Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue tbs-1

by Hugh Howey

“That’s an exaggeration.”

  “Yeah, a little,” she admitted, but not smiling. “Okay, forget the philosophy stuff. Even if we assume that our survival depends on getting away from this paradise, how do we fly away from them if my ship is being dismantled and they can control it from orbit anyway?”

  “Simple,” said Cole. “We start a war.”

  “We do what?!”

  “Hear me out: not every Glemot agrees on what balance to fight for. Hell, not every Campton agrees with one another. Just like with humans, it takes a strong leader to keep order here. Franklin is getting old, even by their standards, I think, and the Leefs have been making some progress with getting their technology going again.”

  “How did they ever lose their technology in the first place?”

  “Campton’s rebels. They created all kinds of anti-tech technology. EMPs that fry electronics. Little micro-bots that eat away specific metals. But their guiding principles meant every victory against the Leef technology required them to ratchet down their own. They try to control the spread of tech using the simplest tools required. As long as they stay one step ahead, they can remain there. They’ve almost progressed back to the stone age from a starting point that was beyond our own technology. That’s why you woke up in a tent with a balm on your arm instead of a high-rise hospital full of beeping things.”

  “It’s hard to argue with the result,” Molly said, sweeping her arm at the vista around them.

  “Now you’re the one bringing up the ‘philosophy crap’ you hate so much. Yes, this is beautiful. We have parks on Earth that look like this. But we also have Mozart and Dali and Spengle and T’chuyn and even the Drenard sculptor Tadi Rooo. We can admire the cosmos and the atom. We have a diversity of beauty that’s just as natural as this.” He also waved his hand at the scenery.” He paused. “I’m sorry to be so strident here. I honestly hope we can discuss this in detail one day, and we can both see neither extreme is tenable. Right now, though, I want to devise a plan that wins us that day.”

  Molly nodded. She turned her head away from the beauty of the lake and looked up the hill. But there was no escaping the sensual pleasure of being here.

  She listened as Cole got into the meat of his plan. Molly felt detached from it all but was able to point out some tactical flaws. She agreed it would work as long as the dozen or so various “ifs” they foresaw were the only ones that existed. And of course, a lot depended on the Glemots.

  Maybe too much.

  ••••

  Molly had hoped she’d be able to chew on the tragedy of this place over dinner, but the event turned out to be too much of a distraction. Without exaggeration, the meal she had that night was one of the highlights of her life thus far.

  Most of the food varieties on Glemot were the common forms of energy storage found all over the universe, the biological shortcuts nature was fond of taking. But each example was full of a rich vitality that knew no Earth equal. There were analogies to familiar foods, but no comparing the quality.

  The main course, a species of large fish, had been roasting all day over a low fire. Encrusted with a thick layer of spices, it made Molly think of cinnamon, sage, and some sort of tangy pepper. The powerful combination was offset by a sweet cream slathered over top, much like Earth honey. Small shapes of cut fruit were arranged to the side and little berries dotted the plate. The berries looked hard, but they dissolved in her mouth, bursting with a fresh sweetness so unusual, it tasted like a primary color. Molly couldn’t believe her taste buds could be tickled in such an alien way.

  Also on the side were large vegetables boiled creamy-soft and infused with something woody and citrus, like hickory and lime, only different. The combination, strange and intoxicating, delighted her. She followed these nibbles with bites from a large salad, each of its dozen constituent parts a unique meal on their own. A bowl of nuts passed by; the Glemots picked through these choosily, hunting for their favorites.

  The Glemot distaste for furniture meant Molly and Cole were not uncomfortable around the dinner “table.” The entire tribe gathered around dozens of cloth mats, the pups getting up and rushing about to serve the adults each course in turn.

  Every murmur of delight from Molly brought appreciative smiles from the Glemots, especially those who had helped prepare the meal. Then she noticed the look on Cole’s face and realized her joy just made this harder on him. She tried to contain herself. This became easier when a female across from Cole, out of nowhere and with a calm voice, let him know that Walter would be “naturalized” in the morning. She watched him fight any change in his behavior. He continued to smile and converse and chew his food thoughtfully, but she had felt it since their walk: Cole was wearing a thin veneer of compliance over a core of rage.

  Thinking about Walter soured the meal for Molly as well. She picked at her food distractedly, still ended up eating too much, and retired as soon as the first Glemot from their mat rose. She and Cole carried their stone plates down to a brook to rinse them off.

  “Cole?”

  He looked around to see if any of the Glemots could hear them. Several were heading their way and would be within earshot in moments. “Yeah?”

  “What if we went to the other side of the planet? Just got away from the war between these two tribes?”

  Cole gave her a sad look, one he’d successfully concealed for most of the day. But Molly could see it vividly—even in the pale starlight.

  “They’re all at war,” he said. He looked out over the lake, its calm surface reflecting the stars perfectly. It was like a hole in the planet through which the cosmos could be seen. “War is natural,” he added, with disgust.

  Then he turned and walked past the approaching Glemots, back to the tent they’d assigned him to. Molly wanted to rush up to him and hold him tight and make him happy. But right now she couldn’t even make herself happy. Even in this place, she couldn’t be the perfect thing she wanted to be.

  Sitting alone by the bubbling brook, she sniffed quietly while nearby Glemots debated death.

  18

  The chirping of morning creatures pierced Molly’s tent, rescuing her from the return of bad dreams. One of the Glemot youth sat up beside her, rubbing his eyes.

  “Edison?”

  The pup turned to Molly, blinking. “You have me confused for my approximation.” He yawned, stretching his arms wide and flashing a dangerous mouth. “Pardon my reflexive inhalation. My designation is Orville.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted. Do you desire assisting in relocating the temporary structure?”

  “We do what?” Molly shook her head. These guys were exhausting—especially first thing in the morning.

  “Relocate the temporary structure. Our daily hibernation flattens grasses, occludes the sunlight from their photoreceptors. We relocate temporary structures every Glemot rotation to preserve the natural.”

  “What’s natural about a tent?” Molly asked.

  Orville frowned. “That statement reflects my approximation’s thoughts.” He rose, gathered his blanket, and stormed out without another word.

  Molly sighed and adjusted her garment around her. It was a lovely way to dress if only it would stay put. Every movement shifted the fabric and threatened to bare her to the world. She wondered what Cole thought of her dressed up like this. He looked like a Roman statue in his, of course, but he treated the get-up like an annoying necessity, an “undercover prop,” as he would have put it.

  Outside, Molly saw the tents being shifted in a carefully orchestrated pattern. She was the last sleeper out, which seemed to create a sense of relief from some of the adult Glemots. They hurried over and started carefully extracting stakes from the ground.

  Molly tried to stay out of the way, peering around for some sign of Cole, but his tent was no longer where it had been the night before.

  “Molly.” It was Watt, her doctor. He approached bearing a leaf slathered with his medicinal cream. Molly shrugged
the sling off her head and presented her arm. He removed the splint first, carefully scrapped the old salve off, then reassembled his handiwork. Molly flexed her wrist a little, amazed at the reduction in pain. She wondered if perhaps she had just fractured the bone, and then remembered the odd angle it had been in before she passed out.

  “Thank you very much.” She patted his arm as he tied up the sling.

  “It is my function. I recommend minimal exertion for two rotations.” He smiled down at her and scratched her head with an uncanny gentleness. Molly smiled back and tried to picture Watt killing children in order to restore a sense of “balance.” Even with her brain bent into odd shapes, it still couldn’t wrap around the idea. She watched him lumber off and felt overwhelmed with how complex life was. If she and her friends got off Glemot alive, something new would be carried with her. She would never think on right and wrong, good and evil, beautiful and ugly the same way ever again.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Cole’s voice leaking out of the woods behind the camp. She turned as he and the other Glemot youth emerged, the latter standing a good meter taller. Molly learned last night, as she noted who served the food, that a lot of the Glemots here were considered youths. Orville and Edison were mere babies as far as the adults were concerned. In thirty years, a short time for Glemots, Edison would be as big as the others. And then it would be time for a proper female to be selected for him, if he was designated a “procreator.”

  Molly walked over to meet them. Cole nodded at her as she approached, as if to say, “all systems were go.”

  “Greetings for the third occurrence, Molly.”

  “Hello, Edison. You boys been busy this morning?”

  “Delightfully disturbing the balance all evening,” Edison said, his voice sonorous and soothing.

  Cole put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

  Edison nodded to both Humans and bounded off to help move a tent.

  Molly walked with Cole to the woods, then let him take the lead. She was worried about the dark circles under his eyes. His shoulders also sagged with fatigue. He looked a lot like he’d been acting lately. Glum.

  But even beat down and exhausted, she couldn’t help but admire the shape of his body. His Portuguese ancestry had blessed him with a bronze complexion that required no sunlight for upkeep. His back was a broad ‘V’ tapering down to a thin waist. Wide shoulders, even stooped as they were, rounded down into well-defined arms. She watched them swing easily in the revealing robe as they walked along in silence. He possessed a rare combination of strength and litheness that comforted her when they were in danger—but made her worry for her sanity when they were alone together.

  Cole slowed so she could catch up, prematurely ending her anatomical inventory and making her blush as if she had been caught thinking aloud.

  “We’re going to see the Parsona, I just want you to be prepared.”

  Molly bit her lip and nodded. “How’s Walter?” she asked.

  “Edison and I broke him out just in time.” Cole smiled at her. “‘Even sssteven,’ he told me.”

  Molly managed a chuckle at Cole’s impersonation. Another cultural awareness lesson was probably in order, but it comforted her to see his mood lifting.

  “Our very own Campton tribe has sent out a search party to look for their missing prisoner.” Cole pointed through the woods off to their right. “The warrior village and training grounds are just through there. Edison left behind a patch of his fur, so the Leefs will be suspected for nabbing Walter.”

  Molly nodded. Little could go wrong with the first parts of their plan. Many “ifs” were to follow, though.

  “Have you found the EMP yet?”

  “No, but Edison thinks his twin brother Orville knows where it is. Orville’s tutor for the Council is the head of the Technology Prevention Subcommittee.”

  “I can’t believe there is such a thing,” Molly mused aloud.

  “Are you kidding? There’re several of them on every planet. Earth included. They usually go by something else, of course. I just wish we could get Orville in on this, but I don’t think he’s quite as open to change as his brother.”

  “Don’t be greedy. I’m shocked you found a Glemot who would turn on his own tribe. I feel guilty using him this way.”

  “Who’s using whom? Did you know that when your America was being overrun by my European ancestors, the natives thought they were using these pale men in their schemes to wipe out neighboring tribes?”

  Molly shook her head. “That’s not what I learned.”

  “Trust me. This planet’s history is a detail of groups splintering apart. Hell, I’m not sure if I talked him into this plan, or if he talked me into it. The kid—gods, the guy is bigger than me, smarter than me, and older than me, and I refer to him as ‘the kid’—he’s been jockeying for something like this for a long time. I think he sees us as a sign or something.”

  “Okay, I get it. Now I feel used instead of guilty.”

  “Funny. Now listen, the timing on this will be intense. We’re about to meet with members of the Leef council, and we need to have our story straight.”

  “I know my part,” Molly insisted. After a pause, “But let’s go over it one more time.”

  They conferred as they walked. A few minutes later the couple ascended a rise, the trees thinned, and they could see Parsona below. Molly fell silent, save for a pained intake of air. Her good hand came up to her chin, resting her fingers there, trying to prevent her jaw from dropping any further.

  The ship stood alone in the clearing below, its profile recognizable, but just barely. Molly and Cole could see straight through the once-mighty machine in many places. Parts, panels, equipment, gear—it was all spread out across the grass. A checkerboard of dirt scratches marked off a grid of some sort. Cole explained that every piece was set for repurposing in the Campton’s anti-tech cause or designated for complete destruction.

  Behind the ship, Molly could see patches of grass charred black from the landing. The thrusters above the dark spots were in a state of mid-disassembly. She was sure the ship would never fly again. She had owned it for less than a week.

  Cole put an arm across Molly’s shoulders, pulling her close and trying to console her. “Hey, keep in mind that a small group took this apart in just a day. They’ve been pulled off for the battle, but a large group of Glemots just as skilled can put her back together in no time.” Cole paused. “At least Edison seems to think so.”

  “She’s dead.” It was all Molly could say.

  Cole kept his arm around her, guiding her back through woods and on to their meeting spot. “She’s close to dead. You and I have been there. Look at us now.”

  Molly did. She noted the light bruises on Cole’s face from his beating by the Palan guards. She glanced down at her shattered arm. She didn’t answer at first. Instead, she walked along, her head tilted into Cole’s chest as she sought a rhythm to match his—something to keep their wounds from smarting.

  “Yeah,” she eventually said. “Look at us now.”

  ••••

  They walked in silence to their meeting spot with the Leefs. At one point they crouched down to sneak along quietly as the sounds of the Camptons drilling for war thundered nearby. Eventually, they reached the clearing where Cole said they’d handed a freed Walter over to the Leefs. They stepped into a pool of daylight and three Glemots left the concealment of the trees and greeted them.

  “Your presence is recognized, humans,” the largest one said, his fur just starting to show the faintest signs of black. Molly was beginning to associate the coloring with age, or rank, but she still didn’t have a clue how old these people were.

  “Detail the coordinates of the tactical fusion warhead—” blurted a smaller Glemot standing to one side. The middle figure held up his paw, cutting the words off.

  Tension formed; Cole prodded it. “First, we’ll tell you where our ship is. When it’s fully repaired, you guys re
ceive the nuke. It needs to be no later than tomorrow morning, before the battle.”

  “Extreme confidence for a diminutive one,” the smaller Glemot joked. All three Leefs chuckled—it sounded like semi-flat tires rolling on pavement.

  The larger Glemot spoke again. “Our accomplishments will be swift and precise while your limitations are apparent. The fusion device will be transferred prior to the local horizon’s occlusion of the nearest star by the rotation of Glemot.”

  Molly and Cole looked to one another. “Before nightfall?” she suggested.

  There were nods and grunts of assent from the aliens.

  “Fine,” Cole said. “We’ll meet here with the nuke. Oh, and just so you know, there’s some Camptons drilling nearby—”

  The large Glemot waved him off. “Previously known.” They turned to go.

  “Wait,” Molly said. They stopped and turned. “How’s Walter?” she asked.

  The darkest Glemot shifted uncomfortably. “The metal one is… adequately secured,” he said. With that, they thundered into the trees.

  Molly and Cole were left in the clearing with their troubled thoughts. Molly felt awful for Walter but glad that he was alive. Her stomach knotted with worry. And guilt. She had betrayed the people who patched her arm, housed her, and fed her. She tried to focus on the millions of Glemots the Camptons had killed, but weighing impersonal facts—a million souls extinguished—against her own experiences produced sickening results. Shouldn’t the former outweigh the latter?

  In silence they walked back to the camp, their thoughts out of character. Molly philosophized, dwelling on the nature of relative harms, while Cole focused on the practical and pressing matter: how were they going to find their “nuke” in time?

  ****

  Something felt different as soon as they emerged on the Campton’s hill. Hundreds of Glemots milled about down by the stream, several of them arguing loudly, their voices rumbling. The entire hill shuddered from heavy feet stomping this way and that. Two Glemots rushed over to her and Cole.