Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue tbs-1

by Hugh Howey

  Orville’s face displayed no gratitude, but his angry panting subsided. The youth seemed resigned to his fate, whatever it would be.

  Edison.

  Molly turned to see how he was taking all of this. After flaying the elder and rushing to secure his brother, the pup had collapsed into one of the station chairs. His eyes were focused on a blank spot on the opposite wall. He could have been catatonic or calmly planning for world domination—it was impossible to tell.

  Orville began testing his restraints for a weakness while Cole stood over him warily. Molly rose and walked over to Edison, placing a hand on his shoulder, the fur sticky with sweat and much else. There was a lot of blood on him.

  On all of them.

  “The plan is still viable,” he said calmly. He broke his gaze away from the steel plating and looked into Molly’s eyes. “The great imbalance remains a possibility.”

  Molly couldn’t think about it clearly. There was too much horror down here. She needed to get out and breathe some fresh air, to think about what had just happened and what it meant for their immediate future.

  “I have to get out of here,” she said.

  Neither Cole nor Edison tried to stop her. They just looked at each other: breathing hard, sweating, unknowingly forging the bond that only battle welds. They sat like this as Molly made the slow and painful climb.

  Up and out.

  ••••

  Cole spoke first. “What do we do with your brother?”

  “He remains incarcerated here. We secure the hatch mechanism from without.”

  “Where’s the EMP?”

  Edison shrugged and looked side to side. “Here, somewhere.” It seemed like a guess.

  They began pulling panels off the cabinets and below the consoles; they rapped the walls. Orville seethed with anger but they didn’t waste time questioning him, Edison assured Cole that they could only expect delaying lies.

  Edison shoved the tactics table to slide it out of the way and get to the consoles on the other side of it. The top hinged up instead.

  “Located,” he said.

  Cole had to hoist himself up and rest his stomach on the lip of the open chest to look inside. There were two large EMPs nestled in individually padded compartments. Each looked extremely impressive, complex enough to pass for a much more dangerous device when presented to the Leefs.

  “Are you sure they won’t know the difference between an EMP and a nuclear bomb?” Cole asked Edison.

  The pup smiled at this. “Trust me completely, Cole. Ascertaining the difference will be impossible for them.”

  Cole smiled back. There was still a chance this could work.

  ••••

  In the corner of the room, Orville groaned to himself. He thought back to the plan his brother had spilled and realized the horrific truth of it all. He wanted to scream but he knew it would serve no purpose. He was better off down there, anyway.

  Of that, he was sure.

  20

  Cole crawled out of the bunker and found Molly collapsed  against a tree. She looked horrible, but at least her arm was back in the sling and her robe re-fastened. He knelt beside her and checked her splints—saw she’d already secured them. Her chin was down, her hair matted to her forehead. Cole placed his fingers below her jaw and lifted her gaze to his.

  “You okay?”

  She didn’t say anything. She just pulled him down to her by his neck and pressed her cheek to his. Cole slipped an arm around her back and helped her stand up. It was getting late and they needed to keep pressing forward.

  Edison walked up with the device cradled in front of him, leaning back with the weight of the thing.

  Cole had sudden doubts about the device’s reach. EMPs were great at knocking out electronics over a wide distance, but what kind of range would they need in order to fly out of here? Edison had said there were several hidden bunkers like this, each capable of locating Parsona and taking control of it, but he wasn’t privy to all of their locations. And all it would take was not reaching one of them, and their escape would be short-lived. The other problem was making sure they were beyond the EMPs range before it went off. Otherwise, Parsona’s electronics would be hit, she’d go lifeless, and they’d all come crashing back down to the planet.

  Timing would be everything.

  The trio set off through the woods on a long, circuitous hike that would bypass the activity around the Campton hill. It would be an excruciating hike for Edison. Cole felt horrible, but he was useless for helping with the load. He had tried to assist in removing it from the case, but he was unable to budge the thing. It certainly was an impressive device, able to pass for a nuke even to his Naval eye.

  He thought about the trap the Leefs would set with it, their fury when the weapon proved to be nothing more than an electro-magnetic pulse, scouring the hidden bunkers as Parsona broke through the atmosphere.

  Cole’s eyes drifted from the device to Edison’s tense frame. He couldn’t work out what the Glemot youth was getting out of this. Sure, if the Leef trap ended up a Campton rout, he could take credit for the plan and assure his fame and fortune. But was that really enough to explain the brutality they’d witnessed below the forest floor? What about Orville? Why keep him alive?

  Could Glemots really be this calculating over what they thought was right or wrong? Maybe they had some evolutionary advantage that prevented emotion from usurping their decision-making. Cole considered this possibility and wondered about his own habit of using people to achieve his own goals. Did it excuse him that he felt bad about it later? His brief time on Glemot had been punctuated by little lies to every side. What made him any different? He glanced at Molly and cringed from other lies he’s told, despite his powerful reasons for telling them.

  The guilt served to distract him from his plan’s worst-case scenario: disturbing the balance on Glemot. If they set this force loose on the galaxy—this trinity of wrath, genius, and power—it could mean the end of everything else. Perhaps in the universe.

  No, that was not something Cole could afford to dwell on. Thoughts like that made action impossible.

  ••••

  By the time they arrived at the meeting spot, Edison was visibly worn out. They hid the EMP nearby and Molly paced nervously, looking back to where the sun had disappeared over the horizon. She fretted over whether or not they’d been too late.

  Out of the darkness, a dozen forms emerged. The Leef warriors. They surrounded them noiselessly and pressed in. One warrior spoke quietly to Edison, noting the matted blood in the pup’s fur. Several other warriors approached the youth and patted him, speaking softly. Molly could make no sense of this other than some sort of alien cultural tradition.

  The plan had been to get Molly and Cole to their ship to oversee the repairs. Only then would the “nuke” be handed over. But time had grown short; exhaustion within both parties moved them along the shorter path of faith and trust. They agreed to exchange the device right there and rush the repairs.

  Edison, Molly, and Cole huddled for a brief moment to touch and speak, sharing the electricity that courses through those who have been willing to die for one another.

  Molly wished Edison the best of luck as Cole pulled her away, allowing their guide to lead them toward their ship. By the time her thoughts had returned to the task at hand, she realized they were going the wrong way. She tugged on Cole’s arm and gave him a questioning look.

  “They probably moved it,” he said, shrugging.

  A pan-galactic starship? Through a forest? With no mechanical advantage? Molly assumed the ship would be repaired in place, the Camptons too busy war-planning to guard it adequately. If her ship was safer, she couldn’t complain, but something in the demeanor of their new allies told her that all was not honest with them. She wished Walter was here with his olfactory lie-detector.

  Her growing mistrust melted when she heard the rattle and clang of construction filtering through the trees. A shifting light could
be seen ahead, dancing like a hundred fairies. It sounded and looked like a party of sprites celebrating by banging pots and pans.

  They followed their guide through a line of trees and popped into a massive clearing. Molly gasped aloud. Hundreds of Glemots crawled over the frame of her ship, many of them wearing straps on their wrists that glowed with enough light to work by. They worked furiously and efficiently. Lines of smaller Glemots passed parts along, communicating softly.

  Ahead of them stood one large adult who surveyed the progress, his paws on his hips. Their escort approached this figure and tapped him on the shoulder. The adult whirled to take in Molly and Cole. She thought she recognized his posture, but couldn’t make out his face, silhouetted as it was by the floating lights beyond.

  Their escort returned. “Follow,” he said. The other Glemot spun to face the work before him.

  Molly led Cole down to the ship, hope rising in her chest. Fifty meters away from Parsona, they were spotted and Walter came bolting out of the cargo bay, his face almost nothing but teeth. He rushed straight for Molly and practically tackled her with a hug.

  “Molly,” he said, his silver face pressing against her shoulder.

  She could feel the coolness of his skin warming with joy. She hugged him with one arm and fought to keep the other from being broken again.

  After a moment she had to push away, confident Walter would have remained like this forever. “It’s good to see my Cargo Officer is still on duty.”

  “Molly, thesse animalss are putting everything in the wrong placsse.” He swept his hands around the scene and seemed absolutely anguished at the ruining of his organizational system.

  She squeezed his shoulder firmly, as a good Captain might a real crew member, and said with seriousness, “We’ll have plenty of time to fix it when we get out of here, okay?”

  Walter sniffed and nodded. Molly watched Cole rush over to offer some advice and realized she could be useful here as well. “Get back to work, Officer.”

  Walter grinned. If he knew how to salute properly, she felt certain he would have done it right then. He spun back into the cargo bay, shouting orders to Glemots several times his size.

  It was going to be a long night, Molly realized.

  21

  Molly stood in the cockpit doorway and watched as one of the smallest Leefs installed the last panel. The first rays of morning sunlight sliced through the tall trees and sparkled against the carboglass. All night she’d been mesmerized by the way the Glemots worked individually and in groups, and she finally had a chance to see what their prehensile claws could do, twisting into various shapes for driving screws or shaping metal. They were not above digging into Parsona’s well-stocked tool chests, but rarely needed to.

  The Glemot took a step back from his work and indicator lights lit up the dash. Molly threw her arms around the pup and squeezed him. She leaned over the dash and pulled up the nav computer and the SADAR—it felt like a miracle had been performed. She turned and looked up at this young member of the Leef tribe; he beamed with pride. Molly smiled back, but the closer they got to leaving, and the more she’d worked with these people, the worse she felt about betraying them. She patted him on the shoulder and hurried out to find Cole.

  In the cargo bay, Walter was conducting an orchestra of organizational activity. Most of the repair crew had already departed to join the warriors, leaving just the children to help clean up. Walter had pulled them off those duties and was using them to sort and arrange Parsona’s gear. Most were smaller than Edison, but this still meant a crowded cargo bay and a lot of noisy stomping. Molly weaved through the activity, shaking her head.

  Outside, Cole was conferring with the few remaining adults. Molly walked up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “We have basic systems running right now,” she told him. “The ship is going through its diagnostics and I’m cycling the hyperdrive.”

  Cole nodded, thanked the Glemots, and pulled Molly back toward the ship. “Our timetable still looks pretty good, but we need to think about getting out of here soon. These guys are very anxious to use the device,” he stressed the word and Molly heard both meanings, “and the ship’s systems are not going to be happy if they get caught in the blast.”

  “How much time do you think we have?” Molly sorely missed the steady days on Earth where donning a watch made some sort of sense. Here, on various star systems and in the void of space, when you can circle a planet in a few minutes, you were left just counting arbitrary ticks between two events.

  “Probably not even an hour. I say we do a basic flight-check and see if the thrusters fire up. Worst-case, we fly to another clearing halfway around this green rock and do more repairs there.”

  “Sounds great to me.” Molly nodded to the Glemots and walked back up the cargo ramp. Walter stood just inside the bay, ordering the placement of more gear. “I’m gonna need you to get your crew out of here, buddy. We’re taking off as soon as the engines are warm.”

  “Yess, Captain!”

  “And Walter? Make sure we don’t have any stowaways. Check every compartment big enough for a toddler.”

  “Yess, Captain!”

  He hurried off and Molly smiled as Cole strode in to join her. It was good to have the group together again. Strange how they’d already created such a bond that a day apart felt like a week. Molly turned to close the cargo ramp and paused at the sight beyond. If all went well, it would be the last time she ever set foot on this planet. She pulled in a deep breath of the fresh air—rich with oxygen—and held it in. She admired the way the sunlight filtered through layers of leaves, turning the very air green. The grass that wasn’t trampled from the night’s work popped with leaping and flying things. Massive trees stood erect all around the ship like duty-bound sentinels.

  It felt wrong to flee this place, to want to leave it. Molly hoped beyond all hope that they’d have a chance to return. She longed for an opportunity to see this place cloaked in peace, rather than war. She sighed and keyed the cargo hatch, watching the cold steel rise up and choke away the view. As beautiful as Glemot was, Molly was happy to be back in her temporary home of metal and electricity.

  She made her way to the cockpit and settled into the captain’s chair, her flightsuit itchy and uncomfortable after getting used to the soft robe. She pulled up the chase camera to make sure no Glemots were near the rear of the ship. Every device she touched clicked right into operation, filling her with wonder. The Glemots had done an incredible job putting everything back together; the thrusters fired without a hitch. If anything, they sounded healthier than before. They whined up to their working speeds without the accustomed stutter around 1,500 RPMs. Strong and vibrant sounds hummed up from the back of Parsona.

  “Better than new is right,” she muttered.

  As tired as she was from being up all night, Molly forced herself to do an engine room check before they pulled away. As she crossed the cargo bay, she saw a few Glemots through the portholes lingering by the edge of the forest, as if to watch their handiwork take flight. Molly gave the engine room a visual inspection and opened the door to the lazarette. The thrusters purred with precision, the fluid and temperature gauges reading normal.

  She headed back to the cockpit, pausing to ensure Walter was buckled in tight. The boy seemed immensely appreciative of her attention.

  “Looks good back there,” she told Cole as she settled into her seat.

  He nodded, checking the angle of the thrusters to make sure they were ready for lift and gave her a gloved thumbs up. Molly pointed to her sling. “You have the honors,” she reminded him.

  “Oh—of course,” he stammered.

  Molly watched him grip the flight controls with his left hand and felt a mixture of nervousness and humor. “You wanna switch seats with me?” she asked.

  He gave her a hurt look. “I’m fine. It’s just been a while… and this baby was a bucket of bolts, literally, like a day ago.”

  Molly raised her eyebrows.
>
  “Okay, I’m nervous,” Cole admitted. “Does that make you happy?”

  Molly laughed. “Hell no, man, it just makes me nervous, too.” As much as her broken arm annoyed her, watching hours and hours of simulator banter play back in reverse nearly made it all worthwhile. She settled back in her seat while Cole gripped the throttle.

  “Liftoff,” he whispered, giving the ship thrust.

  Unsteadily at first, then balancing with the increase in height and speed, the GN-290 Starship Parsona suspended itself in the heavens once more. Walter whooped from the cargo bay. Molly checked the chase camera and watched the trees recede into forest and then into a carpet of green. After a series of wild escapes, such a banal exit seemed foreign and strange to her. She braced for the ship to be taken over, wondering how long it would be before the EMP cleared the ground of electronics. They’d be out of the atmosphere before long, but she knew from experience that the range of those bunkers extended out to the largest moon.

  Every second that nothing bad happened got them closer to the Orbital Station. Molly felt as if their luck was finally changing for the better.

  The thing hiding in Parsona’s escape pod #2 would have agreed with her completely.

  22

  Mekhar huddled with a few other Leefs in the small clearing, disbelieving his good fortune. Many years of precise calculations led up to this moment. That he had been picked with the flip of a stick symbolized much: The Great Ambush embodied Glemot planning, yet it would be topped off with a flourish of randomization.

  He could see the fear and envy in the eyes of his tribemates. Their fur shivered anxiously, along with his own. One of his paws rested on the impressive device in the center of the group. He glanced expectantly from it to his great leader, waiting for the signal.

  The sounds of heavy marching filtered through the trees, likely from the Campton forward guard. The legions of great Campton warriors would follow, armed with their sharpened sticks and more sinister devices. Mekhar thought of the battles he’d been lucky to survive. He looked down at his scars, like white worms trampling his fur, and recalled how badly things had gone in the past.