Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue
Page 33“The friendlier he gets the more I want to strangle him,” Cole remarked, watching him disappear.
“Tell me about it.”
Molly stuck her head into the cargo bay, looking for Walter. He was fiddling with his computer and telling Edison which things to pull out and where they were located. He seemed giddy with anticipation, probably eager to get bartering.
“Walter, I need to speak with you.”
“Of coursse, Captain. You know I love our talkss.” He holstered the computer and smoothed his gray jumpsuit. It was still too big for him, the wrinkles and folds just moved down to his waist, making his thin frame seem pudgy.
“What’s your sense of Albert? Smelling sense, I mean. Does the guy reek to you?”
Walters face scrunched up in concentration, the dull sheen of metal flesh glowing slightly. “Not one bit. I meant to ssay ssomething lasst night after dinner, but I wasss too sstuffed to remember. Ssomething Palan insside is sscreaming ‘a lie!’, but no ssmell. Nothing.”
“Really?”
“Yess, but I musst tell you a ssecret.” He glanced at Edison, paused, then continued. “Palanss can rarely ssmell a lie on each other. We’re sso good at it, sso many generationss of—bargainerss. It’ss only useful for . . . tourisstss.” He had a hard time spitting it out. “Of coursse, I’m telling you what otherss tell me. I know little of thesse thingss. I would never lie to you, Molly.” His face flattened into a shield of sincerity.
“I know you wouldn’t.” She turned to Edison, glanced at his paw. “How’re you holding up?”
“Adequately improved.” He flashed his wide teeth. “Unless your preference is otherwise, I would appreciate the opportunity to conduct repairs on the aft section of Parsona with the day’s initial hours.”
“That would be great, Edison, thanks. Are you sure you don’t mind helping us install whatever we trade for today?”
“Few actions could increase my pleasure more.”
She patted his fur. “Thanks. Cole and I are going to meet with Albert. Keep an eye on Walter for me.”
Edison nodded and Molly returned to the airlock, where Cole was waiting for her.
“After you,” he said.
Molly ducked through the airlock hatch and crossed once more to Lady Liberty. Albert had clever excuses for the arrangement, but she had finally figured out the real reason for keeping the ships together: he just wanted to keep them locked up at night.
She felt another tinge of trepidation as she stepped out into the ship’s cargo bay. Knowing that a live Drenard lived aboard was unsettling. She glanced to the creature’s corner of the bay—it was empty. The thick chain, one end bolted to the bulkhead, snaked across the decking and curled up into the navigator’s seat. Something moved. Molly saw the Drenard’s head, small, bald and translucent blue, peeking around the corner. Those sad, wide eyes once again locked onto Molly’s.
She froze, then raised one hand toward her sworn enemy. Her fingers bent slightly in a small wave.
The head sucked back around the corner and the chain jangled softly.
“Hey, do you—”
“Yeah, I saw it,” he said. They clanged down the ramp together and he headed straight for the store entrance. Molly pulled him to a stop.
“That wasn’t what I was gonna ask.” She paused. “Do you think Albert was flying Lady Liberty yesterday?”
Cole’s eyes widened and darted up to the ship’s cockpit. “The Drenard? Gods, I bet you’re right! If so, man. . .” Cole shook his head. “The simulator doesn’t do them justice, does it? Wow. That would totally explain the Battle of Eckers, eh? And how they keep holding us off with inferior numbers.”
He glanced back up at the cockpit and chuckled. “That Drenard is better than you, you know.”
“Hey, I was working with a fractured wrist and a busted thruster.” Molly couldn’t believe his boy brain—making everything a competition—or the fact she fell right in with him. “Wanna tell me who wrecked my thruster?” she asked.
“Hey, I had nothing to do with your wrist, Ms. Sensitive.” He dodged back as he said it, obviously expecting a slap to the shoulder.
Molly considered it, but the return to their usual banter didn’t feel normal yet. They’d have to fake it a while longer before she could hit him in play. She forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as bad as it had in the visor, and crossed to the store lobby.
She entered and Albert rose from behind his desk. “Welcome, welcome!” he said, as if a customer had just strolled in from the street. “And here’s our Weapons Officer. Good morning, Cole!”
“I just saw you five minutes ago,” he complained, a thumb pointing over his shoulder.
“Of course, of course. I’m just excited to be doing business with you two. I’ve been updating my price sheets, and I really think we’ll be able to cut you a fantastic deal. Nothing top of the line, not for what you have to trade with, but something better than what you have now, right? I mean, anything is better than nothing!”
He moved around the desk and handed Molly a tablet. It displayed defense and arms modules with specs and pricing. He pointed at a number in the corner. “Here’s your total. I’ll let you know when you exceed the value of the goods that your wonderful little Cargo Officer has set aside.” He smiled and said it again. “Wonderful title, that. Cargo Officer.” He laughed again at some private joke.
Cole ticked items off his fingers. “Chaff pods, ECM, two lasers, a missile pod, suits for the crew, hand-stunners, a better first-aid kit—”
“Whoa, slow down,” Molly said.
Albert’s chuckling stopped; he looked at them gravely. “Are you kids planning a little war?” The serious facade cracked with more laughter. “Just kidding, of course. That sounds great, I’ll get right on it. The suits, of course, will take some time. I have a friend a few shops down the row who has the material we’ll need, and my wife is a wizard with alterations. Let me get started on that while you two take your time with the catalogs. Just mark here,” he indicated a box, “with anything you’re interested in. Add as much as you like, we’ll compare the packages when I get back.
“Oh, and make yourselves comfortable,” he gestured toward a leather sofa crouching behind a glass table on the other side of the lobby. While Molly and Cole followed his gaze, Albert snuck away to his living quarters, his fancy suit singing as it rubbed together.
They plopped down with the tablet between them and started hammering out the details. Without knowing what they could or couldn’t afford, they had to set up multiple packages in a wide range of prices. When they came to pages of Navy regulation products they recognized, and a few pieces of forbidden technology from other races—Drenard included—the tactical debate turned into an ethical argument.
Molly felt relieved that her father wasn’t there, that he couldn’t see her in this seedy joint, contemplating the purchase of contraband. The guilty feelings that had kept her awake the night before came flooding back, making her feel tired and depressed. Gradually, Cole assumed command of the conversation and Molly’s doubts wilted under the glare of his cold rationality.The Weapons Officer ruse had become reality without her noticing.
They had been at it for over an hour when Walter came in, looking sheepish. “Where’ss Albert?” he asked them.
Cole nodded toward the living quarters. Walter didn’t hesitate, rushing after their host as if he were welcome anywhere in the asteroid. As the door swung open, domestic sounds flooded the lobby: cabinet doors slamming, children screaming after one another, Mrs. Gaines admonishing someone and Albert’s voice an echo, backing up his wife.
Molly shook her head at the normalcy. This combination of arms dealer, captor, slave holder, family man, and business tycoon made pegging Albert impossible. She could dwell on one aspect of the man, depending on whether she wanted to vilify him or attempt to trust him, but neither answer felt right. She needed him to sit in his lair, rubbing his hands together as his henchmen gathered around and he planned his domination of the galaxy. Anything redeemable—if he oozed all that slime simply to help his family slide through life—made him harder to loathe.
What Molly needed was a reminder. “Are you good here?” she asked Cole.
He looked surprised. “You going in there as well?”
“No way. I just . . . I wanted to check on Edison. See how the thruster repairs are going.”
“Yeah, sure. I think I know what sort of balance we’re settling on here. Go ahead. And hey, if the crazy bear has added two more thrusters and upgraded the landing gear, don’t be surprised.”
“I won’t,” she grinned.
Because I’m not checking in on Edison, she added to herself.
29
Molly entered the hangar to the sounds of Edison hammering on Parsona’s aft section, performing repairs. She used the cover of the two ships and the loud noises to sneak up Lady Liberty’s gangway. Entering the cargo bay, she noticed the chain still led around the corner of the cockpit.
Molly hesitated for a moment.
Then she took a few steps toward the front of the ship, approaching from the side to get a clear view around the doorjamb while keeping her distance. When the chain rattled slightly, Molly nearly turned and fled out to the hangar, but somehow she kept her nerves in check.
The small, blue head peeked out at her. Molly raised both hands, showing her palms to the alien. The eyes withdrew, but she could still see the crown of its bald scalp, the light from the hangar filtering into the carboglass and then through its clear skin. It looked like a mere child, half the mass of an adult Drenard. Molly’s size.
So frail, she thought to herself.
Molly took a few more steps forward and the rest of the head withdrew. She called out softly, “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m a friend, okay? My name’s Molly.” She continued to reassure the Drenard, and herself, as she crept into the rear portion of the cockpit. When she could see its shoulder over the edge of the nav chair, she stopped. Fighting to keep her voice steady, she asked, “Your name is Anlyn, right? That’s a very pretty name, Anlyn. Very pretty. My name’s Molly. Can you say my name?”
“Molly.” It came out less than a whisper but more than a sigh. The pronunciation was flawless. It seemed the act of communicating at all was what the creature needed practice with.
“That’s right. My name’s Molly. I’m a ship captain. A pilot. Do you like to fly?”
Molly saw an immediate reaction. The alien’s smooth head turned to her, its pale eyes locking with her own. The sight of this poor thing gazing up at her filled Molly with the anguish of conflicting emotions. Part of her wanted to sweep the girl into her arms. Part of her just wanted to bash those chains. And years of training lashed out at both ideas.
Molly wanted to ask her why, but the Drenard cut her off.
“You’re not supposed to be here, and I’m not supposed to talk to you. Albert will hurt me if he finds us. Go, please,” she whispered.
Her head pressed back to her knees, her eyes fixed on her toes.
Molly thought of a dozen things to say, but remained silent. She imagined herself walking a little further and touching that clear shoulder, but she didn’t. Instead, she became overcome with sadness. A new kind. Directed at someone besides herself.
She turned and followed the chain back to the cargo bay.
••••
Molly found Edison at one of the workbenches, working a rag over some contraption. He turned to face her as she approached, a massive smile dominating his face. “Technology is spectacular,” he said. “I’m extremely appreciative of the opportunity to manipulate it.”
She scratched his arm and pressed her lips into a flat line. “Have you seen the girl in Albert’s ship?”
“The Drenard? Absolutely. Extremely fragile, in my estimation.”
“She’s a slave, Edison.”
“I concur. Liberated organisms do not decorate themselves with chains.”
Molly thought about some of her classmates at Avalon and wondered if arguing Edison’s point would serve any purpose. Probably not, she thought.
“You desire assisting her, correct?” Edison asked. “Emancipation? The similarities to Cole’s plan in liberating Walter immediately returns to my attention.”
“No, buddy. I mean, yeah, I wanna do something for her, but we’re not in any shape to help out. Nothing Albert’s about to sell us is gonna dent the stuff he keeps for himself.” She thought about this—about the obvious need for such an imbalance. You can’t sell arms that you don’t have your own defenses for. She glanced at the invisible hangar door. And you could never release defense technology like that into the wild; it would put an end to your arms trade. The irony of it all—the way the market worked here in Darrin—it hurt Molly’s brain the more she examined it.
“Hey, I need you to do me a favor. I’m not sure if it’ll help, but there’s an hour-long back-scratching just for trying, okay?”
Edison nodded vigorously, agreeing before she even got to the details.
Behind them, a pale blue head rose in the cockpit’s porthole and two small eyes watched the scene below.
The wetness on them could’ve been mistaken for the glare of hangar lights on carboglass. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">