Molly Fyde and the Fight for Peace

between them restricting her movement. “Walter!”

He didn’t turn. She could see the back of his head glowing as he fumbled through the wiring, looking for a particular one. He finally yanked one free, bit through it, then clamped his teeth down over the insulation and drew the wire out slowly, leaving a coppery bit exposed.

“Walter! Get inside!” Molly banged her wrist restraints against the glass, wondering if she could somehow use them to break through.

Walter turned at the sound of that. He had just cleaned another wire with his teeth. Two Bern guards were now running for him across the cargo bay.

Walter shook his head. His lips were curled down, tears streaking across his cheeks. He mouthed something to Molly, then brought the two wires up.

I’m ssorry.

He mouthed the words again as he pressed the coppery bits together, twisting them tight.

In an instant, the cargo bay filled with a white haze of condensed air. Wisps of it stirred, like speeding clouds racing for some unseen horizon.

The Bern guard further away from the cockpit turned to his side, his eyes wide and white in horror. He slipped and fell, then was pulled after the swirling, escaping air—sliding out of view.

The other guard dove across the last meters of the cargo bay and crashed into Walter. His face was twisted up in fury and fear. He pawed at Walter’s hands, trying to wrestle the wires away from him, but then the sucking of what must’ve been an open cargo bay and the vacuum of space beyond tugged at his feet, lifting him and Walter into the air.

Walter held the edge of the opened control panel, his fingers wrapped around the square hole in the hull. He dangled there, stretched out sideways, the Bern guard hanging from his feet.

Molly’s nose touched the glass in front of her, the Wadi pinned to her chest. She cupped her hands on either side of her face and peered through the porthole. Walter’s eyes locked on to hers. She watched, horrified, as the vacuum of space tore the tears from his cheeks, sending them like twinkling bullets back through the bay.

The Bern guard lost his grip on Walter and went tumbling out of sight, bouncing off a bulkhead as he went. Walter went to mouth one last thing, but then the shine on him faded away, dulling into some state of calm. A wan smile broke across the Palan’s face. His eyes twinkled as if some beautiful thing had appeared in his vision, and then he let go.

His arms waved in the air once.

His eyes locked on Molly’s.

And then Walter was gone forever.

49 · Earth

As Lieutenant Robinson approached the offices of the GU President, the old Bern agent couldn’t believe his good fortune. The invasion of the Milky Way Galaxy had played out in a strange mixture of stops and starts for him, almost like a perfect microcosm of his entire career. For two decades, he had toiled as a member of the Human Navy, trying his damnedest to push the war through the pesky Drenard front in order to secure the rift from their side. At the very least, he had meant his efforts to weaken their defenses while more Bern agents slipped through the rift, dodging the blockade. And just when he was starting to see some successes along those lines, the High Command got involved in some prophecy nonsense.

Robinson was one of the many older agents who frowned on Byrne’s exploits, the crazy simulacrum obviously having gotten a wire crossed during his construction. But then, reversing a reversal, the daft bot had come through. A new rift had been opened, and the Bern fleet had begun pouring into the pesky galaxy in a manner unheard of, undreamt of, when considering the older, Drenardian rift.

That high elation had been followed by the awesome destruction of his Zebra fleet, which had gone well enough, if not ending up the absolute success Robinson had hoped.

That brought a high, which was followed by another low as Saunders survived the attack, a failure that would reflect poorly on Robinson in future reports. Then the lows became even lower as Robinson was forced to watch a desperate herd of Humans huddle together in that wooded clearing, plotting audacious miracles, aligning themselves with even more grotesque aliens.

But lows could be highs in disguise, he had learned. The arrival of the Drenardian girl had seemed to spell trouble, bringing the threat of peace between their race and the Humans, but just when things seemed to be dipping, they soared again. Here he was, walking alongside that cursed piece of paper, that peace treaty, and escorting his fat Admiral through the antechamber of the GU president himself. He was strolling with them on the eve of a successful invasion of their galaxy, and all mere moments away from their personal destruction.

What better way, Robinson thought to himself, to sow discord through this mutant empire than by lopping off its head right as the fight begins? What better way to usher the rest of the body toward its violent demise?

Robinson watched Saunders go through the security gauntlet first, once again waving his pass and vouching for the rest. That gesture was coming for the third time, and the nicety was pissing off Robinson. He wanted to be scanned. He wanted his credentials registered. He wanted his people and higher-ups to know he had been there, that it was he who did this. Let Byrne, that blasted agent, take credit for opening some trifling door, he would be the agent to go down in Bern lore, passed from one universe to the next, remembered forever as the man who began the war, the one who assassinated the President of a race grown notorious for their insolence, for their inability to just go away.

Saunders waved Sharee through the scanner next, her flanking gender somehow more important to protocol than Robinson’s rank.

Robinson smiled. Soon, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing on the entire residential wing of that building would survive the blast he was about to unleash. Not that piece of paper, that treaty promising peace. It would burn no less righteously than all else.

The Secretary of Galaxy waved him through the security screen next, and Robinson stepped forward between the scanning walls, smiling at the officials on the other side of the viewing ports. The barred gates ahead of him remained closed as he stood still, letting their futile scanners have their fun. His augmented innards were designed to pass the most detailed of scans. Security agents would see cybernetic lungs, rather than bombs and chemical agents mixing together.

“Credentials, please,” a voice said through the security corridor’s speakers.

Robinson smiled. Finally, he thought.

He reached for his pass, using the movement to hide the complex motions necessary to arm himself. His fingers became a blur, twitching in just the right pattern and at just the precise timing to activate the once-inert gels, now hardened into furious potential. His hand came away from his damp, mud-speckled flightsuit bearing his badge, his body now little more than a potent bomb.

Robinson held the badge up in front of the viewing port, turned to the side, and smiled at the Secretary of Galaxy, who nodded back.

“Pass it in front of the scanner, please.”

“Gladly,” Robinson said. He looked the other way toward Saunders, that fat fool, only to see Saunders flashing a smile. The Admiral was grinning like something delicious had just passed through his flabby gullet. Joy on that man’s face brought a frown to Robinson’s. He could see the GU President beyond the Admiral and Sharee, coming out of his suite with his arm extended. Robinson thought about doing it right then, scanning his pass and blowing the serpent’s head clear off, taking that nest of vipers with him—

But then the scanner beeped as his badge was registered. And it beeped again, the beep echoing louder. And louder. The initial acknowledgment seemed to morph into an alarm.

Robinson froze, but every other mechanical thing around him whirred into action. Ports slammed shut. Blast walls thundered down from the ceiling. The acoustics of his surrounding space altered as the dull press of thick