by Hugh Howey
This unwillingness to bend, to apologize, hurt like a fourth bullet. The first three, nicely grouped, had already done enough damage by killing an Admiral, a rare friend, and severing a thread leading back to her past. Now, just when she needed Cole the most, she found herself pushing him away.
The clock ticked. Another minute slid by. A minute she should’ve used to get up and don her flightsuit. She rolled on her side and faced the door, wondering which section of the ship to search next. She needed to know what her father had been up to. She needed to uncover Parsona’s mystery. Her conversation with Lucin stirred old fantasies, bringing them to the surface. Every cadet dreamed of ending the war with the Drenards. She’d eventually outgrown that delusion, but now it loomed again, tantalizingly real and completely unfathomable. What in the galaxy could a stupid ship contain to end an entire war?
Another minute flicked by on the clock.
Molly imagined the Navy was just as thrilled with Lucin’s death as she. Until they found a news outlet, she assumed the reports went something like: Disgruntled Female Cadet Returns and Shoots Admiral, Attacks Captain. School Records Show Unwillingness to Follow Orders and Inaptitude for Flight.
Unbelievably, even Walter seemed upset with her. As she and Edison rummaged through the ship yanking off wall panels, he followed along, hissing obscenities and attempting to reorganize. He kept asking Molly what she hoped to find and sniffed, annoyed at her lies.
He’d become surly with the only crew member willing to forgive his treachery! Cole wanted to drop Walter off on the next moon they passed. Edison’s calculations came up with a similar recommendation. Even gentle Anlyn couldn’t stand to be around him.
So many problems… Molly’s clock ticked up to 5:56, as if counting them.
She felt like staying in bed for another shift and flopped over to the other side, pressing her face close to her small porthole. She sighed, frosting the glass. Through the moisture, something large and bright glimmered. She wiped her breath away with a corner of her bedsheet and marveled at the sight beyond.
A black hole. She couldn’t see it, of course, but she could see the star orbiting it—could see its effects. A single plume of plasma streaked out of the yellow orb and spiraled around the pinprick of dense mass. As they orbited each other, a curve of flame millions of kilometers across formed. It reminded Molly of a pinwheel firecracker at a Lokian fair.
Parsona hovered directly over the center of the spiral, laying over on her port side. It provided Molly with the best view possible of one of nature’s largest and most spectacular wonders. She forgot her worries for a moment and snuggled up in a contented ball to enjoy the sight.
It took her morning brain a few minutes to work it out: that such an amazing vista lining up on her porthole could not be a coincidence.
Cole.
Wow.
A romantic gesture or an apology for Lucin, it didn’t matter. She appreciated it. Growing up in the military, Molly never dreamed of a healthy relationship with a caring man. Ending a major war seemed more likely. And yet, someone had just laid a flower the size of a small solar system on her pillow.
Molly wept. After mourning Lucin—after suffering a month of wild emotional swings—she had resolved to go a week without crying. She decided these didn’t count; they were good tears. And through her blurred vision, the spectacle outside looked even more surreal.
The clock ticked up a minute and the alarm went off. Molly slapped the snooze button and decided she could take another ten minutes to wallow in how good this felt.
Something told her Cole wouldn’t mind.
••••
Molly woke up to her alarm once more, newly energized. Today would be the day that she uncovered Parsona’s secret. She’d said the same thing the last two mornings, but this time she felt it. She wiggled into her flightsuit and keyed open her door.
She wanted to head straight for the cockpit to kiss her navigator and thank him for the gift, but the low rumble of a snoring Glemot caught her attention. Molly snuck aft to check in on Edison and Anlyn.
With almost a week together repairing Parsona, a fascinating bond had formed between the two. Anlyn had become smitten with Edison; she absolutely refused to sleep alone or in the dark. It was difficult to know what Edison thought of this; the rational and obtuse way he talked about Anlyn seemed anything but romantic. As far as Molly could tell, the two were having a positive effect on each other, so she gladly gave them some space.
Peeking into their room, she could see Edison’s head propped up on the wall behind his bunk, his knees poking up in the air, the space much too short for him. He snored contentedly through his open mouth while Anlyn, curled up on his chest, seemed tiny and serene by comparison. Both of her arms draped over one of the Edison’s massive paws. It made Molly’s heart hurt to take in the scene. She could understand why Anlyn hardly left his side; his embrace looked like the safest place in the universe.
Padding away quietly, Molly walked through her dark and sleeping ship. She passed Walter’s room, the door closed. She hoped he was asleep and not up to anything they would all regret later. Keeping him out of the computer systems had proved difficult; Molly constantly reminded him that very little trust had been restored with the rest of the crew—and that would soon include her. Walter, however, visualized his penance as something to barter over, rather than pay wordlessly.
Molly stole through the cargo bay and noticed that Edison had yet another project strewn across the workbench. Seeing the things he came up with made her long for the resurrection of Glemot. Other things he built, however, demonstrated the reality of Campton’s fears: a race so dangerously powerful could only be kept in check by others of equal strength and cunning. The tragedy of their planet haunted her, and it probably would forever. It remained one of the few hurts that Cole couldn’t soothe away.
He possessed a talent for that, she’d realized. His soft voice and engaging face were good things. They weren’t a mask with which to fool people, nor were they a tool he used to adjust others. It was just who he was—his wonderful self—and she didn’t need the nose of a Palan to sense it.
Cole turned and smiled at her as she entered the cockpit. “Morning,” he said, trying to act as normal as possible. As if a flower made of plasma didn’t linger off to port.
Molly grinned. And then it occurred to her that she could kiss him right now if she wanted. He wouldn’t stop her. He’d welcome it.
The sensation had been with her for a week, but she still hadn’t got used to it. She hoped it would take millions of kisses to remove that thrilling awareness.
“What’re you smiling—?” Cole started to ask. Molly bent down and kissed him on the lips.
Just because she could.
“Thanks for the flower,” she said, squeezing into her seat.
“You’re welcome.” He paused. “It’s our anniversary today.”
“What anniversary?” Molly asked. “Our one week?”
“Our one month, knucklehead.” He gave her a stern look. “You and I have been together since the first day we faked it.”
Molly’s laughter filled the cockpit and drifted out through her sleeping ship. The release felt wonderful. “Wow,” she said. “I can’t believe it’s only been a month.”
“Yeah, we’ve been busy little beavers. Speaking of which, Edison got the last of the mods done before he hit the sack. That one crate back there is just full of scraps, so we can jet it into a star the next time we get close to one.”
“Excellent.”
“Oh, and as your navigator, I’d like to point out that we’re down to twenty-four percent on fusion fuel.”
“It’ll be enough, right?”
“According to Anlyn.”
“Then it will be.”
“Well, I’m glad you have complete faith in the offspring of mankind’s enemy, ’cause I’m not there yet.”
“Walter can smell a lie. He says we can trust her.”
“And
you trust Walter?” Cole shot back.
After a moment he followed up with another source of contention. “You know, we could get more rest and shave some time off the trip if she’d take a shift or two. No flying, of course, just sit and watch the instruments while the hyperdrive cycles.”
She turned to Cole, dead serious. “She does not set foot in a cockpit until she chooses to, okay?”
“Okay, okay. I’m just worried we aren’t getting enough sleep. Between thrusting along looking for good jump points, respooling the hyperdrive, and tearing the ship apart… I just think everyone needs to be helping out. Spread the load.”
“I know, Cole.” Molly rubbed her hands up her face and through her hair. “I’m sorry to snap. I just have some of Edison in me I guess. Something makes me want to wrap that poor girl up and keep her safe.”
“She certainly elicits that reaction.”
“Please try and trust her. For me.”
“I trust you,” he said, turning to gaze through the porthole on his side.
She smiled at that and looked back to the pinwheel of fire.
“It is beautiful out here.” After a pause, she added, “With you.”
Their hands found each other without having to look, a dominate hand healing from its wounds and a clumsy one groping and trembling to do its best.
They intertwined. Indistinguishable.
“I’m sorry,” Cole said.
••••
They sat like that for a long while, allowing everyone, the ship included, to enjoy the rare state of rest. Cole broke the spell, leaning forward to the nav computer and the work that had been keeping him occupied for the last two days.
“Why don’t you go take a nap?” Molly asked. “It’s my shift.”
“I can’t sleep right now.”
“Why? What’re you working on?”
“I’m still trying to integrate these four different star charts. The three new ones differ in places and our old copy is the absolute pits.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Uh, you mean besides flying into Darrin the way we did?”
“They’re just old, Cole. And they are my parent’s charts, so you need to talk nice to them.” She pouted, which drew a chuckle. “Besides, I just wanted them for the nostalgia; you shouldn’t be using them for navigational purposes.”
“I know, but look at this.” He pulled up an area around Menkar. “You see these stars here?”
Molly nodded and Cole continued, “This is from your parents’ charts, the ones that’ve been getting us in trouble.”
Molly shot him a look.
“Watch,” he said.
He clicked away at the keyboard as Molly turned back to her screen. The stars disappeared. “Hey, don’t delete them.”
“I didn’t. All I did was pull up the GN charts we bought from Albert.” He tapped his screen. “These stars aren’t in his charts at all. Any of them. I wouldn’t have noticed the difference, but this is the chart that leads back to Earth. I know it by heart, even at a glance.”
“What do you think it means?” Molly studied the chart on her own screen. “Could it be really old data? Could all three have gone nova since this chart was created?”
“Statistically unlikely, as Edison would say. And lemme zoom in, the stars have really weird names. Listen to this: Horton Hears a Who, The Cat in the Hat, Green Eggs and Ham. I know astrologers are a loopy crowd, but c’mon, have you ever heard star names that bizarre?”
Molly’s jaw dropped. She stared at the nav screen. “Actually, I have.”
“Yeah. Right.”
“I’m serious. Those are books my parents used to read to me, back before we left Lok and came to Earth.”
“Your parents read you books about these three stars?”
“No, genius, these stars must’ve been named after the books. In fact, I doubt the stars are real.” She looked back at the screen. “My parents must’ve inserted them on purpose.”
“Well that might explain the weirdest part. Watch this.”
Cole clicked on the triple star system and tried to open them up for inspection. Normally this would zoom in to another level of detail with orbiting planets, survey data, and cultural history. A standard text input box popped up instead.
NAME (FIRST/LAST):_
Molly backed her hands away from the computer. She’d never seen a dialog box on a star chart.
“I just found this a few hours ago,” Cole said. “I tried your name and each of your parents’ names. I was hopin’ to crack it before Walter got a chance and did it in, like, two seconds.”
“Did you put in Mortimor or Mortimus for my father’s name?”
“Both. I do pay attention to your stories, you know.”
Molly leaned forward and gave it a shot.
NAME (FIRST/LAST):WADE/LUCIN_
She hit enter, but nothing happened. Molly racked her brain, unable to think of anyone else this might’ve been meant for. Then it occurred to her. A name she’d long forgotten. “I know what it is,” she told Cole.
NAME (FIRST/LAST):DR/SEUSS_
She pressed the enter key. Again, nothing happened. She tried spelling out “Doctor” with the same result. She searched her memory but couldn’t remember the author’s first name, if he even had one.
“And you tried my name?” she asked.
“Yup.”
“Have you tried the names both ways?”
“Nope. It clearly says first then last. I tried with and without the slash, though.”
Molly nodded, then froze. Her own question had jarred loose an old fact: the Lokian spelling of her name, the one she’d been given at birth, changed later to conceal her planet of origin. This was her parents’ ship. If they put this in here for her to find, they would’ve used a spelling only the three of them knew.
Molly felt a tingle of excitement shiver through her. This was the secret she’d been hunting for, it had to be. And no wonder she couldn’t find it! The secret was just a bunch of 1’s and 0’s locked away in a computer.
She felt dizzy as she typed in the answer. In mere moments she would receive a message from her father. Something that would help the Navy end the Drenard War. Maybe enough to go to the Navy, explain Lucin’s death, and stop running. All this and more flashed through her head as she finished typing the answer:
NAME (FIRST/LAST):MOLLIE/FYDE_
She hit the enter key and waited for something to happen.
The nav screen went blank. The star charts disappeared. In their place sat a green phosphorous cursor. Flashing. Letters spilled forth, one at a time, as if someone were typing them.
MOLLIE?_
She glanced at Cole, expecting to find his fingers at the keys. He stared back at her, his brows coming together. “Someone must be connected to us through a nearby relay station,” he said, but not with conviction. “Or Walter is playing with us.” He unplugged his flightsuit and cast off his harness.
Molly put a hand on his chest, holding him in place. She typed a response.
THIS IS MOLLIE_
She hesitated to press the enter key this time. None of this made sense; the secret had to be something else. She hit the button.
MOLLIE. THIS IS PARSONA. YOUR MOTHER_
The words flowed out from left to right in a steady stream. The impossible nature of them punched her in the gut. The screen went a little out of focus.
“I’m going to kill him,” Cole said, pushing up from his chair.
Molly turned to him, trying to convince herself by convincing him. “Cole, there’s only two people besides me that spelled my name that way. And both of them are dead. Do you think—?”
“Not even Lucin?”
“No, my parents would’ve taken that to the grave. And who would even care to know? It was just to avoid the xenophobia wild in those days.”
“Maybe—” Cole began, but the computer interrupted.
WHERE WERE YOU BORN, MOLLIE?_
Both of them look
ed at each other again. “Shouldn’t she know?” Cole asked.
Molly wasn’t listening. She was inputting the answer.
LOK_
As soon as she hit the enter key, the next question coursed across the screen.
SPECIFICALLY_
She typed, absorbed in the conversation as if it were real.
IN THE COMMONS OF A SMALL VILLAGE_
A few heartbeats elapsed… then:
WHAT WAS THE NAME OF THE VILLAGE?_
“Molly? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Hold on a sec.”
IT DIDN’T HAVE A NAME_
Their screen went blank. Then:
MOLLIE_
The typing paused for a second, the curser flashing as if it needed to think. Then it continued:
I NEED TO ASK YOU FOR A FAVOR. A LARGE ONE. IT WILL REQUIRE A LOT OF TRUST. THERE WILL BE MANY DANGERS INVOLVED_
Molly reached over and gripped Cole’s hand in hers. She squeezed it and pecked at the keyboard with one finger, blinking away the hope that this may actually, somehow, be her mother she was conversing with.
ANYTHING_ she typed.
She pressed the enter key once more. And when the response came—Molly sobbed once, then caught her breath. She read the message over and over again, her right hand crushing Cole’s.
The words stood there in green phosphor. Impossible and promising:
I NEED YOU TO HELP ME RESCUE YOUR FATHER_
Review
Howey’s first novel is fast-paced, combining elements of military science fiction, space opera, and even romance, to flesh out his story of a young girl becoming a woman. The excitement never lets up, and the conclusion works perfectly to wrap up the novel and leave a huge tease for the second book, 2010’s Molly Fyde and the Land of Light.
Howey does an excellent job in a book that rarely reminds you it is a first novel, and is a wonderful example of the big boys not always having the best books. This is one not to miss. And after you read it, you will be waiting in line, along with me, for the sequel.
— LUKE’S REVIEWS
A charming, well-written and beautifully realized story. I loved it.
