Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

Cole lurched forward against his harness, his ribs yelling over the pain in his spine. He imagined the dash and canopy being pressed back toward him at the same time. He tried to bring his arms up against his body to protect them, but the force was too strong, his muscles too fatigued.

The entire crash felt like it took several minutes. But, as the Firehawk ground to a full stop, only fifteen seconds had transpired since the first impact. Cole hung upside down in his flight harness, the grav panels knocked out along with the rest of the life-support systems.

The only positive was that they were still alive, for however much longer.

Cole cracked one eye open. The bright spot in his vision remained, but it was surrounded by something new: complete and utter darkness.

What’s happening?

“Riggs?” Cole flipped his visor up and heard air rushing somewhere. It was hard to tell if it was rolling over the surface of the ship, or if their atmosphere was leaking into a vacuum beyond. He strained to listen, hoping it was the former. There was so much power behind it; if that was their air going out . . . they didn’t have much time left.

Where are you? What’s going on?

The only thing he could see in the darkness was the bright spot in his vision, which had turned a dull red. His head throbbed, making it hard to think. Pain pulsed out through his entire body as his weight hung on his harness, sore ribs and shoulders pressing into the straps.

“Riggs, I’m coming, man. We crashed into something. Gimme a minute.”

He reached up and released the buckle on one side of his flight harness while he wrapped an arm in the other side. As his body came free, it twisted around the one arm, preventing him from falling face-first. Cole tried to hang on, but the pain in his ribs forced him to release his grip. He fell in a heap on the top of the canopy and slid down to the low spot of the inverted carboglass bubble.

Over the squealing of his flightsuit as it rubbed across the smooth surface, Cole heard a crunching sound coming from below the glass.

Crashed? Do you know where you are?

Cole pushed himself up and walked gingerly to Riggs’s side of the cockpit. He pulled a glowstick out of his flightsuit and cracked it in half. “Cool your thrusters, man, I’m trying to help.”

We can’t help from here. You need to get out of there.

“What? Stop struggling.” He lifted his own visor and reached up with one hand to grope for Riggs’s helmet release. The radio speakers in his helmet sounded strange, altering Riggs’s voice. Cole’s eyes still hurt, his head ringing.

Cole? Can you hear me?

“Yeah, I can hear you. Hold still so I can work the release.” The catch popped free and Riggs’s helmet fell through Cole’s hands and smacked the carboglass by his feet.

In the dull, green glow of his emergency stick, he could see his old friend’s eyes. They were wide with a mixture of fear and rage—his cheeks puffing in and out as he sucked, then expelled air through his nose.

The duct tape was still adhered to his mouth.

“Riggs?”

Who is Riggs?

Cole reached up and released his own helmet. He pulled it off, his mind still dizzy from the crash. In the dim light of the glowstick, he could see the mic switched off on the side.

“Hello?”

Yes. Who is this?

Raising one hand, he touched the band around his head. It was soaked with sweat, but still in place. Above him, Riggs groaned in discomfort, then tried to force expletives through the tape.

Cole ignored him. He became lost in his own thoughts. His own, and those of others.

“My name is Cole Mendonça. I—we crashed in—where are we?”

“I’ll tell you where you are: you’re where bad navigators go, son. Now you need to get a move-on before Joshua’s men get there.”

“Where? I should be halfway to Lok, we should—”

“Listen to me, lad, you don’t have much time. You need to destroy your fusion fuel and get out of there.”

Pops?

Cole could feel it as another speaker, even though they were all in his voice. Each had a flavor, or a layer of emotions going with them.

“Not right now, Penny.”

They’re almost there, Pops.

“You hear that, Cole? You don’t have much time left.”

Cole shook his head. Too many thoughts.

“Not much time for what? he thought. Who are you? Where am I?”

“ . . . My name is Mortimor Fyde, son. Welcome to hyperspace.”