Molly Fyde and the Fight for Peace tbs-4

by Hugh Howey

  “Sir? Admiral, I need you to stay with me.”

  His eyes moved slowly to Molly’s.

  “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head, his jowls jiggling left and right. He made little circles with his chin, transforming the shake into a nod.

  “Are you or aren’t you?”

  “I need water,” he said, his voice thin and raspy.

  “I can’t send either of them—” Molly nodded to her two friends. “Do you want me to leave you and get a glass?”

  Saunders considered this. He shook his head.

  Molly felt Anlyn’s hand on her shoulder; she turned to see her friend sitting down across from Saunders. After she got settled, Anlyn folded her translucent blue hands into her lap and smiled at the Admiral.

  Molly moved aside and sat likewise, occupying the small plot of floor still available, each of her knees nearly touching one of theirs. Edison remained quietly seated on the bunk behind them, and the silence within the room became more palpable by the steady thump of activity in the cargo bay beyond. Together, the three crewmates rode out the old man’s shock, respecting the awkwardness they had induced.

  “Admiral Saunders—” Anlyn eventually began.

  “You speak English,” he said, interrupting her.

  Anlyn nodded. “Molly told you why our people are at war?”

  “Because of them?” Saunders asked. He pointed up at the ceiling and presumably to the Bern fleet beyond. His eyes darted away from Anlyn and settled on Edison. “Is—Is that one of… them?”

  Molly stifled a laugh, then felt sorry for Saunders. His face was still ashen, his jaw slack with confusion. She reached out and put a hand on his knee. “Edison is a Glemot. He’s harmless,” she said, ripping the truth in half, grinding it to shards, then setting the fragments on fire. “The Bern look like us, remember?”

  Saunders nodded and blinked rapidly, re-learning old news.

  Anlyn held up her hands, showing her pale-blue palms. “Admiral, war has been declared on your empire by mine. There are agents in both of our camps that do not have the best interests of their own people in mind. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” he replied, some of the color returning to his cheeks.

  “I did everything I could to prevent these most recent hostilities, both as a member of our highest council and personally.”

  “You don’t want to fight us,” Saunders said.

  “That’s correct. I don’t. Many of us don’t.” Anlyn adjusted her tunics, then folded her hands into her lap. “We share a common enemy, your empire and mine. One that has been trying its mightiest to drive our people together so they can then sweep through the debris and lord over the ashes. That enemy is gathering right here above this planet. Do you understand this as well?”

  “The Bern.”

  “Admiral, do you understand what needs to be done? That this enemy must be stopped at all costs?”

  Saunders nodded. Molly could see his throat constrict as he swallowed. She should have planned better and had some water in the room ahead of time.

  “We have a plan,” Saunders said meekly. He turned to Molly. “We have a plan, right?” He seemed desperate for a confirmation of this feeble hope.

  Molly patted his knee. “Admiral, we need you to do something important, okay? Anlyn has it worked out.”

  “I am next in line to the throne of the Drenard Empire,” Anlyn said.

  Saunders’s face remained blank, but Molly felt goosebumps ripple up her arms from hearing her friend say such an outrageous thing, even if it were true.

  “I am not in a position of military power,” she went on, “and I will never rule my people, but I do have certain inherent foreign relations rights. Further, I happen to be on an ambassadorial mission sanctioned by my ruling body, entrusted with the right to establish first contact with races not previously negotiated with and enter into negotiations with any such races encountered.”

  “I—I’m not following,” Saunders said. He looked to Molly for help, but she just nodded to Anlyn, trying to keep him focused.

  “My hope was to make contact with the Bern,” Anlyn said. “It was my reading, my interpretation of an old prophe—An old document passed down for many generations. But I believe I was meant to do this. Right here. Right now. We are the races meant to unite under the shadow of a rift, Human and Drenard, not the Drenard and Bern.”

  “Do what?” Saunders shook his head as if trying to clear the confusion. Molly noticed both his hands were clenched fists—knuckles pressed against knuckles in his lap, as if he could grip the air and somehow hold his senses firm.

  “My people never made official first contact with the Bern or the Humans,” Anlyn said. “I have the power and the rights to do this, to enter into formal negotiations with either race.”

  Saunders shook his head again, the folds under his chin swaying.

  “She means that she can make it official if you declare—”

  “I can certify it if you would choose to—”

  Neither of them seemed to know how to come out and say it.

  An awkward silence began to form as they looked to one another for help.

  “Surrender immediately,” Edison growled, his gruff voice dripping with impatience.

  “Do what?”

  Saunders popped to his feet with a litheness that defied his bulk and an injection of energy that cut through his former stillness.

  “Surrender? Concede the war with the Drenards?”

  Molly and Anlyn both stood as well, holding their hands out to calm him.

  “Hear us out,” Molly said. “It’s not just about stopping the fighting, which we don’t think it’ll even do, it’s about exposing the people on both sides who want this war. It’s a formality, nothing more.”

  “It’s a way to smoke them out,” Anlyn said.

  “I don’t—Even if I had the authority, which I don’t, the most I could do is surrender my fleet, the entire crew of which can fit in this single ship!” Saunders threw his hands up.

  “That’s why we need you to go to Earth,” Molly said. “We need you to explain what’s going on—”

  “But I don’t even know what’s going on!”

  “Sir, all you have to do is recount the loss of your fleet and the unwinnable nature of this conflict. Convince the Galactic Union to terminate its offensive. We need to see who would want the fight to continue, even if it means utter defeat. These are our true enemies.”

  “But what then?” Saunders asked. “What will it matter when the people who actually wiped out Zebra group are still around to mop us up? I need to stay here with my crew.” He reached out and grabbed Molly’s arm. “We’ll attack with the Darrin fleet, just like you said. I’ll lead them into battle myself.”

  Molly patted his hand and shook her head. “The attack will be carried out as planned,” she said, “but you won’t be leading it. The mission to Earth is more important. It’ll solve the problem of finding the Bern among us without causing panic or worse.”

  Saunders turned to Molly. “So I won’t be leading the attack back here? Then who will? You?” he asked.

  She shook her head again.

  “Who, then?”

  “Me,” Anlyn said. “I’ll be leading them.”

  Part XX – Anlyn

  “A child howls—and the canyons fall silent.”

  ~The Bern Seer~

  16 · Drenard · Twelve Years Ago

  Tears streamed down Anlyn’s cheeks. She tried her best to blink them away while yanking the control stick left and right, up and down, but nothing she did helped. No matter which way she dodged and spun the Interceptor, her fiancé Bodi was able to match her. Twisting and turning, swooping and diving, jittering her ship nervously in space, she did everything she could to shake him, all to no avail.

  Her stolen flightsuit did what it could to minimize the Gs, its small pockets of anti-grav fluid coursing through the suit and removing as much of the force on her body as they cou
ld. But no technological marvel existed to remove the pressure within her: that clawing at the hollow of her stomach born by a day of far too much tragedy.

  “Anlyn Hooo, that is enough.”

  Bodi’s voice came through her helmet clear enough to twist her heart in knots. The disgust she felt at the sound of his words were another sort of nausea the grav suit couldn’t touch. Anlyn ignored his commands—she was utterly sick and tired of his commands. She kept yanking on the stick, hoping to create enough space to jump away. She needed to get away from Drenard, away from her home. She desperately needed to get away from the emptiness her father’s sudden death had left, both in her heart and upon his throne.

  “Don’t make me shoot out your thrusters,” Bodi warned.

  As if she were the one inconveniencing him.

  Anlyn glanced down at the dash where so many lights and knobs twinkled in her tear-blurred vision. Royal flight training had only touched on the basics—a professional pilot had kept his hands on the stick at all times while he showed her how to jump, taught her the rudiments of SADAR, and had allowed her to transmit over the radio. It had been just enough instructional ceremony to satisfy ancient traditions of Drenardian royalty without exposing one of the empire’s precious women to an iota of potential harm. But now, without someone pointing out which switch did what, Anlyn felt overwhelmed by the dizzying array of readouts and blinking indicators.

  “The royal guard is on their way, Anlyn. Take your hands off the controls. You’re embarrassing me.”

  Anlyn looked up through the canopy where Bodi flew inverted, matching her every movement. She could clearly see the glint of his visor just a dozen paces away. Yanking back on the stick, she tried to throw her craft up into his, her hot side stoked by his constant badgering. Bodi moved out of the way easily; he fell back around her, then looped up on top. She dove the opposite direction, but he matched her move for move.

  Giving up for a moment, Anlyn allowed her craft to straighten itself out while she took a few deep breaths not encumbered by the squeezing of her gravsuit. She wondered how she had gotten herself in this position. She was pretty sure it had started with her Wadi Rite, not that long ago. Things had been different between her and Bodi after that. And then her father—it felt like weeks since she’d learned of his passing, days since she had fled to the Naval base and commandeered a ship to run away. It had probably been a few hours—she had no idea.

  She looked to her display screen where she had the hyperdrive help file pulled up. As far as Anlyn could tell, she had the drive cycled properly and good coordinates for an empty patch of space plugged in. Still, the blasted engage button wouldn’t work. A flashing indicator kept blinking “proximity alarm.” Anlyn scanned the help file while Bodi continued his jabbering:

  “Very good, Anlyn. Stay on that course. I’m going to lock my ship to yours. Steady, now.”

  Anlyn ignored him and read something about a jump override. There were two pages of cautions and warnings before it got to the explanation. She scrolled down, ignoring the paragraphs about “slingshots” and “unintended arrival coordinates.” Nothing in the universe turned her brain off like tech-speak and such gibberish.

  “Steady, now.”

  Bodi said it as if he were chiding a youth. She hated that tone, especially when he did it to her in public. He had always spoken to her that way when her father, the King of their empire, was around. She had long dreamed of the day she would stand up to Bodi in front of her dad and her uncles. Now, that would never happen. Her father was dead, and she would be forced to marry an evil man, a cold and fiery man. She scanned the override instructions—then heard a metallic bang as his ship touched hers.

  Anlyn’s hand flinched, just as if he had touched her body. Just like when he touched her body. She yanked her flightstick the other way, worried he might lock the two Interceptors together. As she created a few paces of space—and before she could reconsider—she followed the instructions in the help file and typed in the override commands, entering them in triplicate and agreeing to all the warning messages.

  The jump switch finally turned from black to solid blue.

  Anlyn punched it without hesitation.

  ••••

  The twin suns of Hori disappeared, replaced by a blanket of alien stars and a maelstrom of violence. Plasma blasts the size of solar flares ripped through the distance, arcing toward a blazing ball of destruction the size of a planet. Anlyn saw, just in time, that similar plumes of racing fire were heading her way. She slammed the thrust forward and dove out of their path as the columns of sure death slid by in silence.

  Where have I jumped? she wondered. It certainly wasn’t the empty space she’d been aiming for.

  Besides the large rivers of marching plasma fire, Anlyn saw that the cosmos around her was peppered with a swarm of racing ships and the less powerful streaks from their cannons and missile pods. She banked her own ship around—still getting used to the feel of the controls—and searched for a way out of the commotion.

  But the chaos was everywhere; it seemed whatever star system she had jumped into was embroiled in an outright orgy of war. At first, she thought it was a trinary star system, an alien land with one more sun than even her own Drenard, but eventually she recognized the other two glowing, fire-stricken orbs to be planets. Former planets, anyway. Both were being devoured by all-encompassing blazes, almost as if the crust of each had opened up to reveal the molten mantle beneath.

  Anlyn headed up the star system’s orbital plane, hoping to escape the flat battleground where most of the activity was taking place. She threw the accelerator all the way forward and felt her body sag back into her seat with the ever-increasing velocity.

  What have I done? she thought to herself.

  Red alarms winked across her dashboard in answer. Anlyn fought to unravel them, her eyes darting from one to the next, none of the alarms ever having come up during her brief training regimen:

  MISSILE LOCK_ HOSTILE TARGETS_ PLASMA SIGNATURES_

  Her hands shook as they hovered over the hundreds of keys and knobs on the dash, so few of which she knew how to operate. The trembling worked its way up her arms, through her shoulders, back into her heart, and all the way to her legs. Anlyn wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold her body still, trying to prevent herself from flying apart like the distant planets, quaking from their onslaught. She pulled her knees up to her chin, dug her heels into the seat, and tucked her head down, quivering and crying.

  And then the first missile struck.

  The ferocious blast vaporized one wing and ripped the fuselage in half. Anlyn was slammed into her flight harness, the pilot’s suit coping with a majority of the Gs, but not all of them. Her head whipped to the side, her arms and legs fortuitously protected by her tight fetal position as the wounded Bern Interceptor spun out of control around her, the physical whirlwind of disintegrating machinery exploding into the cosmos.

  A bolt of plasma ripped through the Interceptor next, punching a clean hole, ringed in red and dripping sparks, right through the ship’s body. Anlyn heard her visor snap shut automatically, cutting off the banging of steel and the whine of a dozen alarms. The sound of air moving, of a tiny fan somewhere in her suit circulating her precious oxygen, was all she heard besides her heartbeat.

  The end had come for her, she realized. Bodi had been right. She wouldn’t last a second out in the galaxy alone.

  The next missile cruised her way, its red tip armed and hungry. As it plowed through the cosmos after a warm body to devour, a countdown in Anlyn’s Interceptor ticked toward zero. It was a warning, giving her the chance to override an automatic safety system.

  But Anlyn wasn’t aware of it. She tried to hold herself together as her ship screamed and was wrenched apart. The missile drew near, pushing through the fuzzy sphere of her Interceptor’s already-expanding field of debris. The counter on the safety system reached one, the alarm high and pleading, begging to be overridden before it did so
mething that could not be undone.

  It finally reached zero.

  The auto-eject systems fired, launching Anlyn—still strapped to her flightseat—out into the cold blackness of space.

  But that vacuum didn’t remain cold for long. The second missile finally found its prey, consuming itself and all else in a bubbly froth of fire and carnage.

  17 · Drenard · A Longer Time Ago

  In Anlyn’s dreams, the fan inside her helmet was a roar. It was the roar of the Wadi winds, those never ending blasts of air that flowed over her planet, etching the canyons from solid rock. Her heartbeat became her footfalls—the clomping of her hunting boots on the dry stone. Anlyn incorporated these sounds and constructed a dream world. A world that existed only in her memory, in her not-too-distant childhood.

  There were five of them in her exclusive Rite group when Anlyn went to claim her Wadi. They were cousins, all. None of them were as near to the throne as she, if measured by begottens, but her three male cousins were lightyears closer for other reasons. Anlyn didn’t mind. She had no desire to sit where her father sat; she couldn’t stand the thought of giving speeches for a living or having to decide matters of galaxy-wide importance. Her ideal life involved moving to a frontier planet, something along the rim of the Drenard arm of the Milky Way, and finding some peace and quiet to surround herself with.

  She had imagined her life there a million times in a million different ways, but every variation revolved around common themes: They started with a large plot of land, something not constrained by perpetual night on the one side and day on the other, but spread out. The land would be rolling in places and flat in others. At least one gurgling creek would pass through, playing and skipping over the rocks in little white leaps. The grass would be kept tall so it could wave to and fro with fickle, unpredictable gusts of wind, nothing like the perpetual hurricane roaring around her home world.

  And there would be days. There would be a growing light expanding in the morning to swallow the sky. The sun would move through the air, shimmering and becoming white-hot as it rose to its peak. Then the nightfall would come to cool the sweat from her neck. She had heard about days from her uncles who governed distant planets. She had heard and imagined for herself the gradual sinking of suns, like balls of molten lava, crashing through the horizon.