Molly Fyde and the Fight for Peace

him.

When the lights flicked on, Molly noted her worries had been justified. Saunders flinched back, reaching for Molly or possibly the door behind her. Molly steadied him; she felt his frozen muscles tremble beneath his copious bulk. She watched as the ruddy color of his neck drained white, and worried he might pass out again, just as he had when he’d found out about the Bern threat.

As Molly watched his reaction, hoping he’d be okay, she recalled the first time she had seen Anlyn. Her body had responded similarly, freezing and fumbling for Cole. She certainly knew what he was going through, and how far her own fears had come in such a short time.

“She’s a friend,” Molly told Saunders, hoping to calm him. She moved to his side and placed a hand on his back. “And this is Edison, another very good friend of mine.”

“D—Dre—”

Anlyn rose from her bed and bowed slightly. Molly was relieved to see Edison stay put, his bulk fearsome enough just hunched over on the small bunk.

“My name is Anlyn Hooo and I greet you on behalf of my empire—”

Saunders collapsed, his legs folding neatly, Indian style, as he sank to the deck. Molly steadied his shoulders to keep his head from going back against the dresser. She stepped around and knelt down in front of him, saw his eyes focusing on Anlyn, his mouth open.

“Sir? Admiral, I need you to stay with me.”

His eyes moved slowly to Molly’s.

“Are you okay?”

He shook his head, his jowls jiggling left and right. He made little circles with his chin, transforming the shake into a nod.

“Are you or aren’t you?”

“I need water,” he said, his voice thin and raspy.

“I can’t send either of them—” Molly nodded to her two friends. “Do you want me to leave you and get a glass?”

Saunders considered this. He shook his head.

Molly felt Anlyn’s hand on her shoulder; she turned to see her friend sitting down across from Saunders. After she got settled, Anlyn folded her translucent blue hands into her lap and smiled at the Admiral.

Molly moved aside and sat likewise, occupying the small plot of floor still available, each of her knees nearly touching one of theirs. Edison remained quietly seated on the bunk behind them, and the silence within the room became more palpable by the steady thump of activity in the cargo bay beyond. Together, the three crewmates rode out the old man’s shock, respecting the awkwardness they had induced.

“Admiral Saunders—” Anlyn eventually began.

“You speak English,” he said, interrupting her.

Anlyn nodded. “Molly told you why our people are at war?”

“Because of them?” Saunders asked. He pointed up at the ceiling and presumably to the Bern fleet beyond. His eyes darted away from Anlyn and settled on Edison. “Is—Is that one of… them?”

Molly stifled a laugh, then felt sorry for Saunders. His face was still ashen, his jaw slack with confusion. She reached out and put a hand on his knee. “Edison is a Glemot. He’s harmless,” she said, ripping the truth in half, grinding it to shards, then setting the fragments on fire. “The Bern look like us, remember?”

Saunders nodded and blinked rapidly, re-learning old news.

Anlyn held up her hands, showing her pale-blue palms. “Admiral, war has been declared on your empire by mine. There are agents in both of our camps that do not have the best interests of their own people in mind. Do you understand?”

“I do,” he replied, some of the color returning to his cheeks.

“I did everything I could to prevent these most recent hostilities, both as a member of our highest council and personally.”

“You don’t want to fight us,” Saunders said.

“That’s correct. I don’t. Many of us don’t.” Anlyn adjusted her tunics, then folded her hands into her lap. “We share a common enemy, your empire and mine. One that has been trying its mightiest to drive our people together so they can then sweep through the debris and lord over the ashes. That enemy is gathering right here above this planet. Do you understand this as well?”

“The Bern.”

“Admiral, do you understand what needs to be done? That this enemy must be stopped at all costs?”

Saunders nodded. Molly could see his throat constrict as he swallowed. She should have planned better and had some water in the room ahead of time.

“We have a plan,” Saunders said meekly. He turned to Molly. “We have a plan, right?” He seemed desperate for a confirmation of this feeble hope.

Molly patted his knee. “Admiral, we need you to do something important, okay? Anlyn has it worked out.”

“I am next in line to the throne of the Drenard Empire,” Anlyn said.

Saunders’s face remained blank, but Molly felt goosebumps ripple up her arms from hearing her friend say such an outrageous thing, even if it were true.

“I am not in a position of military power,” she went on, “and I will never rule my people, but I do have certain inherent foreign relations rights. Further, I happen to be on an ambassadorial mission sanctioned by my ruling body, entrusted with the right to establish first contact with races not previously negotiated with and enter into negotiations with any such races encountered.”

“I—I’m not following,” Saunders said. He looked to Molly for help, but she just nodded to Anlyn, trying to keep him focused.

“My hope was to make contact with the Bern,” Anlyn said. “It was my reading, my interpretation of an old prophe—An old document passed down for many generations. But I believe I was meant to do this. Right here. Right now. We are the races meant to unite under the shadow of a rift, Human and Drenard, not the Drenard and Bern.”

“Do what?” Saunders shook his head as if trying to clear the confusion. Molly noticed both his hands were clenched fists—knuckles pressed against knuckles in his lap, as if he could grip the air and somehow hold his senses firm.

“My people never made official first contact with the Bern or the Humans,” Anlyn said. “I have the power and the rights to do this, to enter into formal negotiations with either race.”

Saunders shook his head again, the folds under his chin swaying.

“She means that she can make it official if you declare—”

“I can certify it if you would choose to—”

Neither of them seemed to know how to come out and say it.

An awkward silence began to form as they looked to one another for help.

“Surrender immediately,” Edison growled, his gruff voice dripping with impatience.

“Do what?”

Saunders popped to his feet with a litheness that defied his bulk and an injection of energy that cut through his former stillness.

“Surrender? Concede the war with the Drenards?”

Molly and Anlyn both stood as well, holding their hands out to calm him.

“Hear us out,” Molly said. “It’s not just about stopping the fighting, which we don’t think it’ll even do, it’s about exposing the people on both sides who want this war. It’s a formality, nothing more.”

“It’s a way to smoke them out,” Anlyn said.

“I don’t—Even if I had the authority, which I don’t, the most I could do is surrender my fleet, the entire crew of which can fit in this single ship!” Saunders threw his hands up.

“That’s why we need you to go to Earth,” Molly said. “We need you to explain what’s going on—”