Molly turned away from Walter and flicked on the radio. “Pete? This is Parsona, I was just about to call you. Is it okay if we—”
“Cap, I need to speak to Scottie. It’s urgent.”
Molly turned in her seat to call for him, but Walter was already scampering back to the cargo bay. The Palan returned, literally dragging the large man—two of his silvery hands clutching one of Scottie’s.
“It’s Pete,” Molly said. She pointed to the dash and gradually banked around toward the stables.
Scottie leaned over the controls. “Pete? You there?”
“Scottie? Oh, thank the gods. I need your help.”
Scottie glanced at Cat and then Molly. “We saw what happened. Sorry we hightailed it the way we did. You suffer much damage?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s—they’re rounding them up. The Callites.”
“What? With all this going on they’re gonna send up another shuttle?”
“It ain’t just the illegals this time. They’re rounding up everyone.”
“Do what?”
“They’ve got Ryn,” Pete said.
Parsona descended to the dry lot, her thruster wash kicking up a cloud of dust, which seemed to billow out and cushion her landing. Walter lowered the ramp immediately, allowing the plumes of powdered dirt to swirl and drift through the cargo bay. Molly swam through the haze ahead of the others and was halfway down the ramp when Pete stomped through the fog to meet them.
“What’s this about Ryn?” Scottie asked, as he joined Molly on the boarding ramp.
Pete spit to the side. A long stream of purple juice gathered dust as it fell, splotching Parsona’s ramp with a streak of gummy saliva. “They got him and some others,” he said. “Took ’em to immigrations. I swear the most of ’em were legal. Shopkeeper at Wayside and half the kitchen staff at Oasis.”
“Where’re they taking them?” Molly asked.
“More shuttles.” Pete spat again. “They flew two more over from New Hoboken last night. If they stick to their schedule, them shuttles’ll go up at any time.”
“And they’ll get shot down,” Cat said. Molly turned and saw a grimace of pained fury on her dark, scaly face.
“What about the ssuppliess?” Walter hissed.
Molly turned to face him; the Wadi hissed in her ear as if startled by the sudden movement. “We’ll worry about the supplies later. Right now we should—”
“What kinda supplies?” Pete asked.
“Food and water,” Scottie said.
“And camping gear, just in case,” Cat said. “Blankets, at the very least. And clothes.”
Pete surveyed the foursome as the dust continued to settle around them. He seemed to arrive at some conclusion, then spat a sticky string to the side, a long trail of it clinging to his lip and sagging with incredible viscosity.
“Town’s making a run on items like that, but I got sources of my own.” He nodded toward Molly and Walter. “Why don’t you youngins stay here. I’ll have the stuff delivered.” His eyes darted to Cat for a moment. “You two should come with me. See about stopping them shuttles.”
Molly stepped forward to complain. She didn’t like being coddled, or told what to do, but Cat placed a firm hand on her shoulder and held her back.
“He’s right,” Cat said, never taking her eyes off Pete. “You two stay here. We’ll see about Ryn and the others.”
“Just need a credit chip,” Pete said. “I’ll call in for the stuff and have it delivered.” He looked to Scottie and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You ready to go?”
“The sooner the better.” Scottie turned to Molly. “We won’t be long. I’ll get your fuze as soon as we get back.”
Molly nodded. “Just be safe.” She turned to Walter and waved him forward. “The chip,” she told him. Walter squeezed between her and Cat to hand over the Navy credit chip, which he had insisted on being in charge of. Scottie tugged it from his reluctant grip, then moved to put it in his pocket.
“Hey,” Walter said. “Jusst sscan it and give it back.”
“Scanner’s in the office,” Pete said. “I’ll keep it safe. I promise.”
Walter hissed as the chip disappeared. Molly put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back by her side.
“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Pete said. He gave Molly one last look. “I’ll have my dockhands round up everything you need. Might take a few hours, so just stay put.”
Molly nodded. The two men turned and stomped down the ramp; Cat paused to squeeze Molly’s arm. They exchanged a look, and then she turned as well, her bright, blond ponytail whipping around as she hurried off after the others.
“Well this sucks,” Molly grumbled as she watched them go.
“Are you kidding?” Walter tugged on Molly’s sleeve. “We’re getting room sservicse! All the ssuppliess and none of the lifting!” He dragged her back into the cargo bay with one hand and pulled out his videogame with the other. “Thiss iss ssweet!”
After closing the cargo ramp, Walter lounged sideways across his crew seat, his feet in Anlyn’s old chair as he lost himself in his videogame. Molly roamed around the cargo space jacked up with nervous energy; she tried her best to straighten up the clutter from having so many people moving through the ship of late. She snapped an attachment on the air hose and blew dust from one surface to the other before deciding the exercise was pointless. Rather than get anything cleaner, it just won her annoyed glances from Walter, who seemed to cringe at the air hose’s hissing sounds.
Molly sighed and put the hose back. “I’m gonna take a nap in the cockpit,” she told Walter. “Come get me when those supplies show up.”
He nodded, then wiggled across the two seats to get more comfortable. Molly strode into the cockpit and keyed the door shut. Grabbing her helmet off its rack, she settled into Cole’s seat and pulled the dome down over her head.
“Mom?”
For once, Parsona didn’t respond immediately. Molly checked the switch on the side of her helmet to confirm the mic was on. It was. She reached forward to the dash controls—
“Yes?”
“Oh, hey. Everything okay?”
A pause. “Yes. I overheard the conversation with Pete. Those poor Callites . . .”
“This whole planet is flanked—” Molly stopped herself. She felt a sudden wave of heat in her flightsuit for having cursed in front of her mom. Her time on Lok was wearing on her nerves and surrounding her with bad influences. And without Academy professors around to chastise her poor behavior, or Cole around to always try and impress, she could feel herself growing up too fast in some ways. Thankfully, her mother now had some semblance of a presence in her life, which helped. Presently, however, Parsona forced Molly to bear the shame of her word choice in silence, rather than lecture her.
“When your father and I were here,” Parsona said after a long moment, “there was talk about scrapping the colonization efforts on Lok completely. The Navy wanted to move everyone off and abandon the entire planet. They even wanted to mark it off-limits to future ex-pansion.”
“You’re kidding. Why?”
“They couldn’t stop the flow of fusion. That was the official version and the crux of your father and I being here. Your dad was the great Navy hope, you know. He and Lucin came back heroes from the war. They could’ve taken any post they wanted. Lucin chose the Academy, said he could do the most good there.”
“Yeah, for which side?” Molly asked, unable to conceal the disgust in her voice.
“If you and Saunders are correct, it makes a lot of sense. That’s the front line, really, in keeping up their efforts to break through to the rift. SADAR has nothing on hindsight, but I bet your father would’ve put all this together if he hadn’t been blinded by his love for the man.”
“I wish he were here right now,” Molly said softly. And Cole, she added to herself.
“Me too. And I wish I could be there for you in more than voice.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry to wish him here and not you. After Dakura . . . well, I don’t think I’d be any more comfortable if you were here in person. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“It’s just that this is how I’ve only ever known you. I like thinking I could have you in my life forever.”
Parsona didn’t answer at first.
“Forever’s a long time,” she finally said.
“Not for you—”
“Sweetheart, your father didn’t lock me away solely as a backup. He—I could go just as mad in here as I could on Dakura. Cheating death isn’t natural. Our brains just can’t cope after a while—”
“What’re you saying?”
“Just that I need you to be prepared, as any child must be. You might not have me around forever. If something happens to the ship, I’ll be gone. There might even come a day when I’d ask you to—”
“No. Don’t say it and I wouldn’t do it.” Molly looked out her porthole as another ship pulled out of the stables, slow and low.
“Maybe they should’ve abandoned this place long ago,” Molly said. “Maybe none of this Bern stuff would’ve happened.”
“Or it would’ve happened sooner,” Parsona said.
“What do you mean?”
“The official reason we were here was the fusion fuel, but we kept getting bogged down with missing persons reports.”
“The election fraud.”
“If it’s that,” Parsona said. “What doesn’t fit is that the number of Callites disappearing seemed to match the rate of Humans. Only, nobody was much put off by their disappearance to look into it.”
“But why would the government want their blood? To cast votes for the Freedom party? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Exactly. They wouldn’t.”
“Maybe the Callites were just going underground to avoid immig-ration officials.”
“Which is precisely why we were told to not look into it. It was considered out of our jurisdiction. Still, the viability of Lok depended on a rising population. Instead, it was dwindling, even with the land giveaways and tax incentives. The disappearances outpaced the inflow of colonists. Your father used to say Lok was doomed with or without the fusion trade.”
“Do you think the Bern could’ve been up to something? Could they have been trying to secure the other rift by running everyone off?”
“I don’t know. Seems convoluted and roundabout for them. Maybe—” Another pause. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
Parsona highlighted a target on SADAR. “Look,” she said.
Molly tracked the moving object. It was a passenger class shuttle rising up from the outskirts of Bekkie and heading straight for space. She pulled up the town overlay map and looked for the side street café where she and Walter had been sitting. She followed the departure trajectory and saw that it matched up with the general direction of the other shuttle they’d watched lift off.
Molly wanted to ask “Why?” but sat and stared in silence, instead. She looked up from the blinking blip on the screen to the carboglass and scanned the buildings beyond for a rising plume of jet exhaust. She saw nothing through the haze of dawn and was forced to watch via SADAR, forced to watch as the shuttle nearly reached the ionosphere before the altitude indicator stopped climbing. It paused at apogee, and then the altimeter began to count down with a sickening sense of looming finality.
“How can they do that? How is that legal?”
“They’re letting the Bern do their dirty work for them. Probably calculated what a shuttle costs versus having to move the same illegals back to their planet over and over.”
“But they’re sending them to their deaths. Doesn’t anyone care?”
“Very few. The Underground was full of supporters. They practically formed around their lack of xenophobia. Unfortunately, they had a larger war to wage.”
“You’re talking about people like Scottie and Pete.”
“And your father.”
Molly looked down at her lap. She stopped stroking the Wadi and rubbed the rough pads of her fingers. All but one pinky were beginning to heal somewhat from a day of not needing anything. She could feel that one digit throbbing and dreaded ever having to vote again. She wondered if Pete would make her vote for the supplies and dockage, or if he’d let her slide or maybe just pay extra in cash.
“Hey,” she said aloud, a hazy memory coming back to her.
“What?”
“Pete’s voting machine.”
“What about it?”
“Well, maybe nothing, but I could’ve sworn when I was in there the other day that the ‘F’ button was new and shiny.” Molly paused, her thoughts interrupted by the disturbing simplicity of the shuttle target disappearing from SADAR. She watched that empty spot of blackness on the screen as the green phosphor symbols faded away to nothing—all the vector numbers flicking to zero. There was no tally for what was just lost.
“Pete’s machine,” Molly muttered to herself. “I’m pretty sure the Liberty button was just about worn off.”
45
“You’re dead!” the skimmer pilot yelled. He kicked through the remains of his ruined craft and strode toward Cole, shucking off a tangle of wire and hydraulic cables as he went. Cole waded backward with short steps and a wide stance as the ground beneath him continued to tremble and occasionally lurch. He held the buckblade away from his body, comforted somewhat by the slight hum he could hear from the handle.
