached over and squeezed her arm; he growled in her native tongue: “Love, are we more lost than when we met?”

  Anlyn thought about that.

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “But back then, we had at least known what galaxy we were in.”

  “Ceti,” said Edison, switching back to English.

  “What?” Anlyn lifted her head.

  “We currently occupy the galaxy designated Ceti by the Terran federation.” He gestured to the screen ahead of him, then clacked a few buttons with his claws and the image zoomed in. “Observe. Our position is precisely determined.” He flashed his teeth.

  “Like I know where the Ceti galaxy is,” Anlyn said, wiping at her face. She couldn’t tell if her love was being sweet to change the subject, or just unaware. Either way, she tried to pull herself together.

  “It is situated approximately two point
eight five million light years from the Local Cluster,” Edison said.

  Anlyn glanced at his screen, then sat up straight and looked at her own. “How do I pull that up over here?”

  Edison pointed to a button on his display. Anlyn pressed hers and tried to memorize the swirling shape of the word and the position of the key. The display of ranged targets disappeared from her screen, replaced with a standard looking chart. The names were gibberish, but she took the dotted trails for supply routes between good hyperspace jumps.

  “How are you telling which galaxy we’re in? Mine just shows nearby systems.”

  Edison clacked on his keys, and her screen duplicated his view. Their ship stood in the center, a blip nearly the size of what seemed to be an elliptical galaxy. Edison marked a target off to one edge, a fuzzy spiral in a cluster of several other blurry patches.

  “The marker indicates home,” he said.

  “You’re sure?”

  He turned to her with a hurt look, then bared his teeth. “Positive.” His claws tapped on the keys, and more targets lit up, his deep voice calling out names as they flashed. “The Milky Way. Andromeda. Triangulum. The more diminutive objects in periphery represent the dwarf galaxies within the cluster. The overall pattern is immediately recognizable. The only difference is the angle of reference, which is inclined forty two degrees from normal, and askew eighteen degrees clockwise.”

  Edison glanced over at her and seemed to catch the confused expression on her face. He looked back to the map and held his hands out like he was clutching an invisible sphere. He swiveled both hands together and said in Drenard: “If you just rotate the map in your mind—”

  “If you rotate it in your mind,” Anlyn said. “Some of us are normal.”

  Edison’s teeth winked out in a sideways smile.

  “Okay,” Anlyn said, wiggling to sit up straight, “So, the one we’re in, it’s called ‘Ceti?’” Anlyn tried to memorize the squiggle below their ship indicator; her brain didn’t feel quite up for the challenge. It was weird enough hearing Edison refer to galaxies with their Earth-names while speaking in Drenard. The last thing she needed was a third language thrown into the mix.