Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions

“There are other people needing my help more. Tell you what, you give me a tank of fuel and I’ll come back in a week and you can ask my dad to use his ship.”

“I thought it was your ship,” said Scottie.

“Our ship. Same thing. Look—” Molly released the armrest and grabbed her napkin. She dabbed the corners of her mouth with it. “I’ve been traipsing across Lok for two weeks looking for some of this fuel. I don’t have time for—”

“For my people,” Urg said quietly.

Molly looked over to the Callite, his broken silence stunning her into one of her own.

“You haven’t been here when one of the shuttles goes up, have you?” Scottie asked.

Molly shook her head, but then she remembered the craft she and Walter had seen lift off from the cafe. “Did one go up yesterday?” she asked.

Scottie nodded.

“I saw it,” she said. “And you say it was a shuttle?”

“An immigrations shuttle. During election years, they round up Callites with expired work permits and ship them home.”

“But that’s the law, right?”

Scottie frowned. He reached over and rested a hand on Urg’s arm, even though the Callite didn’t seem to be making an effort to rise, or even speak.

“Things aren’t right or wrong because they’re the law. They’re supposed to be the law because they’re right or wrong.”

“Look,” Molly said. She pushed her eggs away from her toast, but her meager appetite had dwindled to nothing. “I don’t want to argue politics, or whatever. I’m not trying to be a crusader. I just want to get back to my family. Surely you can understand—”

“I do,” said Urg. “I understand.”

Molly glanced up and locked eyes with the massive Callite; she watched his lids scissor shut in a slow blink.

“I want my family back as well,” he said.

“Can’t you just go home to them?” Molly asked. “That’s all I’m trying to do, get back with my family.”

Urg shook his head.

“They were on yesterday’s shuttle,” Scottie said.

Molly looked back and forth between them. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she whispered. “Maybe it would be best if he just—”

“The shuttle was shot down by that fleet up there,” Scottie continued. “The last four shuttles have all been sent crashing straight back to Lok, no shots fired, nothing. They just go limp and fall back to the prairie. It’s like they get halfway to orbit and just give up.”

Molly looked from Scottie to Urg, disbelieving. “It crashed?”

“All of them have for the last two weeks.”

“With people on them?”

Scottie leaned forward slightly. “My two friends should’ve been on that last one. With their families.”

Molly looked down at her plate where she had idly swirled her food into a miserable mess.

“I didn’t know,” she said.

“They won’t stop,” Scottie said. “They’ll round up more today and more the day after, right up to the elections.”

“But why would they—?” Molly shook her head. Surely they wouldn’t. She dropped her fork and reached for the bandage around the crook of her arm, rubbing it reflexively. Looking down at the red skin spreading out from the puncture wound, she considered that they possibly would.

“It’s the same to them,” said Urg, as he shrugged his massive shoulders. “Gone is gone.”

Molly turned to him, saw the deep furrows in his scaly forehead that seemed to convey confusion rather than the sad resignation in his voice.

“Then why come here?” she asked. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I don’t mean to blame you, but why risk it?”

“The government on Shurye isn’t much better,” Scottie said, speaking for his friend. “There’s just as much of a chance taken by sitting still.”

“Everything is chance,” said Urg.

Something beeped. Molly looked over, thinking it was an alarm of some sort, then saw Walter had finished eating and had brought out his videogame.

“I feel bad for your loss,” she said, turning back to Urg. “Truly, I do. I lost my family when I was younger, so I hope you can understand what it feels like to have a chance to get them back. Besides, I can’t do anything about that fleet, and the law is probably not on your side—”

“Screw the law,” spat Scottie. “This isn’t about law or legality—”

Molly looked down at her plate and away from the outburst.

Scottie took a deep breath, calming himself.

“Think about what the law is saying,” he said. “People born inside one invisible line are confined there. Even if they wanna pay the taxes, buy some land, obey the local rules, they aren’t allowed to move. They don’t have the basic freedom to choose where to live or where to raise their families. It’s like the days of being born a cobbler’s son and having to become a cobbler.”

“There’s legal immigration,” Molly said, unable to restrain herself from arguing her point.

“And there’s limits to that, which means after a certain number, we get right back to that invisible line a sentient being can’t cross. This isn’t about laws. It’s about xenophobia. It’s about Lokians scared their planet will be overrun, that its future makeup might be different than what it was in the past.”

Molly shook her head. “I don’t think that’s the primary motivation—”

“No?” Scottie pushed his plate across the galley table and leaned back in his seat. “I think you’re wrong. The same government restricting immigration from Shurye does everything it can to get more Terrans to move here. And I don’t think you understand how much good you could do with this ship of yours.”

Molly stood up and stacked her plate with Scottie’s and Walter’s. She scraped her leftovers in the degrader before piling the dishes in the sonic washer.

“You guys can stay here until you find a safe place,” she said. “I’ll pay you double the market value for the fuel, or I’ll ask you to point me in another direction. I’ll even let you use the ship when I get back, but I won’t be delayed. I can’t be.” She looked over Walter’s head to Urg, whose lids flicked together once, removing the wet sheen from his eyes.

“I just can’t,” she said.

Molly topped up her coffee and crossed the cargo bay to open the ramp and let in some fresh air. She leaned against the jamb with her second cup and peered through the steam as the metal decking swung out and into the dusty stable lot.

Outside, several crews from other ships performed their daily chores, making Molly feel like there was something productive she should be doing. They washed down their hulls, performed repairs out on their wings, scrubbed bugs off the carboglass, all reminders of the tasks she’d been neglecting. The weather was great for the work, but she could tell it was going to get hot later in the day. And without a breeze, it wouldn’t be long before those crews went scurrying back inside, hovering around the AC vents and waiting until nighttime to finish the day’s work.

She blew on her coffee and was about to take a sip when she noticed a cluster of men crawl up on a wing a few ships to Parsona’s rear. One of them held something to his head, a portable radio, perhaps. Everyone in the group looked back to the west, shielding their eyes from the sun.

Molly leaned out from the doorway and followed their gazes. She noticed several other captains and crewmembers exiting their ships to look the same direction.

“What’s going on?” she asked a young man in coveralls, who was running between her ship and the neighbor’s.