Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

the poor pup was used to eating like that regularly. It had been a unique and glorious one-time event for her, but for his taste buds, it was the accepted standard. Eating would probably never be the same for him.

Albert snuck up behind Molly and put an arm across her shoulders, causing her to flinch like the chained-up Drenard. “Is the furry one your Weapons Officer?” he asked her.

They didn’t have a weapons officer, she nearly told him. They’d never had any weapons before; they’d only been a crew for two weeks. Fortunately, she stopped herself, understanding the need to tell Albert as little as possible. She already felt as if he knew too much.

“Actually, that would be Cole,” she finally said. “He also does navigation duties.”

“Ah, excellent! Then I can deal with one person for both armaments and the star charts we discussed. I’m assuming you’re still interested in that triple package? It really can’t be beat, you know. And I’ll provide free updates for the next fifty years, just stop back by anytime. Now, Walter and I have been talking payment. The chap is very sharp, thinks highly of some of the goods you guys have to offer. But I have to tell you, the Navy tech he’s bartering with isn’t quite as rare as he’s making out. I’ll be doing you a favor, honestly, to take it off your hands. But don’t you worry about any of that nonsense just yet. Let’s eat some dinner and get some rest. We’ll have plenty of time for business tomorrow.”

But Molly couldn’t relax on command, even if she wanted to.

••••

Later, in her bunk, her belly stuffed with a home-cooked meal, Molly still couldn’t make herself relax. Despite her exhaustion, there was no way she’d be able to sleep. And it wasn’t just seeing the Drenard for a second time —curled up in a ball on the cockpit floor as they returned from dinner. Nor was it the pressure of the business to conduct the following day. These didn’t help, to be sure, but Molly’s torment came from other thoughts.

First, she couldn’t help but second-guess her decision to avoid the Navy. Cole was persuasive with his theories, but she trusted Lucin completely, which made running feel wrong. Was she really betraying the closest thing she had to a family just because some dreamy boy batted his eyes at her? Lucin would feel betrayed when Parsona returned with chaff pods and laser canons. It seemed logical to her when she agreed to this mess, but now she was hearing her crazy explanation from Lucin’s perspective, and it sounded like pure gibberish.

Then there were the deaths she’d been responsible for. Glemot was almost too big a mistake to fully comprehend. Even as used as she’d been, she felt the full weight of a race’s genocide on her shoulders. The depression she’d dipped into briefly wouldn’t leave her, as hard as she tried to fake it for Cole’s sake. She could feel how edgy and dangerous she’d become, able to snap without provocation. It worried her.

And the more personal, up-close deaths haunted her with a more vivid ferocity. The sight of Edison flaying that council member. The numbness in her elbow when she struck that Navy man. The look on his face as the rains of Palan smeared him against that windshield.

Her big adventure and romance in space had turned into a mess larger than herself. Other people were getting hurt. She had watched everything she’d hoped for and dreamed of dissipate into the cosmos or get crushed into small pieces.

Molly wondered what the other kids at Avalon High would be up to right then. How great it must feel to be developmentally stunted. They could be physical adults, but gloriously brain-dead from years of rote memorization and regurgitation. Numb to the world from playing with toys well into adulthood rather than being honed for the ugly reality of a dangerous life. Molly had always felt so superior to those kids: beyond them in wisdom, power and ability. But that solid view was developing cracks. Which of them was happier right now? Which of them continued to hurt the universe?

Molly tossed her body to its other side, trying to find a comfortable pose, as if the conundrum were physical. She had no idea how long she’d been doing this, or what time it was, when she thought she heard a noise echo back from the front of her ship. She sat upright, already developing the unnatural skill that all pilots and captains possess: the attenuation to any change in the direction of their ship’s heading and a sensitivity to any foreign sound, however slight.

She slid out of bed and pulled on her jumpsuit, eager to be awake and doing something rather than in bed and dwelling on her sadness. As she slipped her shoes on, she found herself hoping it was Cole, unable to sleep himself. Hopefully he’d be willing to talk some. Because if it was Walter reorganizing the cargo bay at this hour, she was going to have a hard time being nice.

Unfortunately, Molly had no plan for what to do if it was Albert Gaines nosing into their ship’s computer.

28

“What in hyperspace are you doing?”

Albert was leaning over the flight controls, fiddling with something on her dash. Molly felt an intense burning sensation creep along the surface of her scalp. Her entire being wanted to reach out and see if that damn shield of his was active.

“Molly!” he turned and beamed. He held a small device up for her to see. “Just checking your nav computer, seeing which adapter I would need to get those star charts installed. Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Well you should have,” she spat.

“Of course, of course. Hey, this is a strange collection of gear you have here. Some really nice stuff mixed in with some obsolete—I hate to use the word ‘junk, but let’s not beat around the bush, okay? Maybe after we get you set up with defenses and charts we can talk about swapping this SADAR out for something, let’s say—more ‘appropriate’ for the type of work this ship was designed for. I could probably work out a discount on the chaff pods if we did that trade.”

“The SADAR unit stays,” she said. “It was my father’s.”

She immediately regretted saying this. Her anger and lack of sleep made this conversation potentially dangerous. She took a deep breath. “Look, just… please get off my ship. I’m tired and we can do our business later, okay?”

“Sure. Absolutely. No offense meant. I’m a full-service kind of guy. You get your rest and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll check back in with you in a few hours.”

Molly waited for him to leave. She listened to the traitorous swish of her own airlock obeying his commands and then crawled into Cole’s navigation seat and tried to get some sleep.

When a hand squeezed her shoulder hours later, Molly incorporated it into a bad dream featuring Albert and Drenards. She nearly snapped the arm connected to the hand, but it shot back in fear.

“Wow. Easy, tiger. Just checking in on you.”

It was Cole.

“Gods,” Molly groaned. “You scared the hell out of me. Don’t do that.”

“Do what? I touched you. And you’re in my chair.”

Molly rubbed her eyes and tried to twist the cramp out of her back. “Technically, Cole, every chair in this ship is mine.”

“Man. I was just checking in on you. I got scared when you weren’t in your room, and the door was open and I couldn’t get through the airlock to go find you. Sorry for being worried.” He turned and stalked out to the cargo bay.

“I’m sorry,” Molly called after him. “Cole, wait. I was having bad dreams, you just scared me, okay? I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

She leaned around the seat to see if he’d heard. He paused near the crew seats, his back to her. “It’s fine,” he said. “Don’t sweat it. It’s my fault, I guess. I… I keep forgetting that I’m just along for the ride.”

“That’s not true,” said Molly. “We’re in this together.”

Cole looked back over his shoulder. “Are we? ’Cause I thought you were running to the Navy when we got outta here. That you felt like I was controlling you—”

“I didn’t mean that. My head’s been screwy since Glemot…” She glanced at the other chair. “If you wanna talk…”