Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions (The Bern Saga #3)

Molly Fyde and the Blood of Billions (The Bern Saga #3) Page 39

She approached Cat, who was spreading some of the blankets from Parsona’s crew bunks out across the forest floor. She touched her shoulder and Cat turned. The two women frowned at each other, eyes glazed over with tears. They hugged, the power in Cat’s arms squeezing out some of the painful stress in Molly’s back. The touch of another, even as the embrace with Walter had shown, gave her hope that she could get over the things she’d seen, could summit the awfulness and perhaps rappel safely down the other side.

“You did good, kiddo,” Cat whispered.

They separated and Molly looked away, rubbing at the bottom of her eyes.

“Where’s Scottie?” Molly asked. “Is he doing okay? Urg—I’m the one who told him to keep looking for—”

“Stop that.” Cat turned her around and held Molly’s shoulders. “Don’t do that. He was doing what he had to. There’s bad luck involved, you’ve gotta remember that.”

Molly nodded, but only to last thing Cat said. She bent over and grab-bed two of the blanket’s corners and helped spread it out over the dried leaves and broken twigs. Several crewmen immediately helped others sit down, each of them cradling a cup, bottle, or a mug of water. One of the crewmen—an older woman Molly remembered from the simulator room—tugged on Molly’s elbow and pointed over to a cluster of seated figures.

“The Admiral wants to see you,” the lady said.

Molly turned to Cat. “Be loose with the water. I’ll make a run into Bekkie tonight and top up the tank and load up with food. Don’t let anyone set up camp too close to the thruster wash.”

Cat nodded and gave her arm a squeeze.

Molly took a deep breath and marched over to the small circle where Saunders seemed to be conferring with a group of higher-ups. They fell silent as she approached, their wrinkled eyes swiveling around to watch her. She felt ridiculous standing there, on display, so she sank down to the blanket, and everyone adjusted to make room.

“Admiral.” She gave him a somber look, which took little effort given how she felt.

Saunders glanced around at the others, almost as if on the verge of dismissing them. The gray gentleman—the one from the hallway of the StarCarrier—looked at her warmly, the corners of his mouth curling up.

After an uncomfortable moment, Saunders extended his hand to Molly. She gave it a long look, then grasped it with her own.

“This isn’t a pardon, not by any stretch. It’s just a thanks. We’ll deal with the rest after—”

“There won’t be an after,” she interrupted.

The small gathering tensed up at the breach of protocol, several of them moving to say something. Molly spread her hands, gesturing to the pathetic encampment forming throughout the clearing. “This is the after,” she said.

“Nonsense,” one of the staff members interjected. “We’ve knocked the Drenards back before, we’ll do it again!”

“These aren’t the Drenards.” Molly turned to take them all in.

“Not the Drenards?” Someone asked. “Do you have any idea what—?”

Saunders held up his hands. He looked past the group and toward the rest of the survivors. “Let’s stay calm,” he told everyone.

Molly followed his gaze. She saw dozens of faces pointing their direction from the blankets scattered across the forest floor. They were shocked faces, scared faces, watching and waiting. Her sense of being on display heightened even further.

“The Drenards began pushing out of their spiral arm a week ago,” Saunders said.

Molly turned back and saw he was addressing her.

“They’ve only hit frontier planets so far. Regan, Osis, a few others. As I told you before, and as you can now see, your parents chose unwisely to side with them.”

“Unwisely?” someone asked, winning a glare from the gray man beside Saunders.

Molly let out a sigh. She turned to take them all in. “Admiral. Every-one. These are not Drenards. I know for a fact. I—”

“How could you know?” one of the younger officers asked. “And why should we believe her anyway,” he asked the others. “You do know we came here to find you, right? None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for you!”

Molly gaped at the young officer; his eyes flared with rage.

“Carlton, you’re dismissed.”

The young man turned to Saunders. “Sir, I’m sorry, it’s just that—”

“I said you’re dismissed, son. Go tend to the others.”

“Yes, sir.”

As soon as he’d gone, Molly turned to the Admiral. “Is that true? You came here because—it’s my fault that you—?”

Saunders waved her off. “Of course not. I mean—that this is your fault. The fleet’s defeat was mine. And don’t flatter yourself too much. One of the fleets had to check in on Lok. We hadn’t heard from them for over two weeks. I volunteered Zebra so we could pull double-duty, just in case you’d come home. We were expecting Drenard hostilities when we jumped in, just nothing like . . .”

He fell silent, and Molly shook her head.

“If they aren’t Drenards, what are they?” one of the officers asked. “Don’t tell me the Tchung are back from wherever they—”

“They’re called the Bern,” she whispered. “They’re coming from another galaxy—”

“Hogwash!”

“Silence,” Saunders told the group. “Go on,” he said to Molly.

She cleared her throat and glanced at the cup of water the gray man clutched in his thin fingers. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” He handed her the cup. “Captain Robinson, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Molly said, taking a gulp. She handed the cup back to him. “They call themselves the Bern, and they come from another galaxy. There’s a rift here on Lok. It’s what my parents uncovered. I think. Anyway, I know they were working to prevent this. The Drenards—”

Molly glanced over at Robinson, whose brow seemed knitted with worry.

“And the Drenards?” Saunders asked.

“The uh . . . the Drenards . . .”

“More water?” Robinson asked, extending the cup to her.

“Uh . . .” Molly looked to Saunders. She glanced once more at all the faces turned her way. “Sir? Can I have a word with you in private?”

Saunders leaned against Parsona’s workbench. He had his arms folded over and resting atop his belly while Molly fumbled around in one of the cabinets. She finally brought out a bundle wrapped in a towel.

“What’s going on?” Saunders asked her. “Anything you want to tell me, you can say in front of my staff.”

“That’s the thing,” Molly said. She stood up and placed the bundle on the workbench. “I don’t think I can. Hear me out, and I mean really hear me out, just let it sink in before you react. I think these people that attacked you—I think they’ve been trying to get here for a long time. There’s a rift on Lok they’re coming through, and another one somewhere in the Drenard arm. I’m pretty sure the Drenards have been guarding that rift, preventing anything from coming out of it.”

“A rift?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know what to call it, I’m not a scientist, but I do know what they look like. I saw the first ships come out of the one here on Lok. Walter and I were hiding in the woods nearby, making sure the escape pod was secure, when—”

Saunders pointed up. “You saw these ships come out of a rift?”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone? Didn’t contact the Navy?”

“Are you kidding? Everyone on Lok saw them. They’ve been flying overhead for weeks and gathering in orbit. It hasn’t been a secret. And then the big one came through, and everyone thought that one—”

“Wait, go back to the Drenards. Why the bloodshed if they’re sup-posedly protecting us?”

“I didn’t say they were protecting us, they’re protecting the entire galaxy. That’s why they never push the war past their arm. Why they just defend their territory.”

Saunders rubbed his face. “That’s nonsense. Why wouldn’t they just tell us? And your little theory falls apart now that they are pushing out and attacking our planets.”

Molly thought about that. “Maybe it’s because the Bern are attacking here,” she said. “Maybe they’re looking for the other rift, or something.”

It sounded horrible, even to her own ears, like Cole trying to ration-alize one of his theories by fitting the data to his bias.

“The timing sure is strange,” Saunders admitted. “Unless this is just a two-pronged attack—”

“Look at this,” Molly said, picking up the bundle and unwrapping it. “And don’t be freaked out, it’s not human.”

He stepped back, despite the warning. Byrne’s arm looked extremely lifelike; the flesh hadn’t even discolored. Saunders took it and immed-iately looked at the interior, which was neatly cut and seemingly made of some alloy with a few bits of detail, like metal piping and wires.

“What is this?”

“It’s the arm of a Bern, but my—I know someone who thinks they might not all be like this, that most of them are flesh and blood, just like you and me.” She grabbed the towel from him, then looked around. “Where’s the other one?”

“You have two of these?”

“Somewhere. I—well, the rest of the guy is in hyperspace for all I know. And this is why I don’t feel comfortable telling your staff about everything, and also why the Drenards couldn’t tell us about the rift. The Bern look just like us. They’ve probably infiltrated our Navy, even our government. I mean, this might be the only reason that we keep attacking the Drenards.”

“Flank me.” Saunders set the arm on the workbench and staggered to the center of the cargo bay. He looked outside before turning back to Molly. His jowls were sagging, his mouth open. “It makes perfect sense.”

“It does?”

He pointed at the arm, crossed back over and picked it up. “You’ve seen one of them?”

Molly nodded.

“And they look like us?”

“A lot.”

“I—” Saunders looked around the cargo bay. “There’s nobody else aboard, is there?”

Molly couldn’t help but glance at the cargo cam.

“Just us,” she said.

“We’ve been getting some weird orders lately. And there’s been a ton of sealed communiqués between interfleet staff, stuff I can’t even access. Then Alpha fleet was called out of Earth orbit and sent to—Flank! They’re defenseless. Earth—I how could I be so stupid? We need to get to a long-range radio. We need to—”

“And call who?” Molly asked. “Don’t you see the problem? Call a Bern, and you’ll get yourself killed. Call a human, and you’ll start a panic and get everyone killed. Trust me, I was in the same place as you not that long ago. Hell, you’re coming around faster than I did.”

“Your parents knew this, didn’t they?”

Molly nodded. They know this, she thought, but kept that secret to herself.

“I feel so idiotic. It never occurred to me that orders could be ques-tioned. You obey, right? How many kids did I teach to obey? Oh, gods, the Academy. I—”

Saunders fell silent; his face went white, his fat, rosy cheeks turning to ash. Molly reached out for him as he stumbled forward, his eyes becoming unfocused. She grunted with effort, catching him under his arms and guiding him gently to the ground.

“Admiral? Saunders, are you okay?”

He didn’t respond. She reached up and grabbed the towel from the counter, placing it under his head, then ran for some water. The ship’s collection of assorted cups and mugs were completely gone, so she held a clean rag under the faucet, then twisted most of the moisture out of it. She ran back to Saunders and draped it across his forehead.

“Sir, are you okay?”

He blinked several times before his eyes gradually came together, focusing on Molly’s face. He looked up at her in shock, his pupils twitch-ing back and forth between hers.

“Lucin—”

“I’m sorry?” Molly leaned closer and dabbed the cloth across his forehead.

“Lucin,” he said, his face contorting into something between nausea and fear.

“What about him?” Molly asked, but the answer started coming as Saunders whispered his name again.

“Lucin—”

It was all he could say.

“Lucin . . .”

Over and over.

41

Cole whipped his head forward, snapping the welding mask in place and causing the world around him to fall black as blindness. He pulled the torch’s trigger and a blast of plasma illuminated his workspace in an eerie, greenish glow. Popping a few dollops of steel at a time, he worked along the joint and tacked the sheet of metal into place. Once it held, he ran back the length of the seam with a steady burn of the flame, concentrating on making a good, strong connection. Behind the torch’s passing, he left a long bead of beautiful, red, puddling steel.

The weld complete, he shut down the torch, lifted his visor, and watched the molten alloy cool—the rivulets of lava turning gray and then a dull silver. Cole stood up. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and surveyed the nearly completed box. On the opposite side of the cage, two other workers finished the wiring as they secured the last connection between the grav panels and the three separate power supplies. Cole nodded to one of the men who kept glancing up to survey his work, then moved to the next joint that needed welding. He was just about to flip his visor back down when a voice like dripping honey interrupted him: