Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions

armless man to his side.

“What in the galaxy is going on?” Cole asked. “What is this place? And my friend, is he—?”

“Do you know who I am?” the man interrupted.

“You were on Dakura,” Cole said. “You—you were kidnapping Molly. Byrne, right? What were you planning on doing with—?”

“With Mollie?” Byrne smiled. “I thought she was you.”

“What?”

Byrne settled back in his ornate chair and closed his eyes, smiling.

“Are you talking to someone right now? Is that my band?”

Byrne opened his eyes. “Was your band. And I think it was ordained that you bring it to me. I’ll have you know that I’m truly savoring this.”

Cole watched the men shuffle around at the base of the tall pedestal, out of earshot. Joshua’s blonde hair was no longer among them. The group moved to and fro somewhat faster than normal—twitching and jerking—but nothing like the distant crew, who continued to race around impossibly fast.

Cole turned to Byrne. “None of this is real, is it? I’m dreaming, right?”

“Oh, no,” Byrne said. “You are not dreaming. I am.”

Cole rubbed his hands through his hair and acted like he was drying them on his flightsuit. He felt his pockets for the utility knife or the band, but found nothing. He rubbed the edges of Mortimor’s name patch, the detail and consistency of some things causing him to doubt he was dead, dying, or dreaming.

“So, what, we’re just gonna sit here? You’re not gonna tell me where I am or how my friend’s doing?”

“Petty concerns, Chosen One.” Byrne laughed, shaking his head. “I dreamed of this day in a million different ways, but never like this. Sitting with you, in hyperspace, the invasion underway, this will be an enjoyable report to write.” He glanced down at his own shoulder, the sleeve of his thin, white shirt tied in a knot where his arm should be.

“Enjoyable to dictate, perhaps,” he said.

Cole leaned back and rubbed his face. “You’re talking in riddles, man. What invasion?”

Byrne turned to him. “Just how little do you know?”

“Less than zero. Seriously. I feel like I just woke up in someone else’s body. Why is everything moving so fast out there? And what’s this prophecy and chosen one nonsense? Who are you? Is my friend going to be okay?”

Byrne pursed his lips, his thin mouth set at an angle. Cole imagined a nonexistent hand reaching up to scratch his chin, completing the pose.

“How were you supposed to stop something you never understood?” Byrne wondered aloud.

“By accident?” Cole offered.

Byrne smiled. “I suppose. Strange that Mollie came so close to stopping the invasion. I should’ve known she was no Drenard.”

Cole swallowed. Loudly. “What does being a Drenard have to do with anything? Or are you just trying to frustrate me before you kill me?”

Byrne shook his head. “That’s the problem with you Humans, always thinking we want you dead for the pure thrill of it.” He paused, his thin eyebrows coming down. “Nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Humans?” Cole studied the man’s face closely, looking for some major difference. “What are you?”

“We’re known in this area as the Bern, but we go by many names. We are everywhere. This is our universe, and it has been for many passings. You… you are one of us. Well, almost.” Byrne gazed up at the black shapes barely visible through the whizzing streaks of snow.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. How much time does my friend have—?”

“Time.” Byrne laughed, his voice oddly full and thick for so thin a frame. “Time does strange things here, that’s for sure. Take the mast behind us. When time meets it, each quanta of moment— the very constituent particles that move events along—they split in two and then split again. All those particles pass through the slits, propelling this magnificent collection of metal and men forward. Ingenious. Almost Bern-like to have been crafted by Humans. And for one such as myself, who the eons have made impatient, that makes this such a wonderful spot to rest. To usher events along.” He looked over at Cole. “If you wanted to live forever, you would just need to spend a few hours a day up here, letting time split around you, undoing the decay. Or, if you wanted to meet your end faster, in mere moments even, try your luck on the other side.” Byrne smiled.

“I don’t understand,” Cole said.

“Why don’t I tell you a story?”

“Is it more riddles? Are you going to kill me afterward?”

“It’s a simple story. And, no.”

“Good. To both.” Cole leaned back in his chair. He made a show of crossing his arms, defiant and mocking at once. “I hope it’s not a long one, then.”

Bern laughed in his deep, throaty way.

“In many ways, it’s the longest story,” he said. “But don’t worry. We have plenty of time.”

17

Molly groped in the darkness for Walter, but the hands that groped back weren’t his. They were too strong to be his. They wrapped around her, and she screamed at the top of her lungs, cut off when a hand clamped down on her mouth. She felt herself lifted off the ground, her back pressing up against someone’s broad chest.

She kicked back at her captor’s shins and tried to shake her head free, but it felt like being back in Byrne’s arms, like struggling inside a vise. The dim alley turned to complete darkness as she was pulled through a doorway and into one of the buildings framing the alley. A thick door slammed shut and another opened, filling the small foyer with light. She found herself dragged backward and into a larger room, trembling and confused.

“Whatcha got?” someone asked.

“Don’t know yet,” a voice said close to her ear. “She’s a feisty one, though.”

The man holding her turned around, giving her a sweeping view of the room. It looked like a small warehouse that had been transformed into a triage unit. High tables were arranged in a grid with people on at least half of them. Cords and tubes ran out of the figures, and tables of medical utensils sat to their sides. Molly tried to reach up for the hand over her mouth as another man approached. He was short and bald but with a dark beard that ran from ear to ear. He wore a white blood-splattered apron over a traditional business suit.

“Oh, very pink,” the man said, looking Molly up and down. He grabbed one of her wrists and twisted her hand around violently. Molly tried to pull away, but the guys were too strong. The man with the beard bent back one of her fingers to inspect her swollen pads; he wrenched the digit nearly to the point of breaking, the sudden jolt of pain taking her breath like ice water.

“You a local?” he asked Molly.

She grimaced and shook her head as much as the other man’s grip would allow. She could feel her eyes widening, tears of terror pooling up. She had to force herself to blink, her eyelids swiping the blurriness out of her vision.

“Yeah, you don’t look like a local. Shame.” The short man looked up at the figure behind her, and then pointed to one of the tables. “Number fifteen,” he said. “Find out where she’s from and get started. Oh, and don’t nab any more. I told the wife we wouldn’t be pulling a late shift tonight.”

“Yeah, boss,” the man holding her said. He carried her toward one of the tables. Molly twisted her hips,