Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions

Z-HQ StarCarrier Zebra

••••

Molly scanned the report one more time, frowning at the results of the hyperspace signature scan. Somehow, it actually felt comforting to know what had happened, that Cole had definitely jumped into an object with mass and would likely have ended up in hyperspace. But how had he mistakenly jumped into a star? Did Riggs play some part in that? She peeked up at Walter, who was holding his empty gelate to the sun as if to make the ice melt faster.

The database search also showed the older memos linked to the most recent one. She glanced over the one detailing her and Cole’s escape from the Academy, but she didn’t read it. She could get lost in that memory: the door banging, Lucin yelling, the silent shots, just a crinkle of glass and a life ended…

The overall image created by the search results made her feel nauseous. Two escapes, several deaths, theft of Navy property, and a string of violence. She couldn’t imagine what more the higher-ups would be saying about her if they weren’t so busy dealing with the Bern invasion overhead, or the rumored expansion of Drenard hostilities.

Her mother, of course, had insisted that none of this was her fault, that perhaps things foreseen couldn’t be stopped—but Molly didn’t believe that. The mistakes she’d made, with the Navy and now on Lok, it was Glemot all over again. But unimaginably, impossibly, on an even larger scale.

“You’re wassting the connection,” Walter hissed.

Molly shook her head and looked back to the screen. She tried searching for: “Cat; Catherine; Lok,” but once again got too many hits to weed through them or make sense of it all. Most went too far back to be the correct person. She cleared the computer screen and handed it to Walter, then thought about the odd fatality count reported from Palan. She felt certain four people had died in those flooded streets. And yet: Lucin, Saunders, and now the official reports all claimed three. Did someone survive the rains? Or did they just not find the body?

“We’re in trouble,” Walter hissed.

Molly snapped her head around, her hands moving to the table and ready to push off, to flee or fight. The Wadi, asleep in her lap, jumped up and hit its head on the bottom of the table and came out woozy. But Walter was just looking at the computer. She could see the reports she’d just found back up on the screen.

“Close that stuff out!” she hissed at him. “And you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

He looked up. “Ssorry, but if you didn’t want me to ssee it, you sshould’ve cleared the hisstory tab.”

Molly settled back down, her heart racing. “No, Walter, that’s not the way it works.” She patted the Wadi on the head, comforting it, then leaned forward, hoping he’d see how serious she was. “If I wanted you to see what I was looking at, I would’ve left it up or shown it to you, understand? You can’t take stuff that’s not offered to you. At the very least, you need to learn to ask.”

“Why? If I don’t take it, ssomeone elsse will. What’ss the differencse? It’ss sstill taken, but then I don’t have it.”

“You shouldn’t even want something stolen. You—haven’t you ever had someone give you something?”

“No, not—” he looked down at his flightsuit, his name scrawled across the breast with a black marker. “Thiss,” he said, placing one hand on his chest.

“Okay, and how do you feel about that flightsuit? You love it, right?”

Walter nodded.

“More than that computer, am I right? And yes, I know you stole the computer from your uncle back on Palan.”

Walter looked at his computer, then ran his fingers over the bare patch of material on his suit where he had printed his name.

“I like the computer better,” he said.

Molly threw her hands up. “Oh, forget it.” She threw some credit chips on the table for a tip and shooed the Wadi up to her shoulder.

“C’mon, I think the waitress is telling us to buy something or scram. We’ll go hang at the square for an hour and wait until the show starts.”

She stood up and began weaving through the tables to reach the alley. Walter remained seated. He stared at his computer some more, then looked down at his flightsuit.

“Thiss iss my favorite outfit,” he muttered to himself.

12

Anlyn piloted the Bern ship through the Great Rift, sliding from one galaxy to another. As she scanned the backdrop of stars ahead of her, checking out the various structures floating in the void beyond, Edison began his prepared spiel in flawless Bern. She couldn’t understand most of the individual words—her Bern in deplorable shape for a member of royalty—but she’d helped write the speech in Drenard, so she could somewhat keep up, translating in her head:

“Greetings, members of the great Bern race. We come unarmed and without malice. Please do not fire upon us. As ambassadors for the Drenard empire, we wish to communicate, nothing more. Please do not fire. We wish to speak in peace with your cultural representatives.”

Edison lowered the mic and Anlyn checked the SADAR screen, or whatever the Bern called their version of it. Seeing nothing, she peered forward, squinting at the large structures floating silently in the distance.

“Another iteration?” Edison asked.

Anlyn shook her head. “I don’t think anyone will hear you.” She spread her hands toward the view through the canopy. “Where are the ships? All the activity?”

“The prophecy contained much accuracy,” Edison said, chortling.

Anlyn didn’t laugh. She settled back into her seat and grabbed the flight controls, spinning the ship in place. “We should tell Bishar. The Circle will want to—”

She fell silent. Looking back, a solid wall of gold stood in the open slit of space. The last hole in the barrier could be seen squeezing shut, one of the armored canisters brought forward and locked into place.

Anlyn reached for the radio. “Bishar, this is Anlyn, respond.” She waited a moment for a reply. “Hello? Anyone, please answer.”

Nothing.

Her hand dropped to her lap in frustration.

Edison took the radio from her grasp and returned it to the dash. “Reveal your ruminations,” he said.

“You want to know what I think? I’m starting to wonder what we’re doing here. Where are the Bern? I don’t—we aren’t supposed to be doing this by ourselves.” Anlyn looked down at her lap. “Those two boys playing with your lance… what were their names—?”

“Who? You speak with adequate volume,” Edison said, “but it appears self-directed.”

“This was all a mistake. Everything. The speech, the prophecy, all those people…” Anlyn glanced over at Edison, then looked away. “I’m sorry, I think I really messed up this time—”

Edison reached over and squeezed her arm; he growled in her native tongue: “Love, are we more lost than when we met?”

Anlyn thought about that.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “But back then, we had at least known what galaxy we were in.”

“Ceti,” said Edison, switching back to English.

“What?” Anlyn lifted her head.

“We currently occupy the galaxy designated Ceti by the Terran federation.” He gestured to the screen ahead of him, then clacked a few buttons with his claws and the image zoomed in. “Observe. Our position is precisely determined.” He flashed his teeth.