Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions

44

For the second time in two days, Parsona made an early morning approach to Bekkie, flying low and under the barest cover of dawn. As the morning sun peeked over the horizon, it cast long shadows over the dry land, dramatically illuminating the sad and severe differences between that previous flight and the current one. Gone were the long, horizontal dust plumes of busy traffic, like ephemeral, fuzzy snakes slithering up into the sky. They had been replaced with vertical clouds of a darker hue—rising columns of smoke that marked the death and destruction that had rained down from the sky the day before.

The distant plumes weren’t the only residue from the one-sided battle: the tragic remains of the Navy fleet could be seen long before they reached town. Molly banked around the odd wreckages dotting the landscape, the twisted remnants of military hardware still smoldering from its impact. Around each wreck, the dry Lokian grass formed black circles of expanding char ringed with thin, orange halos of fire. Each growing circle of blackened grass reminded Molly of Glemot, of the way that singular bomb had circumnavigated the planet, swallowing it up and adding it to the void of space.

Beyond the dotted plains, Bekkie bore its own unique signs of rained-down hellfire. Red lights pulsed throughout the sleepless city, illuminating the dusk-shadowed faces of buildings with the color of emergency and worry. Some of the structures formed unnatural, jagged shapes, like teeth and broken bone shoved up from the ground, all  visible scars of a town penalized for its importance. No other part of Lok had been hit so hard; the shattered hulls were densest around the town. It had been logical for the fleet to arrive above the planet’s capital. What was unusual was the manner in which they were brought straight down out of orbit, ignoring the normal parabola of reentry. It was as if the town’s importance, its gravity, had been temporarily suspended.

Molly kept Parsona low, just above the waving grasses. As she flew past the corpse of another ship hundreds of times more powerful than her own, the terror of sudden reprisal from the fleet above crept up in her throat and remained lodged there.

“I’m starting to feel like this was a bad idea,” she said aloud.

With only her mom and the Wadi in the cockpit with her, it fell on the former to answer, though the Wadi seemed to respond by curling up tighter against her neck.

“I don’t think good ideas any longer have place in this universe,” Parsona said. “I’m beginning to think you were right about hyperspace.”

Molly checked the cargo cam to make sure Walter didn’t sneak in on them talking. “In what way?” she asked.

“That we’d be just as well off to jump there with no way of coming back.”

Molly laughed, more out of nervousness and empathy than mirth. “I’m glad I never rigged you up to control the hyperdrive, then.”

“Me too.”

Another wrecked ship smoked off to port, visible mostly by the eerie glow of things burning within. Ahead, on the outskirts of town, Molly saw flashlights darting about with anxious twitches, like morning bugs caught in a jar. Whatever it was they were looking for, they were desperate to find it.

“If Scottie comes through with the fusion fuel, it’s gonna be hard to wait until we get back to the clearing to jump away,” Molly said.

“I’ve already thought the same thing. But the survivors from that carrier need the supplies. It’s the least we can do for them. Right, Cat?”

Molly turned and saw the Callite had joined them in the cockpit. The Wadi flicked its tongue in her direction, winning a pat on her head for the effort. Molly smiled up at her and got a hair-tousling in return.

“Bekkie looks worse for the wear,” Cat said, peering out at the approaching town. “And you’re being light on the throttle, aren’t ya?”

“I was just telling mom that I feel like coming here might be a mistake. Maybe I’m just putting it off.”

Cat crawled into the nav seat. “Can’t cower in a wooded clearing the rest of your days. ’Sides, all you gotta do is run by the Navy offices and let them know where their people are, maybe secure a place for them to stay. Walter and I will handle rounding up supplies for your friends in black.”

“And Scottie will round up the fuel?” Molly asked.

“He says he will, and I believe in him. So stop fretting. We’ll be in and out in no ti—”

“Don’t say it,” Molly said, waving her off. “I hate hearing how easy stuff is gonna be. It never is.” She pulled up, gaining a little altitude as they reached the outskirts of the city. She soon spotted her old slip in Pete’s now half-empty stables. The sight of her open space made her rub the tender pads of her fingers together as she remembered she had not yet paid.

“Can’t we go ssomewhere closser?” a voice hissed by her side.

Molly turned and saw Walter standing behind the flight seats. The Wadi’s tongue vibrated in his direction like a bit of red yarn in a stiff breeze.

“Turbulent waters aren’t for testing,” Cat said.

“What’ss that mean?” Walter asked.

“It means you don’t try something new in the middle of a storm,” Molly explained. “It’s an old Navy saying.”

“Goes back to when they used to sail ships on the ocean,” Cat said.

Molly and Cat exchanged a look. Once again, she realized how little she knew about the Callite. Walter turned from one to the other, his face scrunched up in a confused sneer.

“Listen, this is just one of those times when you have to trust m—”

The radio crackled, cutting her off: “Parsona, Pete’s Hideaway, come in.”

Molly turned away from Walter and flicked on the radio. “Pete? This is Parsona, I was just about to call you. Is it okay if we—”

“Cap, I need to speak to Scottie. It’s urgent.”

Molly turned in her seat to call for him, but Walter was already scampering back to the cargo bay. The Palan returned, literally dragging the large man—two of his silvery hands clutching one of Scottie’s.

“It’s Pete,” Molly said. She pointed to the dash and gradually banked around toward the stables.

Scottie leaned over the controls. “Pete? You there?”

“Scottie? Oh, thank the gods. I need your help.”

Scottie glanced at Cat and then Molly. “We saw what happened. Sorry we hightailed it the way we did. You suffer much damage?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s—they’re rounding them up. The Callites.”

“What? With all this going on they’re gonna send up another shuttle?”

“It ain’t just the illegals this time. They’re rounding up everyone.”

“Do what?”

“They’ve got Ryn,” Pete said.

••••

Parsona descended to the dry lot, her thruster wash kicking up a cloud of dust, which seemed to billow out and cushion her landing. Walter lowered the ramp immediately, allowing the plumes of powdered dirt to swirl and drift through the cargo bay. Molly swam through the haze ahead of the others and was halfway down the ramp when Pete stomped through the fog to meet them.

“What’s this about Ryn?” Scottie asked, as he joined Molly on the boarding ramp.

Pete spit to the side. A long stream of purple juice gathered dust as it fell, splotching Parsona’s ramp with a streak of gummy saliva. “They got him and some others,” he said. “Took ’em to immigrations. I swear the most of ’em were legal. Shopkeeper at Wayside and half the kitchen staff at Oasis.”

“Where’re they taking them?” Molly asked.

“More shuttles.” Pete spat again. “They flew two more over from New Hoboken last night. If they stick to their schedule, them shuttles’ll go up at any time.”

“And they’ll get shot down,” Cat said. Molly turned and saw a grimace of pained fury on her dark, scaly face.