by Hugh Howey
And now it’s a new power for me, she realized. Molly watched the staff members nod to one another; they seemed to think her explanation was the only rational one. Robinson continued to smile, obviously buying it as well.
“Well, I think we’re due a little luck,” Saunders said grimly.
The rest agreed with him while Anlyn pulled Molly to the side.
“Everything okay?” Molly asked.
Anlyn nodded. “Fine. People are actually going out of their way to be nice to me. I think they’re overcompensating a little.” A grave expression washed over Anlyn’s face, one that filled Molly with dread.
“What is it, Anlyn?”
“Edison and I switched assignments with group thirteen,” Anlyn said.
“But I thought you two were going to retrieve Lady Liberty.”
“I know. But then Edison and I got to thinking that it just made more sense this way. We’re both familiar with the layout of his base, and I know what kind of ship he would have replaced her with—”
Molly shook her head. “This is about revenge, isn’t it?”
Anlyn didn’t say anything. Her eyes didn’t waver from Molly’s.
“You’re even more familiar with Lady Liberty,” Molly pointed out. “I mean, you’ve flown her into combat a thousand times. And besides, there won’t be any fighting involved in picking her up. She’s right where we left her, and we can’t afford to lose either of you—”
“I’ll still command Lady for the flight here,” Anlyn told her. “We’ll transfer over when Edison goes to modify the hyperdrive.”
Molly ran her fingers through her hair. She looked up through the clearing at the stars overhead.
“And you’re right,” Anlyn whispered. “It is about revenge.”
Molly stared at her, agape. “You admit it?”
Anlyn nodded.
Molly turned away from her friend, disappointed by the decision. She watched the dozens of small squads as they formed up in a jagged line stretching from the console and back around her ship. In the glow of Parsona’s worklights, she could see flat hands zooming through imaginary space, dogfighting one another in mock battle as old lessons were dusted off and honed to something approximating sharpness.
Anlyn moved by her side; her tiny hand settled in the small of Molly’s back.
Molly started to voice her objection, but Anlyn interrupted.
“Look at them,” she said quietly.
Molly swallowed her thoughts. She watched as hands soared in mock battle and eyes were cast upward toward the fleet that had taken away the friends and family of those gathered.
“This whole mission is about revenge,” Molly said. “Isn’t it?”
Anlyn’s small hand moved from Molly’s back and went around to her side, squeezing her. Their bodies rested on one another as the two friends pulled themselves close.
“It is,” Anlyn said softly. “So let me have mine.”
28 · Three Jumps
Anlyn and Edison stood side by side, the only squad comprised of just two members. The argument had been that Edison counted twice, if not three times. And not just for his ferocious power, but for his navigation and engineering skills. With Anlyn’s abilities at the flight controls, the duo almost seemed like overkill.
Standing close to her fiancé, Anlyn could feel the warmth radiating off him. Edison kept scratching the back of one paw through his flight gloves, a habit she hadn’t seen of him before. It made her wonder if he might be more nervous than he was letting on.
Anlyn certainly was. She had briefed the groups earlier, after their weapons training, to let them know about the slight chance they might jump into empty hangar bays, and not to be alarmed. Darrin, she knew quite well, didn’t always operate on a steady schedule. It was more like an orbit of competing firehouses that were on watch at all hours of the day. The difference being: they were poised and ready to go out and start fires.
Anlyn had instructed them to proceed as planned if their asteroid was empty, to just move in and set up ambushes. In many ways, it might make for a smoother mission.
The line moved forward as another squad filed into the fake rift. The members of each group went in two seconds apart, just like when she, Edison, and Ryke had jumped down from the Bern ship to Parsona. As they shuffled forward, the nervous chatter in each group fell silent. Ryke, Walter, and Molly stood by the glowing control console to one side, overseeing the coordinates being fed into the platform.
There was another surge forward, and Anlyn could clearly see the groups ahead disappearing into a dark cleft between two glowing trees, a convincing illusion. Yet another surge, and then there was only one group left ahead of them. Ryke waved his arm, directing each member forward while Walter peered into his little computer, a sneer lit up from its dim glow. The coordinates were changed, and the group ahead moved into the rift one at a time.
Six seconds later, she and Edison were up. Ryke waved. Anlyn caught a darting glance from Walter and saw a worried smile on Molly’s face. Each image was a flash from her surroundings giving her a strobe-like consciousness of all that whirled around her. She gripped her pistol tightly with one hand and pulled her visor down with the other, just in case the garage was open when they arrived. Edison lumbered ahead and into the rift. A perfect shadow took him.
Anlyn counted:
One.
She whispered a call to the Horis for luck.
Two.
And she followed.
••••
Admiral Saunders and his two highest ranking officers comprised the last group of three to step through the rift. Saunders remained skeptical about the mysterious object, even as the long queue ahead of him was swallowed up. He half expected to step between the trees and find his crewmen on the other side, stumbling around in the darkness.
But then it became his turn, and the one they called Doctor Ryke waved him forward. Saunders strode through the glowing gap—
Half a galaxy away, Saunders fell to Earth. He had just enough time in the air to feel a twinge of guilt for the nature of his arrival. He materialized a meter off the ground and landed with a squishy and awkward thud on top of Senator Kennedy’s grave. Along with his burning conscience for such a rude, albeit necessary, landing came a dozen internal stings from the rain his body absorbed out of the Washington sky. Becoming one with the droplets caused flaming sensations like heartburn, only in every part of his body: his arms, legs, and one in his head that felt like an ice-cream headache.
Saunders grimaced in pain as the air beside him popped, followed by a wet splash. He peered through the rain at Commander Sharee as she fell to her knees on top of Robert Kennedy’s grave, her face contorting in agony as she suffered the same internal burns. Lieutenant Robinson came in next, right on John Kennedy’s plot. Saunders’s second-in-command landed gracefully, a puddle splashing up around his Navy blacks, his face as stoic as ever.
Molly’s rift had worked. Defying everything he knew about interspace travel, the three Navy veterans had been magically whisked clear across the galaxy, back to the epicenter of their Naval Empire and the Galactic Union. Saunders’s tactical brain couldn’t help but think what a military boon such knowledge would bring. He had to force himself to remember the importance of his current mission, his brain whirling with potential uses for these rifts.
The three crewmembers checked in with one another, grim smiles on all their faces. They then trudged through the soggy grass toward one of the many twisting concrete paths, their boots and pants mud-splattered and their hair soaked. In a heavy silence, they marched up a wet walkway through Arlington National Cemetery, white tongues sticking up through the green hills all around them as if catching the rain.
Just as they had expected, the cemetery had been a perfect place for them to arrive. It was the nearest known coordinates to the GU’s capital where taboo could be relied upon to keep the air obstruction-free. Of course, Saunders was expecting plenty of other sorts of obstructions as their mi
ssion advanced. He and his two commanding officers might’ve been too old and unfit for the sort of combat the others would see, but they were well familiar with the bureaucratic dogfighting ahead of them.
As the trio stomped up the windy path, they headed for the kind of fight with which they were more familiar. Fights where desktops were their battlefields, words their weapons, intrigue and deception their tactics, and lives were lost by the billions, rather than the thousands.
••••
Molly watched the final group step into the rift and fade into nothingness. The ensuing silence, the heavy emptiness pressing down on the wooded clearing, nearly smothered her. The past day had been a whirlwind of anxious thoughts, of competing chatter, of stomping boots and gun chambers clacking back and forth. There had been a constant chorus of Velcro being adjusted and readjusted… and now all that remained was a comparative silence, making the residual buzzing in her head all the louder. The severity of what their small group had begun, the mission on which she had just launched so many brave souls…
Molly shuddered and looked up through the canopy at the lights twinkling overhead. To try and crush that fleet with a group camped out in the woods seemed as likely as destroying a constellation of stars. The humming in her head continued. In the silence of the vast woods, she could begin to hear her doubts.
“I reckon that went well,” Ryke said. He flicked a series of switches on the console, and its displays faded to black.
“What’s the damage?” Molly asked, referring to their fuel supply.
“Only used up twenty percent of the tank. More than my calculations, but not by much. Each squad took more heavy gear than I would’ve liked.”
Cat came up to help lug the large control console back into Parsona. They only had a few hours to put everything away before flying to the StarCarrier and doing it all over again with the missiles.
“But we still have plenty of fuel for the fireworks?”
“You bet.”
Molly nodded and moved to collect the jump platform from between the trees, but Walter grabbed her arm before she could get there. She turned and saw his reflective skin glowing in the light of his portable computer. He looked up from its screen to face her.
“What is it?” Molly asked. Her Wadi flicked its tongue out at him, then scampered down her back and into one of the cargo pockets on her hip.
“The person in the computer needs you.” He pointed to his handheld device. Molly reached for it, but he pulled it away.
“Inside,” he said.
Shrugging, Molly went to collect the wires so she could spool them up on her way to the cargo bay.
“I’ll get that,” Walter said. “Ssee what your friend wantss.”
“Thanks,” Molly said. She rubbed Walter’s head with one hand, his newly-buzzed stubble scratching her palm. She had no idea what had gotten into him, but he had become incredibly helpful of late.
Molly hurried toward the ship, past Ryke and Cat. She kept one hand on the Wadi’s pocket to minimize its jouncing. When she got to the cargo ramp, she saw Scottie and Ryn arranging the climbing gear across the deck in preparation of their descent through the Carrier.
“You guys about ready?” Molly asked on her way to the cockpit.
“Getting there,” Ryn said.
Molly gave them a thumbs-up over her shoulder. Entering the cockpit, she made sure the speakers and mic were both switched on.
“Everything went well?” Parsona asked.
“From what we can tell, yeah. What’d you wanna see me about?”
“About?”
“You said you needed to speak to me.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, Walter said you wanted me in here.”
“That’s odd. I’m looking at my recollections right now, and I don’t see that exchange anywhere.”
“That is odd,” Molly said. She glanced over her shoulder as Cat and Ryke brought the control console inside.
“Maybe he’s just playing games with you,” Parsona said. “I saw him fooling around with those gruesome arms earlier. I really wish you’d get rid of—”
Molly missed the rest. She stomped through the cargo bay, her skin electric with the paranoia that Walter was up to no good. She swore, if he let her down one more time, she wouldn’t care how many jams he squeezed them out of—she would kill him with her bare hands.
Stepping into the night air, she tried to calm herself by taking a deep breath. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions. She felt the Wadi twirl in her pocket, trying to get comfortable, or maybe tumbling after its tail.
“Hey, Molly,” Walter yelled, calling her from the other side of the ship.
She ducked under the starboard wing and followed the black wires as they rounded the thrusters and headed off toward the imaginary rift. One of the worklights was still on; she could see Walter standing in its pool of photons, his skin reflecting much of it back her way. He stood there, as still as he could be, holding a bundle against his chest.
It looked like a lumpy towel. Some leaves and small twigs stuck to it as if it had been dropped. Molly stormed his direction, preparing to grill him for answers, when he spoke out, hissing:
“I wanna sshow you ssomething.”
Two more long strides, then Molly saw it: The way the leaves were piled up ahead of her—one corner of the jump platform sticking out—the wires doubling back along the ground.
She saw it, but it was too late. Her feet hit the platform, and Walter’s face flashed as he pressed something.
His computer screen winked to life.
And then Molly winked out of the woods.
29 · Darrin
The sensation of complete displacement rocked Anlyn’s senses.
Jumping through hyperspace in a ship was nothing. The cockpit remained the same, even the view from the canopy was normally no more than a jiggling of lights as stars jolted like startled insects. Earlier that day, she had jumped from one cargo bay to another, but even that couldn’t compare—the environs of one locale and the next were too similar.
With the jump to Darrin, however, her senses were totally rocked. The dark, cool forest exploded into light and heat. A fully-lit hangar popped into being around her. Air kept warm against the vacuum of space could be felt through her flightsuit. It was like waking too fast from a deep dream. Anlyn’s eyes struggled to adjust.
Crouched down in front of her, she saw a blurry Edison. His visor was up, his eyes blinking rapidly. She nodded to let him know she was okay.
Edison moved to the side, and Anlyn saw a looming wall of thruster cones beyond him. It was Albert’s new ship, a replacement for the one she’d stolen what seemed like forever ago. It had five thrusters, which she immediately pegged as one of the Darrin II designs. Not quite Lady Liberty, but then business probably wasn’t going so well since Anlyn’s emancipation.
She sized the ship up as she and Edison stole around it and toward the entrance to Albert’s shop. They moved quietly and swiftly, or as much of the former as Edison could muster while Anlyn pushed her limits on the latter.
The door to the shop was unlocked, which meant Edison didn’t need to use his sword to cut their way inside. The door slid back noiselessly and Edison took the lead. And not just because of his bulk and the power of the strange weapon he carried, but because he had actually spent more time freely exploring the asteroid’s corridors than Anlyn ever had. In a few days of being Albert’s guest, he had been given access to the arms dealer’s house in a manner never extended to his slave of so many years.
They passed through the lobby and opened the door to the living quarters, which squeaked as it recessed into the jam. Edison glanced back, and Anlyn thought she could see his flightsuit rippling with nervous fur underneath. He shrugged, and they moved forward through the dimly lit hallway, past the kitchen, leaving the kid’s rooms behind.
They headed directly for the master bedroom.
••••
Albert woke with a s
tart. Some noise—probably Luke rummaging in the kitchen—had disturbed his dreams. He listened to the sound of his wife breathing: deep, peaceful snuffles. He rolled over gently, pulled the covers up to his shoulder, and wiggled his face close to her hair to breathe in the calming scent of her shampoo.
Then the bedroom door opened, letting in a spill of light from the hallway. Must’ve been Jenni that woke him, having trouble sleeping again. With a deep sigh, Albert rolled to the other side, pulling back the comforter to let her in, resigned to an evening of no sleep, to another long night of bruised shins from her infernal, nocturnal, kicking—
The light in the hallway went out. Not out, exactly—it became blocked by something. Beneath Albert’s confused and sleepy surface thoughts, something triggered an alarm. Some part of him knew, from night after night of repetition, that the amount of light shielded didn’t match his little Jenni.
He reached for the lamp beside his bed, but the overhead light came on first.
And the thing from the hallway rumbled closer.
••••
The plan was to be generous, to give Albert the quick death he had done nothing to deserve. One shot from Anlyn’s gun to the chest, another to the head, nothing said to his wife. No kids would be involved if it could be helped. They would grab the forcefield controls, get the ship, and make it to the rendezvous point. Quick and uncomplicated.
Edison did his part, bursting through the door, hitting the lights, making sure the room was secure, then getting to one side so she would have a clear shot.
But the barrier between her pistol’s plasma and Albert’s heart wasn’t a physical one. That wasn’t what stopped her. The real barrier, one she didn’t foresee needing to overcome, was some internal system linked between her brain and the tendons in her finger. It wouldn’t allow the latter to constrict. Anlyn took several steps forward, as if proximity would help her overcome the paralysis, but it just made things worse. She thought it would be easy, that the years of abuse, pain, and torture would steer her toward release, but the opposite was true. Albert’s power over her came trembling back, reminding her how meek and subservient she had been.
