Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

Page 13

“Not that deep, silly.”
Cole shot her a look. “Thanks. You know, I take you out for the night, hold the door for you and everything, and all you can do is make fun.”
Molly laughed and waded in the direction of the Regal. The water was up to her shins, the wide street flowing like a lazy river. The slight crown in the pavement kept most of the flood in the deep, wide gutters, but Molly saw that they could stand to be even bigger.
“This is ridiculous,” she said, looking around. “Why not build the city underground? Why build here at all?”
“Are you kidding?” Cole sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “And not enjoy this fresh air?”
Actually the air did smell quite a bit fresher. And the water was moving, carrying the last of the detritus with it, rather than standing and festering. As they splashed down the dimly lit street in the general direction of the hotel, Molly could see that the alleys were clean, the bags of refuse gone. The city was clean again. For now.
“Do you remember if these rains happen every month, twice a month, or what?”
Cole shrugged. “Nope. You seem to recall more than I do. I’d say it can’t be daily. I mean, people will build in some silly places, but like you said, this is just ridiculous.”
“I wonder if people ever get used to it.”
“Did those Navy guys seem used to it?”
“No, but I only saw a handful of locals dashing around after that first thunder. It looked like off-worlders and tourists.”
“I think we’re the only tourists here.”
They sloshed down several blocks in silence as the sky slowly brightened. Either the days here were extremely short, or Cole had lied and had allowed her to sleep for quite some time.
“It’s freezing,” she said, wringing water out of the bottom of her new blouse. Several of the pockets along her thighs bulged with rain. Molly slapped at them, sending out a spray. At least her boots seemed to have been a solid choice. The strap across the top had kept the water out, just as advertised.
Cole caught up to her and put his arm across her shoulder, trapping their heat together. Side-by-side, they kicked through the water, splashing downstream through an ankle-deep flow.
“What’re we going to do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I just wanna get out of here, to be frank. We might not even see this ship of yours. I spent all night trying to figure this out, but nothing makes sense. The Navy seems to be pushing us toward the ship while also keeping us away from it. It doesn’t add up.”
“I think we killed two Navy Officers last night. Maybe four, if those other two didn’t get back in time.” Molly felt sick just saying it. Being trained to kill aliens from a distance hadn’t prepared her for this.
“I know,” he said. “I spent a lot of time thinking about that as well. I don’t know when the next shuttle leaves, or if there’s another ship down here besides yours that can scoot us off-planet, but we need to get to Drummond and tell him he isn’t crazy.”
Molly nodded. “Yeah, this world is.”
••••
The sight of the Regal Hotel, so recently hideous, filled Molly with cheer and hope. She felt the urge to skip through the puddles toward the lobby, but the sight of crowds milling nearby forced her to restrain herself. They were going to draw quite enough attention as soaked off-worlders.
Pushing against the flow of the crowd, Molly and Cole swam upstream and into the emptying room. There were still plenty of people lying about, and the smell was awful, but it wasn’t quite as bad as it’d been the day before. Molly rushed over and claimed her bag, shooting Cole an exaggerated smile.
“Yeah, you think you’re so clever,” he said. “But we coulda used that last night.”
“Funny. As a weapon, you mean?”
“As an anchor!”
“Har. Har.” Molly hoisted the bag over one shoulder, tempted to paw through it right then and change into one of the fresh outfits inside. But the room, with its safety and privacy, was just up the stairs. She followed Cole up there and down the hall, nearly bumping into him as he came to a sudden stop.
“What’s up?”
Cole brought a finger to his lips and pointed to Drummond’s door. It was open. Wide open. Something was wrong. The day before, Drummond hadn’t been comfortable cracking the door enough to let them inside, no way would he leave it like this. Molly felt her empty stomach grumble and twist into knots. She followed Cole as they crept forward. The gun from last night materializing in his right hand.
He reached out and used the barrel to press the door inwards the rest of the way. It squeaked on worn hinges. Somewhere above them a kid thumped down a hallway, laughing. “Drummond?” Cole called out. “Be easy, we’re comin’ in.”
Cole peeked around the corner and Molly peered around Cole. The room was a wreck. Even more of a wreck than earlier. The dresser was on its face, the mattress from the bed leaned against the window, and the blinds were up, allowing a pool of light to gather in the room.
In the center of that pool lay Special Agent “Drummond” Simmons. She could tell at once that he wasn’t alive; his limbs had an unnatural shape, as if he had gone down flailing. Crimson fluid spread out from his head, a pool-within-a-pool. Drummond’s face pointed toward the door, staring at them with a frozen expression of shock, like he couldn’t believe he was dead.
“Don’t move!” someone yelled.
But they didn’t give them a chance. Boots thundered down the hallway and several men tackled Molly and Cole, pinning them to the ground.
“He’ss got a gun,” someone hissed. Molly heard Cole grunt from a silent blow. The world went black as something was pulled over her head.
She tried to struggle, but she was suddenly too tired. Her body had gone limp, her brain emptied of any thoughts. It was just too many bad events over too short a period of time. She was entering what Corporal Joss, the man who had first pushed her hard in the simulators, used to call “battle fatigue.” She could recall his face so clearly, could remember the training—something stirred inside of her. It fought back the black cloud that was attempting to make her envious of Drummond, jealous of the long nap and the pleasure of having this end. Her training pushed these dark thoughts into the primal lair of her brain, the old cave in which they lived.
She was not going to be consumed with hopelessness, she decided. She stayed limp, conserving her energy. But she wasn’t done fighting.
12
Molly jostled between two other figures. It had already been a long, dark journey to wherever they were going. The only thing said between her and Cole was his advice to keep quiet as they were dragged down the hotel stairs.
“No talking!” one of their captors had yelled, smacking each of them through burlap sacks.
There had been quite a commotion in the lobby, orders barked in an alien tongue, and the sounds of people scampering. Molly had a clear look at the arm that pulled the hood over her head. It’d been clad in red, and it felt strange to be relieved that these weren’t Navy people. For all she knew, they just wanted them for Drummond’s death, a rap they could clear, but only with an alibi that was even worse!
Another bump in the road was accompanied by the splash of a puddle and the rough canvas itching her nose. Her world reeked of mildew and rattled with an alien language. Unlike the English that Palans hissed through their teeth at off-worlders, their native tongue popped and gurgled inside their mouths. It would have been a pleasant sound, if Molly wasn’t so worried about what they were saying.
The vehicle came to a sudden stop, sending her head forward into something hard. The gurgling huffs that ensued were filed away in Molly’s mind as laughter. The doors popped open and one of the men hauled her out roughly. More mirth spread as she tripped on the jam and fell to her knees. Her reward for amusing them was another slap to the back of her head.
Molly concentrated beyond their grunts of pleasure, attempting to gauge her surroundings. A strong wind howled nearby even though she felt but the slightest breeze against her damp shirt. There was a steady musical tone resonating from the wind. It sounded like a child puffing air across the lip of a bottle. She also heard water rushing to get someplace—but before she could deduce any more, she was dragged into a building.
“Downstairss,” someone commanded.
There was the clink and rattle of keys and the heavy groaning of tired hinges. A voice told Molly to watch her step as she was led down uneven treads. The darkness inside the hood became even blacker. Molly heard Cole call out her name.
“I’m here, Cole, I’m all right.”
Another smack to the back of her head. A more serious one. “Sshut it!”
Molly was practically carried by two strong arms on either side of her. She touched her feet down cautiously, waiting for them to drop her but wary of being tripped up. Their muscles, their strength against her, had the opposite effect Cole’s did. The part of her intent on surviving became worried again.
At the bottom of several twisting flights of stairs, they hauled her through what must have been half a dozen metal gates. She could hear the keys jangle and the hinges peal. The precaution seemed silly until Molly thought back to how many bodies she and Cole had already left in their wake. She wanted to feel awful for their deaths, but all she could sense was fear for her own safety. She dwelt on what she would tell her captors about last night’s events.
Hopefully it wouldn’t be as complicated as her nervous brain was making it. It seemed like everyone had gone mad with conspiracy theories, but there might be a simple and rational explanation for all of this. She had to remind herself: the galaxy was not out to get them. All they would have to do was explain who they were and what they were doing here. Maybe show them some paperwork. And then they’d hand over her ship.
She really wanted to believe this.
Another set of hinges sang out loudly, off-key. Molly was pulled to a halt, the hood roughly tugged off her head as they shoved her into a cell. Metal clanged behind her; somewhere in the distance she heard Cole yelling her name. The cry was cut off with an oomph.
Molly was alone. In a stone cubicle. A mesh of thick steel bars covered the side through which she’d been pushed. The opposite wall was solid rock with a square window cut out of it, spanned with two bars.
Beyond, she could see the far side of what appeared to be a massive canyon. The wind moaned as it tore across the small opening before her. She leaned close to the bars, focusing on a series of vertical streaks of white on the other canyon wall. They waved slightly, like strings hanging in a breeze. Waterfalls. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them plummeting into the void.
The window was too cramped to see to the bottom of the canyon, but she thought she could hear the rush of a river below. So this was one of the Palan canyons. The new context jarred more memories of the Palan rains. Facts memorized for a test percolated into her long-term memory. She could visualize the planet, its sole continent a high plateau carved with deep ruts. The water rushed across it from the rains and into an ocean more vast than her Pacific. Molly cursed herself for concentrating on star charts for this trip, neglecting to study any of the planets between. That oversight was costing her.
She gripped the bars and allowed the cool wind from the canyon to punish her shivering body. The steel was unnecessary, she realized. Unless her captors were simply trying to block an easy way out. How fitting: a world of notorious criminals and pirates had concocted a method of containment so simple, so effective, and so hopeless. They’d just carved it into the side of a canyon and provided prisoners with an open window through which they could chuck any hope of escape.
Molly sat down on the stone ledge carved out of one wall. She rested elbows on knees, then noticed the hole in the cell floor for the first time. Scurrying over to investigate, she wished she hadn’t. The hole was a funnel carved out of solid stone, leading down to an opening about a decimeter across. The mess caked on the edges marked its purpose clearly.
She recoiled away from the discovery and sat back on the rock cot. For just a moment, she was glad she’d had nothing to eat or drink in half a day.
There was a rattle at her door.
“Sstay back, prissoner.” A large Palan with hairy arms and a broad, metallic face worked the lock. As he opened the door, a smaller man stepped around him, his hands behind his back.
“Molly Fyde?” the thinner man asked.
“Yes!” she nearly leapt up to clasp the man, thrilled someone would know her, for whatever reason.
The Palan brought his hands in front of him; he was holding a stack of papers pressed flat on top of her leather reader case. Molly settled back down on the ledge, the excitement drained from her.
“A nursse?” He thumbed through the medical records, pages from Cole’s conspiracy file.
“What? No, no. Those were—it’s nothing. I’m just a student. I’m here for a ship called the Parsona. My father left it to me. It’s all in there.”
“Yesss. Much paper in here. Not all of it real, though.” He smiled up at her. “But at leasst your name iss real. Your reaction told me.” His smile broadened at his own cleverness. “Now, prissoner Fyde, why are you trying to rob me of my sship?”
“Your ship?” Anger welled up. “Who are you? The Navy paid you fair and square!”
She’d said too much; she saw it in his reaction, the way his head tilted to the side and his eyes widened.
“No matter, prisoner Fyde. You’ll not be tried for a theft you never got around to. Drummond’ss death and the messs you made on the avenue last night will be enough.” He sorted the paper back into the pouch.