Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions

tightly. Instead, she went outside to find Saunders, to see if he was doing any better than she at coming to grips with these slippery issues.

She found him by one of the many small campfires flickering beyond the tangle of wiry, Lokian trees. His group seemed to be in the middle of an animated conversation as she approached, but they quickly fell silent as she stepped into the fire’s wavering pool of light. Saunders rose from the blanket to meet her. He squeezed her shoulder and pulled her away from the cluster of staff members.

“How’re you feeling?” she whispered.

Saunders shook his head. “I’m dancing a fine line, I think. It’s… just too much all at once.” He stopped and patted his flightsuit. Another of the survivors had given him a rare clean one, but it didn’t quite fit. The zipper remained open almost to his waist, revealing a sweat-stained undershirt beneath. “Before I forget—” Saunders pulled out a credit chip and passed it to Molly. “It draws from a Navy account. Use it for the supplies tomorrow and put a deposit on some place for us to stay.”

Molly took the chip and slid it into a pocket, zipping it up afterwards. “You sure you don’t want to come with us?” she asked. “It would be nice to have you there to throw your weight around.”

Saunders looked down at himself, then peered up at Molly, the barest of smirks visible in the wan light of the campfires.

“I totally didn’t mean it like that,” she said.

Saunders laughed, or tried to. The strain and tiredness in him were more evident as he fought to hide them. “Sure you didn’t,” he said. “And I don’t think you need my help to pick up some food and water. You’ve got plenty of capable hands. I’d rather be with my crew.”

“How about one of your staff?” Molly asked. “It’d be nice to have a badge to wave around in order to secure some rooms. Bekkie is packed, what with the elections.”

“Damn. I forgot about the elections. They’re still gonna be held with all this going on?”

“Are you kidding?” Molly nodded up at the sky. “They absolutely love the chaos those ships are creating. It gives them something to promise they can fix. I guarantee you your fleet is a plank in a platform right now. The Liberty party is probably saying the Freedom party shot down the Firehawks on purpose, making their war platform more enticing.”

Saunders shook his head. “I wish I could accuse you of exaggerating, but politics back at the GN haven’t been much better. As for taking one of my staff with you, who do you trust?”

Molly glanced back to his group by the fire. The problem of who to trust seemed intractable—it haunted her at every turn. “Alright, I see your point. I’ll try and find whatever lodging I can, and I’ll pick up some more comfortable clothes. Hopefully we can shuttle you guys to town later in the day, even if it takes a few shifts.”

“Sounds good. We were just discussing amongst ourselves the best course of action—”

“Wait. You didn’t tell them—?”

“No.” Saunders shook his head. “I just said we can be sure it isn’t Drenards, but that we know little else about them. A few officers want to call in reinforcements, but the rest of us point out how futile a defense our fleet had put up. Whatever they hit us with, it controlled local gravity, and we were powerless to overcome it. So the general consensus is that our position and numbers have turned us into an intelligence gathering force, not a fighting one. We’ll set up something permanent here on Lok—”

“Permanent?” Molly looked around at the spread of blankets and huddling groups of survivors. “No offense, but you don’t really think this is a force of any kind, do you? These people are refugees. A crew without a fleet. I think you guys should hunker down until whatever happens blows over, maybe try and contact their families—”

“Families? Refugees? These people are still serving in the Navy, Molly. And Cristine—Lieutenant Daniels—her family was on Osis, which has already been ravaged. Hell, we might be at ground zero for what’s to come. We need to make a plan—” Saunders pulled her further into the woods and lowered his voice. “You might be the only person I can trust right now.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’ll eventually be up to us, you and me, to decide if we risk calling this in.” Saunders looked back toward the campfire. “I’m using a ton of doublespeak with my staff. Hell, you’ve got me so paranoid, every cough and whisper from them has me doubting who I can trust.”

“I’m sorry. And you’re right. The thing is, I can’t stick around and help. I was kinda working on something when—well, before you showed up.” She only barely stopped herself from saying crashed the party, thereby sticking her foot in her mouth a second time.

“I’m sorry, but whatever it was, it’ll have to wait. We need your ship until we can secure some of our own.”

Molly took a step back. “I can’t do that.” She shook her head.

Saunders held up both hands. “Hey, I’m not going to force you. We called a truce, remember?”

“So don’t tell me it’ll have to wait.”

Saunders glanced up at the straggly canopy overhead. He spread his arms to indicate the hasty encampment. “What could possibly be more important than this?”

“It’s… personal,” Molly said.

“Well, maybe I can help. Once this blows over, of course.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, I’m gonna have to do some illegal stuff to get it done.”

“What kind of illegal stuff?” Saunders asked stiffly.

“Wouldn’t you rather not know?”

“No, I’d rather you not do it. Now, what is it?”

“Out the airlock,” Molly said.

“Absolutely.”

She took a step closer and glanced around before she spoke. “My dad might be alive.”

“Mortimor?”

Molly took another step closer, shushing him.

“Mortimor Fyde?” Saunders hissed.

“Yeah. He’s… well, trapped in hyperspace. That’s where his ship—this ship—has been all these years. I’ve been trying to track some people down for a few weeks, and as soon as I found them, you guys showed up. I need to get back on track, if they’ll help me after what happened to Urg.”

“Urg. That’s the guy the pilots were talking about? The one that helped find and rescue them?”

“Yeah. He’s—he’s with a group of illicit fusion fuelers. They have a blend that supposedly can get me to hyperspace and back. The drive in my ship isn’t normal, it seems. That’s what my parents were working on.”

Saunders rubbed his chin. “That fits with your parents’ file. They were sent here to track down a source of fuel, and then supposedly uncovered the Drenard Underground. Once they learned what you’ve told me about the rift, not to mention the real nature of the war, they must’ve thrown in with them.”

“Boy, I’d like to see that file,” Molly said.

“I’d like to take another look at it myself. I bet everything in there reads completely different to me, now.” Saunders looked at her for a moment, frowning. “So when were you planning on taking this jaunt to hyperspace? And what does that even entail? What would this place be like? A vacuum, or something?”

“No. It’s not like that. It’s more like a planet, only weirder. My mo— a friend tried to explain it to me, but I can’t make sense of it.”

“You’re going soon?”

“I don’t know. I have to get some of this fuel first, and it sounds like there’s not much to go around. To everyone else, it’s just workable fusion that you guys don’t control. I need to really sit down and speak with Scottie about it.”

“I’d like to speak to him as well,” Saunders said, his eyes narrowing.

“You said you’d take this out the airlock!”

“Okay. Fine. But no leaving until we get these people supplied and settled—”

“Of course. I’ll handle that in the morning. And if I have my way, I’ll be jumping out of here around this time tomorrow night.”

Saunders scratched his chin. “I don’t suppose I can demand any more than that. Just so you know, though, I