Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

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.”