Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions

mouth was perfectly natural, not folded and plastic-looking. Cole’s hand fell to own lip, his jaw dropping.

“We haven’t been formally introduced,” the man said. “I’m Arthur. Arthur Dakura.”

“You’re not a Stanley,” Cole said.

Arthur laughed. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, not really. I guess you could say they’re me. I modeled them after me, anyway.”

Mortimor grinned and slapped Arthur on the back. “C’mon, let’s walk. You boys can chat on the way.”

He pulled Arthur along, and Cole hurried after them. At the end of the hallway, the trio turned a corner, and Cole got his first glimpse of the motley makeup of the place’s inhabitants. Callites and Delphians and several races he’d never seen pictures of strolled in and out of connecting passageways. The place had the bustle of the Academy during a drill. Hallways, offices, classrooms, dormitories—each room they passed had a chaos of bodies stirring within. All manner of creature moved between the doorways, but only a smattering of Humans.

Cole tried not to flinch as a male Drenard rounded the corner wearing a white combat suit. The blue alien nodded to Mortimor, who greeted the massive alien in a different language. Cole held up a finger, like a student with a question. He watched the Drenard pass, his jaw hanging agape. Arthur tugged him along, asking a question before Cole could get his own out:

“I take it from your confusion of my identity that you’ve met my simulacrums. How long ago were you there?”

“Dakura?” Cole looked over his shoulder as the Drenard ducked into another doorway. “Um, a week? Or less, actually. I’m not sure, to tell the truth.”

“Just a week?” Cole turned back to Arthur and saw the man’s eyes grow wide. Arthur rested a hand on Cole’s shoulder as they steered through traffic after Mortimor. “Tell me, how was the planet looking?”

“The planet? It was, uh, dark gray. Kinda boring, to be frank.”

“Dark gray? Excellent!” Arthur clapped his hands together. “Brilliant.”

“Yeah, real nice place you got there,” Cole said distractedly. He turned to watch a creature go by that seemed covered in plates of stone.

“Did you take a tour? Of LIFE, I mean?”

“Up close and personal,” Cole said, not caring to relate his run-in with security. He followed Mortimor through a door and into a stairwell; Cole held the door open for Arthur, who nodded politely like everything buzzing around them was perfectly natural.

“What’re you doing here?” Cole asked.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, shutting the door behind him. “Well, I wish I could say I was here on an important mission to save the galaxy, but I landed quite by accident. I was out training with my yacht—”

“You were showboating,” Mortimor called back. He had already begun to take the stairs two at a time.

Arthur smiled at Cole and winked. He rested a hand on Cole’s back and guided him up the stairs, talking as they went. “I was just having some fun in a time trial course, trying out some alterations to my own thruster design. I got in a spot and took a chance on jumping out. The rest is too long a story to relate.”

Cole shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you specifically. What are all you people doing here? I don’t even recognize half the aliens back there.”

Arthur came up beside Cole, shaking his head. “The Luddites made this about race a while back. What you see here is just the fraction of the Underground that remains, and a lot of them are members from other galaxies. The majority of incoming are Human now, ever since the war in Darrin. Most of them are snagged by the Luddites before we can get to them. The Milky Way tends to dump out in the colds for whatever reason.”

“So this is where people disappear to?” Cole quickened his pace, trying to catch up with Mortimor. “Why can’t we just jump back out?”

The stairs ended on the next level, terminating at a single door. Mortimor had a tall locker open. He brought out sheets of plastic and what appeared to be goggles. “Doesn’t work that way,” Mortimor said. “Here, put these on.”

He handed Cole a clear poncho-like outfit and a pair of goggles. Cole worked the plastic over his head while Arthur did the same and continued talking:

“Normally, the little critters can’t see into hyperspace, what with the light and all. We’ve bred some that can, but they have the opposite problem: they can’t see out. Well, metaphorically speaking. Supposedly it’s two types of light, or the medium they vibrate in, but that’s more of Ryke’s bag, all I do is play doctor.” He glanced at Cole’s arm as Cole fumbled with his goggles. “Best I know how, anyway.” He met Cole’s gaze and frowned. “I’m sorry, you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Of course you don’t.”

“Fusion fuel,” Cole said. He strapped the goggles to his forehead and hoped he’d said it like it wasn’t one of the most recent things he’d learned, trying to come across as cool and adult-like as the other two. He pulled the hood of the poncho over his head, trying to copy what they were doing and not seem completely lost. “So we’re stuck here? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“You ever met a guy in a bar with a lot of cool stories from hyperspace?” Arthur asked.

Cole shook his head, getting the point.

“Grab your neighbor,” Mortimor said. He reached for Cole’s elbow and lowered his goggles. Cole did the same, making his world completely black as he reached out for Arthur.

“Ready?”

“You betcha,” Arthur said.

“Sure,” Cole said, not knowing what to expect.

Mortimor cracked the door, letting in enough light to see clearly through the blackened spectacles. The three men stepped out onto a rooftop covered in water. Cole didn’t feel the rain at first; they were sheltered by the small stairwell sticking out of the roof. Once he stepped out, however, he saw it to either side—drifting sideways, parallel to the ground, just like the snow.

“That’s weird,” he said, still clinging to Arthur and fighting the vertigo.

“Makes perfect sense once you get a handle on the physics. Light and water, my friend, the components of life—”

“I didn’t bring you boys up here to discuss the weather,” Mortimor said. He leaned close so they could hear him clearly over the patter of rain on the back of the stairwell. “Follow me.”

Arthur shrugged at Cole and raised his eyebrows. The two of them turned and followed Mortimor around the stairwell and into the driving rain. Cole looked down at his feet as he walked so we wouldn’t feel so dizzy. He noticed the top of the building was coated with a rubbery surface, probably put there to provide traction through the film of water in addition to keeping the rain out of the structure beneath.

As they walked directly into the sideways torrent, the large drops of water popped up and down his chest, sounding much like the incessant gunfire of the Academy’s rifle range. Cole kept his head low and marched with the others toward the edge of the flat, rectangular roof, the size and shape of which reminded him of boring office buildings.

As they neared the edge, however, Cole realized the place was far more interesting than that. The entire structure was moving. Or maybe the ground below was simply sliding by beneath them. Either way, as Cole stopped a meter from the edge and looked down, Mortimor and Arthur had to reach out and grab his elbows to steady him before the vertigo sent him reeling.

“Don’t get too close,” Mortimor warned. He and Arthur pulled Cole away from the edge.

Cole found it hard to turn away from the sight of the land rushing by. The world below was a field of mud covered by a skim coat of water—an infinite, brownish mirror. The lowest layers of rain skipped right across it, leaving furrows like waterfowl coming in for a landing. And all of it slid beneath the building, giving it the appearance of a dirty, rippled ocean viewed from the bow of a steaming ship. Cole’s stomach began to protest all the myriad cues of motion that belied the solid footing beneath him.

“Best not to even look at it,” Mortimor said.

Cole agreed. He turned away from the sight and put his back to the rain, huddling close to the other two men.

“Then why bring me up here?” he asked.

“So we won’t be overheard,” Mortimor said.

“What, like spies?”

Cole looked to Arthur, whose grin had been replaced with tight, flat lips. “Is he serious?”