Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions tbs-3

by Hugh Howey

“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?”

  “We have a few embedded within the Luddites—we’re pretty sure they have some here. It’s complicated, but a lot of soldiers have defected over the years. It’s easy to forget why you’re here after a while. Some people flip just to see if they’ll be more comfortable on the other side.”

  “Or because they’ve grown too comfortable,” Mortimor suggested. “Some just get bored.”

  “So why are you here?” Cole asked. “And what’s up with this place? Is this building on wheels?” He concentrated on his feet, trying to sense any movement.

  “Grav panels,” Arthur said rather loudly to compete with the rain. “They cycle, pushing and pulling, smooth as a baby’s—”

  Mortimor waved him silent.

  “Listen, son, there’s an invasion underway. A very nasty people—”

  “The Bern.” Cole nodded. “They design the universe every time it goes around. I’m the Golden One. I got a lot of this from the armless dude.”

  Mortimor’s eyes narrowed.

  “Byrne. I told you he was here.”

  “You didn’t tell me you talked to him,” Mortimor said.

  “Well, I mostly listened.” Cole faced the far end of the roof, allowing the rain to smack the plastic across the back of his head. The men to either side of him did the same, the three of them standing in a line, their heads bent close to confer over the pattering drops.

  “And he called you the golden one?”

  “Or chosen, I can’t remember. Anyway, he said it was too late. Then a bunch of people came in, dressed in white—you guys, I take it—and everyone started getting hacked up—” Cole stopped.

&
nbsp; “Yeah, that was some of our men,” Arthur said.

  “I picked up a little of what Byrne was thinking,” Mortimor explained. “It was just coming through too damn slow to decipher easily. What part we got, well, no offense but I thought you were someone else.”

  Cole glanced over at Mortimor. “Do what?”

  “I picked up another name—” Mortimor looked across him to Arthur. “We thought Molly—”

  “Yeah,” Cole said, “it sounded like Byrne was confused about something similar. And look, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I have no idea about any of this stuff. All I care about now is getting back to her. And maybe visiting that camp on the way and kicking some ass.” He held up his new arm, tenting the poncho in front of him. He clenched and unclenched a fist, visible through the clear plastic. “I’m ready to try out this new hand,” he said.

  Mortimor shook his head. “Forget about it. We don’t go on raids for revenge. Besides, there’s an endless supply of idiots on both sides, there’s no changing anything by bashing against each other.” He gestured out to the moving, inundated world beyond. “The best we can hope for out here is to stay in one piece and in one place.”

  “What kind of ship did you arrive in?” Arthur asked.

  “Firehawk,” Cole said. He reached up to adjust his hood and keep the water from dripping in.

  Arthur looked across at Mortimor, who shook his head.

  “Why’d you guys bring me up here?” Cole asked, feeling like there was something they weren’t telling him.

  “To ask you a favor,” Mortimor said. “But first, we need to know everything you know. Are you sure you never heard any news about Lok?”

  Cole shook his head. “Like I told you yesterday, we were heading there, but we got picked up by the Navy—”

  “That’s where the Firehawk came from?” Arthur asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why’d the Navy pick you up?” Mortimor asked.

  “We were leaving Dakura where we— Molly’s mom, the one on the ship—”

  He looked to Arthur for help, but got a blank look.

  “We were told to unplug her mom—your wife, sir. I—I didn’t want to, but… you should have seen—”

  “And did you?”

  Cole nodded.

  “Good,” Mortimor said. “I’m sorry you had to clean up one of my mistakes, but we wanted that done years ago. We all agreed.”

  Cole bobbed his head again, unsure of what to say.

  “So, you never made it to Lok, and you don’t know if Molly did.”

  Cole shook his head. “Do you think she’s okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Mortimor told him. “I’m worried about all of us, to be honest.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “For you? Some rehab with that new hand and some rest. What’s done is done. But first, there’s someone who’s dying to meet you.”

  Cole looked out across the rooftop. The sideways rain made it feel like his feet were glued to a wall and the water was falling straight down. “Who would want to meet me?” he asked.

  “I want you to listen and listen carefully, okay? This person’s name isn’t to be spoken where anyone can overhear.”

  “Who is it?”

  “As far as anyone knows, she works more for the enemy than us, okay?”

  Cole swallowed. “Who wants to see me?” he asked.

  Arthur squeezed his shoulder and leaned in close.

  “Have you ever heard of the Bern Seer?”

  32

  Parsona wasn’t the only ship leaving the stables in a hurry, or Bekkie, for that matter. Dozens of craft lifted up from all around town as crewmembers ran across Pete’s dirt lot in panic, trying to get back to their ships. Through the carboglass, Molly could hear improperly warmed thrusters screaming as neighboring starships lifted off cold. In the distance, a Navy cruiser fell through the atmosphere, glowing bright red—a sign of breached reentry panels. It disappeared over the horizon, followed by a flash of light.

  “Why’re they in atmo?” Cat asked. She leaned forward from the nav chair while Scottie hovered behind, his hands on the backs of their seats.

  “I don’t know,” Molly admitted. “Maybe they were trying to land, or something.”

  “A cruiser?” Cat asked incredulously.

  “They don’t want debris,” Scottie said. “That explains the shuttles.”

  Molly avoided the crush of departing traffic and flew low, skirting the prairie as she headed out of town. There weren’t many more blips falling, but a few big ones were still in orbit.

  “No debris?” Cat asked, turning to Scottie.

  “For the rift. They’re shooting them down intact.”

  “I think you’re right,” Molly said. “They’re somehow disabling them and knocking them out of orbit. And they’re making it look easy.”

  “Poor Ryn,” Scottie said.

  “I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just as safe wherever he is.”

  Scottie didn’t say anything. Behind them, Molly could hear Walter arguing with Urg about which dishes went where.

  “Where should we go?” Molly asked. She looked at their current course and realized she had subconsciously begun flying back toward her home village and the rift—the very last place they needed to be.

  “Mount Jeffers?” Cat asked Scottie.

  “Probably what everyone else is thinking. So, no.”

  “We could hide out in the woods beyond Ashron,” Cat said. “There’s tons of clearings big enough to set down in. Maybe we should wait there and see if things calm back down.”

  “Which way is that?” Molly asked, turning to the others.

  Cat pointed through the carboglass, her face rigid. Molly followed her trembling arm, adjusting course to match the direction she was pointing, mistaking the gesture for an answer to her question.

  “What the flank?” Scottie muttered, leaning forward between the two seats.

  Ahead of them, descending through the atmosphere nose-down like a dropped dart, was a Navy StarCarrier.

  “Holy shit,” Cat whispered.

  Molly pulled back into a hover, sinking down toward the grasses.

  Cowering.

  The almighty bulk of the greatest class of starship ever built was descending from the heavens. Tilted slightly—falling slower than gravity warranted—the thing seemed to be straining against the inevitable, its forward thrusters raging to slow its impact. The great ship’s nose disappeared over the horizon, and then the rest of the monstrosity came to a sudden, sickening halt.

  They all waited, breathless, for some cataclysmic noise to accompany the horrific fall. They watched for the ship to crumble, tip over, or maybe even explode.

  It did none of those things.

  Impossibly, the tail of the great StarCarrier remained in the same position. Askance. Aloft. Thrusters pointing up to the sky from which it had plummeted.

  It just stood there, perfectly still. Terrible and lifeless.

  33

  Anlyn wrapped her hand in Edison’s and squeezed one of his large fingers. “How confident do you feel about this?” she asked.

  “Ninety-two percent,” he said. “Rounding down, of course.”

  Anlyn frowned; she let go of his finger and hovered her own over the hyperdrive button. The coordinates for a class V star were locked in the computer, a sight that ran counter to everything she knew about astral navigation. Red lights flashed and alarms sounded, warning her of the poor choice of arrival coordinates. Only once before had she ever jumped while overriding a hyperdrive’s alarms, and she was pretty sure that decision, for better or for worse, had been the most momentous of her entire life. This decision, however, seemed to rival that other one.

  She closed her eyes, said, “I love you,” and then pressed the switch.

  Her stomach dropped. More warning alarms went off.

  Edison screamed beside her.

  Anlyn opened her eyes and caught a wave of harsh light across her face
right before the windshield darkened, returning things to normal. A thousand white dots crawled across her vision like albino ants. She blinked rapidly, trying to sort out the foreign alarms and worrying about Edison.

  “Are you okay?” she yelled. She applied thrust, then gripped the steering column with both hands. Her stomach had dropped because they were in free-fall. And the spots of light seemed to be flurries of snow.

  “Zero optical functioning!” Edison roared in English.

  “Great Hori, we’re in atmosphere! I’ve got targets everywhere. Trying to get lift!”

  A voice interrupted in a language she recognized, just as she knew the general look of their script: Bern. The words rattled for a few seconds, then stopped.

  “Did you hear that?” Anlyn asked.

  “Affirmitive,” Edison said, fumbling for the radio, “They find our arrival vector non-optimal.”

  Anlyn grabbed the mic and pressed it into his groping paw. She had the ship leveled off and rejoining the other SADAR targets at altitude. She heard Edison grunt, clearing his throat; he launched into a conversation in Bern.

  “That didn’t sound like our speech,” she said, once he was done.

  Edison sat back in his seat, dabbing at his eyes with the back of his paws. “I’m ignoring our prior schematics,” he said.

  “What?” Anlyn settled into formation, flying by the instruments, the outside world shrouded in white. “What did you say to them?”

  “I said flight eight twelve four, Exponent, falling into line, apologies for the fright.”

  “Why would you do that?” Anlyn glanced over at Edison. “We came here to talk!”

  He shook his head. “Our surviving the jump obviates the need for talk,” he said. “Assumptions have been validated: there’s an invasion underway. By extension, the Bern are little interested in nonmilitant communications.”

  Anlyn settled down, the shaking in her arms subsiding as the rush of jumping into the center of a star and surviving gradually faded away. She looked at the grid-like pattern of targets spread out over thousands of kilometers, the blips flickering and sporadic from some sort of interference. Still, there was no doubting what she was seeing. A massive invasion force was assembled all around her—in fact she was now a part of it. Edison had been right about everything.