Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

over her ship.

She really wanted to believe this.

Another set of hinges sang out loudly, off-key. Molly was pulled to a halt, the hood roughly tugged off her head as they shoved her into a cell. Metal clanged behind her; somewhere in the distance she heard Cole yelling her name. The cry was cut off with an oomph.

Molly was alone. In a stone cubicle. A mesh of thick steel bars covered the side through which she’d been pushed. The opposite wall was solid rock with a square window cut out of it, spanned with two bars.

Beyond, she could see the far side of what appeared to be a massive canyon. The wind moaned as it tore across the small opening before her. She leaned close to the bars, focusing on a series of vertical streaks of white on the other canyon wall. They waved slightly, like strings hanging in a breeze. Waterfalls. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them plummeting into the void.

The window was too cramped to see to the bottom of the canyon, but she thought she could hear the rush of a river below. So this was one of the Palan canyons. The new context jarred more memories of the Palan rains. Facts memorized for a test percolated into her long-term memory. She could visualize the planet, its sole continent a high plateau carved with deep ruts. The water rushed across it from the rains and into an ocean more vast than her Pacific. Molly cursed herself for concentrating on star charts for this trip, neglecting to study any of the planets between. That oversight was costing her.

She gripped the bars and allowed the cool wind from the canyon to punish her shivering body. The steel was unnecessary, she realized. Unless her captors were simply trying to block an easy way out. How fitting: a world of notorious criminals and pirates had concocted a method of containment so simple, so effective, and so hopeless. They’d just carved it into the side of a canyon and provided prisoners with an open window through which they could chuck any hope of escape.

Molly sat down on the stone ledge carved out of one wall. She rested elbows on knees, then noticed the hole in the cell floor for the first time. Scurrying over to investigate, she wished she hadn’t. The hole was a funnel carved out of solid stone, leading down to an opening about a decimeter across. The mess caked on the edges marked its purpose clearly.

She recoiled away from the discovery and sat back on the rock cot. For just a moment, she was glad she’d had nothing to eat or drink in half a day.

There was a rattle at her door.

“Sstay back, prissoner.” A large Palan with hairy arms and a broad, metallic face worked the lock. As he opened the door, a smaller man stepped around him, his hands behind his back.

“Molly Fyde?” the thinner man asked.

“Yes!” she nearly leapt up to clasp the man, thrilled someone would know her, for whatever reason.

The Palan brought his hands in front of him; he was holding a stack of papers pressed flat on top of her leather reader case. Molly settled back down on the ledge, the excitement drained from her.

“A nursse?” He thumbed through the medical records, pages from Cole’s conspiracy file.

“What? No, no. Those were—it’s nothing. I’m just a student. I’m here for a ship called the Parsona. My father left it to me. It’s all in there.”

“Yesss. Much paper in here. Not all of it real, though.” He smiled up at her. “But at leasst your name iss real. Your reaction told me.” His smile broadened at his own cleverness. “Now, prissoner Fyde, why are you trying to rob me of my sship?”

“Your ship?” Anger welled up. “Who are you? The Navy paid you fair and square!”

She’d said too much; she saw it in his reaction, the way his head tilted to the side and his eyes widened.

“No matter, prisoner Fyde. You’ll not be tried for a theft you never got around to. Drummond’ss death and the messs you made on the avenue last night will be enough.” He sorted the paper back into the pouch.

“Enough for what? Who are you?”

“Enough for your death, prissoner Fyde; you will be tried in court. To ansswer your query: we are the Hommul. We are in charge of Palan Ssecurity now. The Ssmitthss…” her captor seethed with effort, “…are no more. And neither iss whatever deal you had with them.”

With that, he turned and left. The brute of a Palan standing in the hallway sealed her door with a loud clack. Both silvery men shuffled off in the direction she thought Cole had been taken.

A trial? From these guys? She couldn’t imagine what their concept of justice would be like. Certainly bribes had a lot to do with it—bribes and bartering seemed to rule the Palan economy—but Molly had no money. She knew Cole had some funds from the Navy, but surely the pirates would’ve taken that, along with everything else they owned.

Molly fought back the black cloud swirling inside her and recalled last night: how lucky she was just to be alive. She went to the window, pulled in large gulps of fresh air tinged with the scent of water and vegetation, and tried to remain positive.

A scuffling sound behind her interrupted her meditation. She turned to find a Palan boy smaller than herself standing outside the bars. “Food and water,” he said, holding something out to her.

Molly approached the gate cautiously, looking into the silver eyes of a boy her own age, maybe younger. His coppery hair was trimmed back short, his clothes baggy, but not stylishly so. More like hand-me-downs he’d been forced to wear.

“Thank you.” She reached through the bars and took the two metal tins. One sloshed with a yellowish fluid, the other rattled with large brown pebbles of what she assumed, by the process of elimination, must be food.

The boy turned to go.

“Wait!” she said. “What’s your name?”

He turned back to her and smiled. “Walter,” he said.

“Hi, Walter. I’m Molly.”

“I know. Molly Fyde. I heard. And don’t worry, the trial will be very quick.”

“Quick? How quick?”

“Today,” he said. And Molly couldn’t tell if it was a smile now, or a sneer. The boy returned to his cart and was about to move on.

“I have lots of money,” she lied.

Walter turned and approached the bars. “Palan people can ssmell a lie,” he informed her. “Even the day before the rainss we can ssmell a lie. You have nothing.”

“I have a ship.”

Walter sniffed. “Maybe you had a sship. But my uncle hass it now. One day I will have it.” He turned to go; Molly pressed on.

“Only if your uncle is still in power long enough. Look, let’s barter, okay? I can’t give you the ship, but I can get you a reward for getting me out of here. Help me and my friend escape, and I’ll take you off this planet to more money than you can dream of.”

“Leave Palan?” He snorted. “Why would I want to go? What iss there for me beyond Palan?” It was definitely a sneer.

“Whatever you want. No more working for your uncle. The Navy’ll reward you for helping us. Richly.” There was a ripple across his metallic-looking visage. He looked Molly up and down, and she suddenly became aware of the way her soaked shirt clung to her chest and wondered whether the boy would be more likely to help her or hurt her.

“I’m the daughter of an Admiral in the Earth Navy,” she told him. “You could have more riches than your uncle ever dreamed of. I promise.” Even if the boy betrayed her to his uncles, this information might make her freedom worth bartering for. Lucin would be outraged at how this had turned out, but Molly didn’t see any other path to take. Besides, she wouldn’t be in this mess if Navy personnel had cooperated.

Walter sniffed the air, his nose creeping up toward the rock ceiling. “You do not lie. Interesssting.”

Molly tried to think of more to say as Walter pushed his cart of food and water cans further down the aisle of cells. Over the rattling of the tins and the noise of metal wheels scraping on rock, she could hear the strange boy mumbling to himself in a different language, one devoid of anything that hissed—like the sounds of flooding