Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

Cole glanced from Walter, to the empty lift, then over at the Stanley. The android gave him a fake smile and joined his potential clients in the neighboring elevator. The doors closed, meeting with a soft thud.

“We musst hurry,” Walter said. Cole nodded. He watched the boy hold his computer level and stare down at it, swiveling in place as if he needed to line up the virtual with the real in order to get his bearings. He pointed to one of the glass partitions, then started walking in that direction; Cole followed.

The stolen passcard opened the glass door without a problem, and they hurried inside as an elevator dinged behind them. “Down here,” Cole snapped, grabbing Walter and pulling him into the first hallway.

“No,” Walter complained. “Third on the left!”

Cole put his hand on the Palan’s mouth and tried not to recoil at the odd coolness of the boy’s flesh. “In a second,” he whispered. “We have to wait for the lobby to be empty.”

Walter nodded and shoved himself away from Cole, shooting him a nasty look. They remained in the side hall, staring at each other, waiting for the muffled voices to leave. Cole finally looked away from Walter’s sneer and up and down the hallway. The doors looked identical to the ones they’d been shown earlier. A meter square. Stacked four high.

The only difference: these had names on them.

••••

“I’m so happy to see the two of you getting along,” Parsona chirped as she arranged a tray of snacks and tea on the coffee table. It suddenly struck Molly how different this Parsona seemed from the other one she’d been getting to know.

Could they really be the same person? she wondered. Could years of different experiences alter someone this much, or does perpetual happiness do something weird to a person?

“Oh, yes, we’re getting along famously,” Mr. Byrne answered. “And I think we’re going to have a lot of time for catching up.” He smiled at Molly. “More than enough time.”

“I just wish Mortimor could be here. I can’t tell you how lovely that would be.”

“I would love that as well,” Mr. Byrne said through a tight smile.

Molly gritted her simulated teeth. He was toying with her, and it drove her crazy. Then, something occurred to her—

“Why am I doing this?” she asked out loud.

“Doing what, dear?” Parsona blew across her tea, poised for her first sip.

Molly stood up from her chair. “This.” She spread her arms out. “Pretending that any of this is real. Listening to this creep tell me—”

The room shivered. Molly looked at her feet as the floor waved. Her dress became a brighter shade of yellow, spotted with cheery flowers.

“Now, now,” her mother chided her teasingly. “Let’s not spoil the mood.”

Molly leaned down close to her mom and pointed at Mr. Byrne. “Who in hyperspace is he?”

“Mollie! Language, please.”

But Molly was in no mood for pleasantries. She had no idea how much time she had left, and she couldn’t afford to leave these two together.

“It isn’t a coincidence that we’re here at the same time, Mom. I think this guy followed me here. I think he wants something from you. I—”

“Please,” Parsona said, “let’s settle down, dear.”

Molly opened her mouth to continue, but Mr. Byrne interrupted. “She’s right, Parsona,” he said. “I did come here because of her.”

“What?” Parsona asked.

“I told you,” said Molly.

Mr. Byrne leaned over and put one hand on Parsona’s arm. “I came as soon as the gentlemen here at LIFE called. They said your daughter had arrived to visit with you after sixteen years of neglect.”

He looked up at Molly, an evil grin on his face.

“And I think she came here to kill you.”

••••

Cole peeked around the corner and watched the elevator doors snap shut. They were alone again. He turned to tell Walter, but the boy had already rushed down the hall. Cole set off after him, voicing his doubts: “How could they have gotten her down here this fast? We were with her just half an hour ago.”

“How long did it take uss to get down here?” Walter hissed over his shoulder.

“Maybe she talked them into showing her the body. That was always the prime objective here, anyway.”

“Here sshe iss,” Walter announced. He stopped in front of a column of square doors about thirty meters into the corridor. He glanced at his computer as if to confirm it, but he shouldn’t have needed to. Her drawer was the third from the bottom, the handle a little over two meters off the ground. Beside it, the LCD readout showed, plain as day: “Mollie Fyde.”

“Damn,” Cole said.

“Ssee?”

“You think it’s safe to open it? I mean, if she’s in there?”

“Iss it ssafe not to?”

Cole frowned, then held out his hand. Walter reluctantly placed his stolen pass-card in it.

“I want that back,” Walter told him.

Reaching up, Cole swiped the card through the reader, which made the LCD screen flash green, just as the demo unit had. A faint clicking noise followed. Cole grabbed the handle and gave it a tug; the door snapped open. A thick metal tray slid out slowly, like a robotic tongue.

Neither of them could see what lie on top. Walter hopped as high as he could, over and over. Cole grabbed the edge and put a foot on the lowest handle on the wall. He pulled himself up and peered inside.

The tongue mocked him. The mouth was empty.

••••

Molly felt her face flush with heat after Byrne’s accusation. She couldn’t fib well, even in a simulated world. She thought it would be safe to drag the discussion out into the open: What could possibly hurt me in this make-believe place?

Parsona studied her face, eyes wide and searching. The scrutiny felt torturous, mostly because Byrne had spoken the truth.

“I’m not—” she began, but the world shivered, losing substance.

“I’ll not hear any more of this,” Parsona said flatly. The cabin disappeared. A dark room took its place. Light and noise from behind Molly made her spin around.

It was a play. Characters on a stage danced while a melodious voice carried through the room from some unseen singer.

“Sit down,” someone hissed at her.

Molly spun around and searched for the source of the complaint. Around her, a shapeless crowd shifted and stirred in the darkness. She looked for an escape, but knees walled her off on either side. An empty seat, obviously meant for her, seemed to scoot forward. Her mother and Mr. Byrne glared at her from the next row back.

“Mother, please. Get us out of—”

“Shhhhhhh!” sang a chorus of leaking air.

“Stop it!” Molly yelled at her mother.

The theater descended into a deeper darkness, then a bright light flashed in Molly’s eyes. A stranger in a mask leaned over her. She tried to ask a question, but she couldn’t speak. Molly fought with her arms and legs, but she was strapped down tight, her mouth forced open and tasting of metal.

In the back of her throat, a puddle of her own spit threatened to drown her. She tried to shake her head back and forth, but a padded headrest constrained even that movement. “Nnngh,” she managed.

“Suction, please,” the man said, his blue mask puffing out with the words.

Molly felt more metal in her mouth and heard the slurping sound of her saliva being pulled from under her tongue. Her eyes widened with fear, but relief from the drowning came as the puddle of spit was removed.