“I don’t understand—”
“Lucin told me everything.”
“What?”
“Everything.” His smile faded, jowls collapsing. “I held him as he died in his office. He was spitting up blood and spilling his guts, and not just those that you and Cole blasted out of him. He told me about the special assignment your parents were on. About the Drenard Underground. About what I would find on your ship if I looked hard enough. He told me everything.”
“Saunders, listen. Whatever he said—”
“Let me guess, it was a lie? I think we’ve sorted out the liars from the heroes without your help. I’ll take a dying man’s word over a traitor trying to save her ass any day of the week.”
Saunders stood as straight as he could, tugging down on his black jacket. “I’m telling you this so you can keep Lucin’s last words on your mind as you think about what you need to do. The words he sputtered with his very last breath. He didn’t ask me to tell his wife that he loved her. He didn’t leave any inspiring words for the Academy or anything for him to be remembered by. He used them on you.
“‘Save her,’ he told me. ‘Save her.’ I think he meant for me to save your soul. Rescue you from yourself. It’s going to be up to you on whether or not you made that great man waste his final breath. Did a galactic hero perish worrying about a soul that couldn’t be redeemed? Or was his hope for you justified?
“So, while you’re in here scheming on how to fool me, think on that. You think on whether you want to keep secrets or if you should just tell me what you know.”
He turned and stomped off down the hall, leaving her with her befuddled thoughts.
What did she know?
She knew Walter was a dead Palan if she ever got her hands on him, that was one thing she felt absolutely certain of. She now knew the Drenard Underground existed and that her parents had investigated them on Lok, maybe even gotten involved with them. There was a slim chance her father was a Drenard by rite, if her “mother” could be trusted. But what if Saunders and the Navy had it wrong about the Drenards? It was something she’d been dwelling on since meeting Anlyn. What if the war was some kind of massive misunderstanding? The Drenards had seemed no more prone to kill her or assist her than any other race had, humans included. What if they—meaning every race in the galaxy—were just terrified, confused, and lashing out?
What else did she know? She knew she could trust Cole. There was no point in questioning him. Even if she ended up wrong about him, she wouldn’t mind if that mistake got her killed. She’d likely welcome it with open arms, as she nearly did the last time she doubted him.
What about Lucin? He lied to her and used her. Would he really have lied to Saunders as he died? What would be the point? And what if Saunders had made up that entire scene?
Molly thought about the Navy men sitting in her pilot seat right then, chatting away on the nav keyboard and pretending to be her. What would her mother be telling them? Surely nothing more than she’d been willing to divulge already. And why wouldn’t she see them on the camera? Or overhear their conversations? It didn’t make sense, unless her mom was playing them for fools.
Then again, if it was something her mother knew, why would Navy cryptographers have to ask her? That knowledge would be stored as 1s and 0s on the nav computer. They could just take the info.
What about her other mom? Was she really dead? Would that explain the intense bout of white light and noise she’d endured on Dakura?
She lay back on her bunk and looked up at the underside of the sagging mattress above. What should she do? Carry these mistakes to her grave? Hope her father could rescue himself? Hope her mom would get whatever sensitive information she had to the right people?
And what about the Wadi? Molly rubbed her temples. The thing never even got a name. What would they do when they found an unknown species onboard her ship? Would they dissect her?
Then there was Cole. He would be killed, and for what? For helping her? For falling in love with her? He said on Drenard he wasn’t afraid of his own death, but Molly was plenty afraid for him.
Maybe Saunders was right. Maybe all of this was her fault and she just needed to throw her chips in with the Navy. Every misadventure had been predicated on her absolute faith in two parents she hardly knew. Was it okay to love and trust people completely for no other reason than they birthed you?
And then there was Byrne. Molly had almost forgotten about him. Was he dead? She watched him stand there in a complete vacuum. Could you fit robotics that complicated in such a thin shell? Whether or not he survived, what did he have to do with all this? Why did he suggest he owned her?
Molly grabbed the rough pillow under her head and pressed it into her face. She used it to muffle a yell of frustration, her stomach clenching with the effort.
The screams gradually turned to sobs, her entire body giving in to the overwhelming sadness.
She pulled the pillow tighter to her face, smothering her despair and desperation.
32
Molly was wide awake when they came for her. Her brain had never stopped racing through the same loop of questions, so she was fully alert right when she should have been sleeping. As soon as she heard the footsteps approaching, she rolled from her bunk and moved to the shadows on the other side of her dimly lit cell. If this was an attempt on her life by zealous crew members, she would go out fighting.
Two silhouettes strode into view, the silver bars dividing their profiles into black slices.
“This the one?” It was barely a whisper, nearly inaudible. Molly shrank back into the corner, hid behind the pedestal sink, and pressed herself into the wall. One of the men seemed to fumble for something in his pocket; the other silhouette lurked behind. The figure closer to the bars murmured into a device, and the barrier slid into the floor.
The crew members were coming for her.
The larger man went straight for her bunk, putting his back to Molly. She flinched, thinking of rushing the man from behind, maybe trying to snap his neck. Then she thought of the bars, the man in the hallway, and the fact that she’d still be trapped inside. She rushed for him instead, pushing off the wall with her foot.
The dark figure by the bunk spun as she flew by, reaching for her. The one outside her cell had leaned against the far wall. He seemed shocked, unable to even raise his hands in defense as Molly hurled her entire body into his stomach, driving the air out of him in the form of a grunt. He crumpled in the dimly lit hall, his hands still clasped in front. Molly spun with clenched fists to fight the man coming out of her cell.
The dark figure hissed her name, walking toward her with his hands spread out. Molly stayed in a crouch, one hand holding down the man she’d already taken out. She tried to calm her breathing as she prepared to defend herself.
The tall figure emerged from her cell and called to his comrade. “Riggs? You okay?”
Molly looked down. A pale, familiar face glowered back up at hers. She recognized the rage as well as the man. Black tape covered his mouth, a detail Molly couldn’t process properly. Her hand, pressing down on his shoulder, moved up to his neck. She looked to the standing figure and threw out her terms: “Another step and I crush his windpipe.”
“Please don’t,” the other man whispered. “We need him if we’re gonna get out of here.”
Molly loosened her grip on Riggs’s neck and looked down at him again. He was trying to reach up to fight her hands away, but his own were tied together and strapped to his belt.
She looked up once more as the other figure came forward another few steps, his hands still wide apart. She squinted into the simulated nighttime of the StarCarrier’s hallway, his face coming forward into the pale light.
The first thing she recognized was the flash of his wary smile.
“Cole?”
••••
He offered her a hand while pressing a finger to his lips. Molly reached out and grabbed his arm, squeezing it and fighting the urge to pull herself into him.
She looked back at Riggs, and at her empty cell. Somehow they’d gone from prisoners to captors. Her brain reeled as she attempted to rearrange her tactics.
“What’s going on?” she asked him, halfway heeding his gesture of silence by keeping her voice at a whisper.
Cole knelt beside her and glanced at Riggs, making sure he was okay. “We’re getting out of here. Let’s lift him up.”
They each grabbed one arm and hauled Riggs to his feet. As Riggs pulled his legs underneath him, Molly noticed the laces of his black Navy boots had been tied together. He could walk, but running would be hazardous.
“Is he helping us?” Molly asked. The disgusted and angry look on Riggs’s face hadn’t wavered from his visit the day before.
“Yeah,” Cole whispered, “but not because he wants to. We need to get off this hall, and then we can talk about it.”
Molly looked over her shoulder, back toward the guard station beyond a distant partition. Black security camera warts lined the ceiling, but Cole didn’t seem concerned about them. After they passed through a series of open gates, Cole reached back into a pocket and withdrew a small shiny device. It looked like a Navy-issue communicator.
“Seal the hall,” he said, and the gates behind them slid shut. Cole straightened as they did so and several lines of worry disappeared from his forehead. Molly watched this with interest, frowning at the creases that remained.
“Can we talk now?” she whispered.
“Yeah, but we need to keep walking.” He indicated a direction through the wide engineering space. “This way.”
Molly helped pull Riggs along, glancing over her shoulder to assure herself that they weren’t being pursued. “How’d you get out?”
“Walter.”
“What? That little bastard—”
“Forget it. I thought the same thing when they questioned me and I heard what he was doing. I should’ve known when they said he needed to spill his guts on a computer. The sneaky little—”
“Oh, gods,” Molly groaned. “They let him on a computer. I’m so stupid. I was ready to kill him—I felt like a fool for trusting him again.”
Cole laughed at this. “We probably are fools for trusting him.”
“How’d he do it?” Molly knew it wasn’t important; they could go over the story later, but her curiosity gnawed at her.
“He’s got access to almost everything. My old buddy Riggs here came by my cell to gloat earlier this evening. He was jawing at me through the bars when they receded into the floor. I had no idea it was coming, I just wrestled him down and tied him up with his own laces. Meanwhile, Walter started hissing at me through his radio, giving me instructions and guiding me with the cameras.” Cole looked up at one of the warts for emphasis.
“He opened a supply closet for me, got me these duds, guided me to you.” Cole pointed to an open lift, and they led Riggs inside. The light shone brighter in the small space; Molly could see Riggs’s nostrils flaring as he fought to breathe through his nose.
“How does Walter plan on getting us out of here?”
Cole laughed and shook his head. “He doesn’t. He got me out, and I’ve been planning the rest. Hell, I’m not sure he woulda busted me out had he known how good a wrestler you are.”
Cole flipped open the communicator again. “Down, please.” The doors closed, and the lift vibrated into motion. He let Riggs lean against the far wall and turned to Molly. “Every guard between us and the cargo bay has been routed off-duty. Walter scheduled Riggs’s Firehawk for a fleet patrol. He and I are gonna tow you and Parsona out of the hangar bay.”
“Just like that?”
Cole smiled. “Just like that. You know, they pulled me off pilot training and taught me comms and navigation. It was supposed to be a demotion. You wanna know the truth?”
The elevator beeped its arrival and the doors hissed open, allowing the rhetorical question to float out into the vast hangar bay. Cole pushed Riggs ahead of them and winked at Molly.
“The person scheduling the guards is the one with real power.”
33
Molly could see Parsona’s profile standing above the sleeker Firehawks. She, Cole, and Riggs angled in the ship’s direction, walking down the wide landing strip at the center of the hangar. The vast cavern bulged with metal shapes, but no crewmen. It appeared they’d be strolling out of here as casually as they liked.
Something about that filled Molly with unease. She had grown accustomed to nothing coming easily or without great cost. This felt like one of those gifts she’d pay dearly for later.
Riggs tried to make things interesting once by pulling away from Cole and stumbling for a few steps. His laces, however, made large strides impossible, and Cole caught up to him quickly, preventing Riggs from hurting himself in a fall to the metal decking.
“Stop that!” he told Riggs in a tone that suggested several earlier attempts.
Molly hurried to resume her spot by one of his arms. A dozen steps further, Cole led them close to a Firehawk. Molly looked up and saw Riggs’s name stenciled below the cockpit as the captain of the ship. “Marcelli” was listed as the navigator.
Walter sat on the decking by the Firehawk—leaning over a portable computer. Wires trailed from his screen up to an access hatch on the side of the ship. He beamed when he saw her.
“Molly!” He stood and ran over, throwing his small arms around her waist. She patted his back and thanked him—quite a departure from what she’d previously been planning if she ever saw him again.
He smiled up at her. “Almosst ready,” he hissed.
“Did you disable the Firehawk’s weapons systems?” Cole asked, indicating the wires tethering his computer to the craft.
