“Enough for what? Who are you?”
“Enough for your death, prissoner Fyde; you will be tried in court. To ansswer your query: we are the Hommul. We are in charge of Palan Ssecurity now. The Ssmitthss. . .” her captor seethed with effort, “. . .are no more. And neither iss whatever deal you had with them.”
With that, he turned and left. The brute of a Palan standing in the hallway sealed her door with a loud clack. Both silvery men shuffled off in the direction she thought Cole had been taken.
A trial? From these guys? She couldn’t imagine what their concept of justice would be like. Certainly bribes had a lot to do with it—bribes and bartering seemed to rule the Palan economy—but Molly had no money. She knew Cole had some funds from the Navy, but surely the pirates would’ve taken that, along with everything else they owned.
Molly fought back the black cloud swirling inside her and recalled last night: how lucky she was just to be alive. She went to the window, pulled in large gulps of fresh air tinged with the scent of water and vegetation, and tried to remain positive.
A scuffling sound behind her interrupted her meditation. She turned to find a Palan boy smaller than herself standing outside the bars. “Food and water,” he said, holding something out to her.
Molly approached the gate cautiously, looking into the silver eyes of a boy her own age, maybe younger. His coppery hair was trimmed back short, his clothes baggy, but not stylishly so. More like hand-me-downs he’d been forced to wear.
“Thank you.” She reached through the bars and took the two metal tins. One sloshed with a yellowish fluid, the other rattled with large brown pebbles of what she assumed, by the process of elimination, must be food.
The boy turned to go.
“Wait!” she said. “What’s your name?”
He turned back to her and smiled. “Walter,” he said.
“Hi, Walter. I’m Molly.”
“I know. Molly Fyde. I heard. And don’t worry, the trial will be very quick.”
“Quick? How quick?”
“Today,” he said. And Molly couldn’t tell if it was a smile now, or a sneer. The boy returned to his cart and was about to move on.
“I have lots of money,” she lied.
Walter turned and approached the bars. “Palan people can ssmell a lie,” he informed her. “Even the day before the rainss we can ssmell a lie. You have nothing.”
“I have a ship.”
Walter sniffed. “Maybe you had a sship. But my uncle hass it now. One day I will have it.” He turned to go; Molly pressed on.
“Only if your uncle is still in power long enough. Look, let’s barter, okay? I can’t give you the ship, but I can get you a reward for getting me out of here. Help me and my friend escape, and I’ll take you off this planet to more money than you can dream of.”
“Leave Palan?” He snorted. “Why would I want to go? What iss there for me beyond Palan?” It was definitely a sneer.
“Whatever you want. No more working for your uncle. The Navy’ll reward you for helping us. Richly.” There was a ripple across his metallic-looking visage. He looked Molly up and down, and she suddenly became aware of the way her soaked shirt clung to her chest and wondered whether the boy would be more likely to help her or hurt her.
“I’m the daughter of an Admiral in the Earth Navy,” she told him. “You could have more riches than your uncle ever dreamed of. I promise.” Even if the boy betrayed her to his uncles, this information might make her freedom worth bartering for. Lucin would be outraged at how this had turned out, but Molly didn’t see any other path to take. Besides, she wouldn’t be in this mess if Navy personnel had cooperated.
Walter sniffed the air, his nose creeping up toward the rock ceiling. “You do not lie. Interesssting.”
Molly tried to think of more to say as Walter pushed his cart of food and water cans further down the aisle of cells. Over the rattling of the tins and the noise of metal wheels scraping on rock, she could hear the strange boy mumbling to himself in a different language, one devoid of anything that hissed—like the sounds of flooding water.
••••
Hours went by on the stone ledge. Molly’s stomach grumbled louder at the Palan jail food than it had when she was starving. Several hunks of the meal were still in the tin, but the precious calories—if indeed the chalky stuff had any—didn’t seem worth the foul taste.
The can of yellowish water, still half-full, sat beside the food. For a planet renowned for its fresh rain, this stuff must have required quite a bit of preparation.
The colors outside her window dulled with the rising sun, and still no word from her jailers. The one time she worked up enough courage to call for Cole, it returned nothing but jeers from some distant prisoners. The waiting and the unknown took turns torturing her.
It was past mid-day when she heard the squeaking of Walter’s cart heading her way. He had never returned from the other direction, and now he came as before. Molly figured there were multiple ways up, or a second hallway around. None of this info likely mattered, but the tactical training would likely remain with her forever. She’d been soaking in it ever since she was born.
“Food and water.” It was the same greeting. Molly got up, felt a little weak and dizzy, and clung to the bars. It was the same fare.
“Walter, I need some clean water. Some different food.”
“No. I’m ssorry.” He shook his head sadly. “Your trial iss not going very well. They will not wasste food on someone who may be guilty.”
“My trial is underway now!?” Molly felt like she was going to be sick.
“Yeah. There iss not much defensse. You have killed more people at your age than my uncle had. It iss the only thing they like about you.”
“Have you thought about my offer? Surely you don’t want to be an errand-boy for your uncles, do you? Think about the freedoms you could have off this planet. There’ll be a reward, I promise.” Molly considered the items she could barter with, then added: “We could be friends.”
This elicited a smile; he sniffed and nodded. “Ssome of that iss true. Hard to ssay which.” He rubbed his hand back and forth over the stubble on his head, peering at the ground.
“Yeah, I thought about your offer, and I could get you out, but not the boy. They have him passt my cart and my key. He isss down where there iss only one room. And, anyway, hiss trial iss already over. He’ll be dead by morning.”
Walter may as well have reached through the bars and punched Molly in the gut. She sank to her knees, her hands gripping the bars for support. By morning?! This had to be a nightmare. A stupid bad dream. She’d had these silly fantasies of traveling across the stars and doing odd jobs and being with Cole forever. She went into this like it was a vacation instead of a serious mission, and at every step things had gone horribly wrong.
She started to cry, her hands still up on the bars, her back moving up and down with her quiet sobs as precious fluids rolled down her cheeks. She could sense Walter kneeling down across from her.
“Don’t cry,” he told her, touching his own face, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll help you out. We’ll esscape tonight, okay? Forget about the boy.”
Molly pulled up the hem of her ruined T-shirt, still moist from her last horror and clinging to her chest; she wiped away snot and tears.
“Forget about the boy,” Walter said again. There was a clanging of a gate down the hallway. He stood quickly and hissed a final “Tonight” before turning to go.
But Molly could only think about the morning.
••••
There was no chance of sleeping as night fell, and no dinner had been served. Molly cried as much as her body was able and felt sore and cold from the effort. The breeze reaching through the cell chilled her to the bone, even after wringing most of the wetness from her shirt.
There was no telling when or if Walter might try and spring her, but she’d been thinking of as many crazy ideas as she could to keep her mind off it. Some of these plans relied on her jailers coming in and making mistakes. Some assumed Walter would be bringing weapons. Some pretended her hand-to-hand courses in the Navy had somehow worked miracles.
One of them toyed with the laws of physics.
This mixture of day-dreaming and waking nightmare made the hours feel like days. She had no idea what time it was when she noted the soft padding of bare feet followed by Walter whispering her name.
She grabbed her boots, tied together by their laces, and draped them over her neck; she slid silently to the door. Walter was fiddling with a can of oil and a key. “The hingess,” he said quietly, passing her the bottle after he worked some into the lock.
Molly carefully squirted some oil on the three large hinges and watched Walter work the key into the mechanism.
It opened with a small click.
“Come,” he whispered.
“Wait here,” Molly said. She rushed off to the left on silent feet, concealed by the sounds of alien snores. Fifty meters down the hallway she came to a gate with a massive lock. She could see more gates beyond.
Several of her plans ground instantly to dust.
She rushed back to Walter, who seemed agitated by the delay.
“Forget him,” he said. “Come.”
Molly followed him back through the same gates she’d been dragged through earlier that day; they left them open as they hurried along. When they got to a flight of steps, Walter continued straight ahead and Molly hesitated. This had to be the way she’d been brought down.
“Come,” he said.
She did, following him down another dark corridor and through several more gates. Then, without warning, Walter darted to the side and disappeared into a solid wall. When Molly caught up she saw there was a nook in the stone. A rusty ladder was fastened to the back side of the indention leading through holes above and below.
Walter’s bare, grey feet disappeared through the passage above. Molly remembered what he’d said about the “room below” where Cole was kept. She wanted to go down and explore, but this place was full of gates and she had no key. All she had was a guide that didn’t seem to care whether Cole lived or died.
Her heart sank. Grudgingly, she ascended the ladder after Walter as more of her rescue plans melted away.
At several holes, the rusted iron ladder went through small round gates. Each of them hung open, smelling of Walter’s oil. After a few minutes of climbing, Molly emerged into the fresh air of a cool evening, but she couldn’t feel good about being free while Cole awaited execution. She crouched next to Walter, who was peering into the black. Only one plan really remained.
“Where’s the ship?” she asked.
“Near,” he said. “They moved it after Drummond tried to ssteal it. There iss a docking platform at the bottom of the canyon. It iss there. I checked it today, full of energy. Not much food.” He turned to look at her and she spotted the dull glow in his eyes. “You can fly?”
She nodded. Oh, yes . . . I can fly, she thought.
He dipped his head once and sneered. Then he stole across the packed ground toward the sound of wind and water. Molly stayed in a low crouch and tried to keep up.
When Walter came to a sudden stop at the end of the path, Molly bumped into him and they both leaned forward, regaining their balance.
“Watch it!” he hissed, and she could see why. They were poised at the edge of a canyon that moonlight could not fully penetrate nor cross. It was even bigger in the dark with her imagination filling the void. It would take them forever to work their way down.
“Put it on.” Walter held something out to her. It looked like the flight harnesses sewn on top of Academy jumpsuits. It had the same sort of D-rings and layout. It was hard to figure out exactly what went where, but Walter seemed eager to assist her. His touch made her shiver as the leggings were worked up over her pant legs. She returned his sneer with a half-hearted smile.
Once they were both in and before she could ask what they were doing, Walter clipped something onto her back with a loud snick. He contorted his body to do the same to himself. Then he gave her one last wicked grin before shoving her over the edge.
Molly couldn’t help it—she screamed. As loud as she could.
She dropped three meters straight down before the harness yanked at her chest and sent her zipping away from the ledge. The webbing around her thighs pinched her viciously, but before she could register the pain, she was hurtling forward into a stiff breeze, flying toward the far side of the canyon. Something mechanical screamed above her, steadily increasing its pitch. A wheel on a wire, spinning.
It was impossible to see in the wan moonlight. Even so, Molly could sense the bulk of the other side approaching, as if a different sort of blackness loomed ahead. She braced for impact, pulling her hands above her exposed head, but none came. She continued to fly at near-terminal velocity as the large wall of dark hardly got closer. It was huge.
She flew further, the bitter wind stinging her eyes and chill bumps popping out on exposed skin. A gust of wind tore through the canyon, whipping the slack wire sideways and eliciting another wild scream of pure terror. Molly tucked her knees to her chest and wrapped her hands around them, shivering and terrified.
She wanted it to stop.
Gently.
She could barely hear the whine of the wheel above her over the deafening wind, but she noticed a shift in its pitch, a blessed lowering. Her stomach dropped as she started gaining altitude, having reached the bottom of the drooping wire that stretched across the canyon. As she slid up toward the other side, her speed slowed to something only moderately insane. She urged it to reduce even further when a new danger occured to her: not enough speed and she’d drift back to the center of the canyon. Toward Walter, if he’d been crazy enough to follow.