Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

Molly could see Parsona’s profile standing above the sleeker Firehawks. She, Cole, and Riggs angled in the ship’s direction, walking down the wide landing strip at the center of the hangar. The vast cavern bulged with metal shapes, but no crewmen. It appeared they’d be strolling out of here as casually as they liked.

Something about that filled Molly with unease. She had grown accustomed to nothing coming easily or without great cost. This felt like one of those gifts she’d pay dearly for later.

Riggs tried to make things interesting once by pulling away from Cole and stumbling for a few steps. His laces, however, made large strides impossible, and Cole caught up to him quickly, preventing Riggs from hurting himself in a fall to the metal decking.

“Stop that!” he told Riggs in a tone that suggested several earlier attempts.

Molly hurried to resume her spot by one of his arms. A dozen steps further, Cole led them close to a Firehawk. Molly looked up and saw Riggs’s name stenciled below the cockpit as the captain of the ship. “Marcelli” was listed as the navigator.

Walter sat on the decking by the Firehawk—leaning over a portable computer. Wires trailed from his screen up to an access hatch on the side of the ship. He beamed when he saw her.

“Molly!” He stood and ran over, throwing his small arms around her waist. She patted his back and thanked him—quite a departure from what she’d previously been planning if she ever saw him again.

He smiled up at her. “Almosst ready,” he hissed.

“Did you disable the Firehawk’s weapons systems?” Cole asked, indicating the wires tethering his computer to the craft.

Walter sneered. “Among other thingss,” the boy said cryptically.

Cole shrugged. “Great. How long before we can go?”

“Almosst ready,” he repeated.

“I’m gonna need help getting Riggs in the cockpit,” Cole told Molly. Riggs shook his head at this and tried yelling inside of his own mouth, his cheeks puffing out.

“What’re we gonna do with him? Why not leave him here?”

“Two reasons: I really don’t wanna add Firehawk theft to my rapidly expanding criminal resume, so he’ll be needed to fly the thing back. And, unless you want to locate his auth chip and cut it out of him, we’re gonna need his full presence in the Firehawk to tow Parsona out. Hold him for a sec.”

Molly held Riggs’s arm. Her old friend’s eyes locked onto hers and flashed with raw malice. Cole grabbed a nearby boarding platform and rolled the steps over to line up with the cockpit.

“You don’t think Walter could bypass the auth code?” Molly asked.

“I didn’t ask. Okay, here’s the plan: once we get clear of the fleet, you’ll power up Parsona. By the time she shows up on the Navy’s SADAR, it’ll be too late. We’ll jump both ships to a rendezvous point where I’ll shut the Firehawk down, pop the cockpit, and push off to you. You pick me up, and we’ll jump out of there long before Riggs can reboot the ship or the Navy can trace the exit point of our jump signature. Easy as pie.”

Molly shook her head. “I don’t like it,” she said, as she helped pull Riggs up to the cockpit. He tried to kick off the steps, so Cole reached down and grabbed the knot of his shoestrings, pulling both of his feet up. Molly held up half of him with both arms, and they literally carried him up the steps.

“What don’t you like? We need the Firehawk’s signature on SADAR to get out of here, and we need Riggs’s auth code to get the signature.” They pushed Riggs down in the navigator’s seat and Cole fastened his harness, locking him in place. Riggs wiggled, testing them, and blew out his cheeks. Molly pulled Cole down the steps.

“I don’t like bringing him along. I know what you’re doing, and I love that about you, but Riggs is not going to come around, especially not bound and gagged. He’s not our friend anymore, Cole. I mean, he thinks I’m working with the Drenards, for galaxy’s sake. Walter can easily—”

Cole pulled her further down the steps. “Technically, you are a Drenard.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, and you know I need to try. I just need some more time with him.”

“I get that, that’s fine, but all this vacuum transfer nonsense—it just feels too risky.” Molly glanced up at the cockpit. “Why don’t we just meet at Lok? It’s only a few jumps from here—”

“That’s even riskier,” Cole said. “The Navy will have two signatures to follow and more motivation to catch us. Plus, do you really want Riggs knowing where we go and what we do there?”

“Isn’t that the reason you want him along?”

Cole shook his head. “Gods, I don’t know. Maybe I’m being selfish; maybe I just want him to not hate us.”

“Hey, if you need to do this for you, that’s an even more compelling argument. Just say so. But no cowboy transfers in the vacuum. Let’s meet on Lok and stagger our jump coordinates, give the Navy two trails to sniff. If we both double back at least once, or they’re slow to mobilize, they’ll never find us.”

Cole sighed. “Okay. The only logistical problem left is coordinating the tow without the fleet picking up our transmission over the radios. I haven’t quite sorted out how we’re gonna time that.”

Molly smiled. “Let’s go change into our flightsuits. I have just the thing.”

••••

“Can you hear me?” Molly thought.

“Loud and clear,” came Cole’s words, but in Molly’s voice. “The helmet makes the band ride down to my ears, though.”

“Same here. What we need to do is sew these things into the liners. It’d be stellar to not have to thumb the mic to talk in the cockpit.”

“Or worry that Walter’s listening in,” Cole added.

“Then again, it might not be too nebular to have Cole hearing everything,” Molly thought to herself.

“Like what?”

“Huh?… That, uh, was a joke, silly. Um, my thrusters are warm if you wanna pull in the lock.”

“Roger.”

Molly watched the Firehawk rise off the hangar deck and fly down the center lane. She lifted up Parsona and pulled into his wash, following him toward the massive airlock at the end of the bay. During major engagements, the entire deck would be depressurized, pilots and navigators using the dozens of personnel locks to enter the StarCarrier’s vacuum, allowing rapid take-offs and landings. For maintenance and patrol, the entire bay was kept pressurized to allow support personnel to work freely and without helmets.

With a little maneuvering, both ships fit in the airlock with room to spare.

Molly didn’t have a prisoner to watch, so cable-duty fell to her. She typed a caution to her mother in the nav computer, moved the Wadi from her lap to the back of her seat, and gave Walter a pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t touch anything,” she told him for the third time.

He smiled through his visor and turned in the nav seat to watch her go. Molly grabbed the commercial nanotube towline and stomped down the cargo ramp.

Outside, she snapped one end to the eyebolt under Parsona’s nose. The cockpit glass was too far above for her to check in on Walter, filling her with paranoia that he might be fiddling with instruments on the dash, or discovering her mother. She had to force herself to not rush the job.

Double-checking the connection on her ship, she  made sure the release mechanism wasn’t stuck, then pulled the line to the back of Riggs’s Firehawk, careful of the hot metal around the thrusters. She secured the other end of the line to a tow bolt outside the jet wash’s cone of influence.

“All set,” she thought to Cole.

“Great. Make sure you shut everything down—”

“I know.”

“And after we disconnect the tow line, let me pull away before you jump out—”

“I know the plan, Cole.”

“Come up to the nose for a sec.”

Molly walked quickly to the front of the Firehawk, ducking under the stubby wings. She was surprised to see the hatch open, Cole’s visor up.

“Problem?” she asked.