MOM, WHAT DO I NEED TO DO? I’LL HELP YOU ANY WAY I CAN_
I KNEW YOU WOULD. FIRST, WE NEED TO GET TO DAKURA. I HAVE MEMORIES THERE THAT NEED TO BE_ TAKEN CARE OF. THEN WE MUST TRAVEL TO LOK, BACK TO WHERE THIS ALL BEGAN. FROM THERE, WE CAN RESCUE YOUR FATHER_
The mention of Lok reminded Molly of something her godfather Lucin had said. She wasn’t sure how to break the news of his betrayal and subsequent death to her mom–if indeed, this was her mom–but Molly needed to know what he had meant. Before he died, he had said something about Lok, about how her parents’ work there might end the Drenard War.
WHAT HAPPENED ON LOK? She typed. LUCIN SAID MY BIRTH CAUSED PROBLEMS_
There was no answer at first. It felt like hours went by for Molly; there was no telling what it felt like for her mother.
Eventually, the text moved, haltingly, from left to right:
BAD THINGS HAPPENED ON LOK_ BUT IT WASN’T YOU, SWEETHEART. YOU WERE THE ONLY GOOD THING THAT EVER CAME OFF THAT DAMNED PLANET_
Molly read the sentence twice. Then once more. Certain parts made her feel better, soothing away worries she’d been harboring since that fateful conversation with Lucin. Other parts caused tinges of doubt to creep up inside. She’d never heard her father curse, even lightly. And though she knew almost nothing of her mom, the language felt out of character.
Which meant she was being duped. Or something truly awful had happened on Lok, something that had to do with her parents.
Either way, she could feel the buzz of her favorite drug wearing off.
Hope began dissolving into dread.
As much as Cole wanted to feel excited for Molly, as happy as he would be if her parents were alive, his logical mind had settled on a simpler answer: Walter, their devious junior-pirate-in-training from Palan, was up to something. He’d recently used his computer skills to frame Cole, nearly getting them all killed for a stupid reward. Impersonating Molly’s mom would be a step down for him—both in skill and moral depravity.
He reminded himself of this as he strode through the cargo bay. Part of him—the part that wanted revenge for his betrayal—hoped he’d open Walter’s door and find the runt typing away on his little computer, an evil sneer on his metallic-colored face.
If the sleeves on his flightsuit had been a bit looser, Cole probably would’ve been rolling them up as he marched aft.
He keyed open the door. It was pitch black inside. He could hear the hissing sound of Palanesque breathing leaking out of the boy’s bunk. Cole flicked on the room’s light and watched Walter pull his head under the sheets in protest.
“Walter. Wake up.”
“Hnnn?”
Cole couldn’t tell what he was saying. Right then, it was because of the barrier of blankets, but usually it was due to the dreadful lisping problem Palans have with English.
“Wake up!” he said again.
Walter flapped his covers back, clearly annoyed. His eyes squinted against the light, two dark slits in a plate of dull steel.
Cole pointed a finger at him. “If you’re the one doing this, I swear on my life—you’ll be airlocked.”
Walter cocked his head, opening his mouth to ask something, but Cole flicked the light off, allowing his threat to linger in the darkness. He stood in the doorway for a few moments, trying to make his silhouette as large and menacing as possible, then stepped back in the hall and shut the door.
Walter found himself alone. In the dark. And in more ways than one.
Whatever they suspected him of, it was bad.
And the annoying injustice was that he was innocent!
For once.
Cole hesitated outside of Walter’s door. If the kid was responsible for the nav computer, it was a pretty clever trick. He looked up the long central shaft toward the cockpit, where Molly’s elbow could be seen jutting out over the flight controls, her fingers obviously still pecking away at the keyboard.
If it wasn’t Walter, Cole wondered who—or what—was responding.
What if that really is her mom? It wouldn’t be much crazier than some of the other things he’d seen in the last month. He glanced toward the rear of the ship. One of those crazier things could be heard snoring just down the hall, his low, rumbling growl rolling out of the crew quarters. Cole took a few steps toward the open door and checked in on the most unlikely of couples.
He could see them both in the soft light left on for Anlyn’s benefit. The sight of her filled Cole with mixed emotions. As a Drenard, Anlyn represented everything he’d been programmed by the Navy to hate. Here was the enemy of the rest of the galaxy, a member of the race of aliens humans warred with all along one of the Milky Way’s spiral arms. Moments ago—before the nav computer had interrupted—he and Molly had been arguing over whether Anlyn could be trusted. Not to mention the sanity of their current plan to take her home, far behind enemy lines.
As much as he wanted to doubt Anlyn, however, there was something endearing about the poor creature. Maybe it was the manner in which they’d discovered her: shackled and starving, a slave in chains. She still looked so thin and frail, her blue translucent skin catching the soft light, making her look innocent, pure, and harmless.
But Navy training videos had shown Cole what the Drenard people could do—at the helm of their fighter crafts and with their deadly lances. He had no difficulty seeing past her fragility to the horrors her people had wrought. This mix of emotions made him as wary around the young girl as he was around Walter—Anlyn because of her fierce potential, Walter due to his past treachery.
Ironically, Anlyn’s sleeping companion was a perfect mix of these two horrible traits, and yet, Cole trusted him completely. It didn’t matter that Edison had lied to them a few weeks ago, engineering one of the worst tragedies in the history of the Milky Way. It didn’t matter that the pup’s ferocious bulk and fierce claws could rend Cole in two. They had fought alongside one another, forging that bond of war that overrode all else.
Leaning against their doorjamb, the rumbling snores of the Glemot washing over him, Cole considered this bit of personal hypocrisy. He feared an innocent-looking creature that had saved his life a week ago, but he completely trusted a bear-like alien that had committed genocide against his own race. He had to shake his head at how effective the Navy programming was and at how eager he must be to rank personal experience above tragedies too vast in scope to properly comprehend.
He just hoped he could learn to judge Anlyn the same way: by her actions and not by the biases he’d formed over years of schooled hatred.
Cole pulled himself away from the slumbering couple and headed back to the cockpit, eager to see what the nav computer had to say. As he wandered through the cargo bay, he felt a stab of jealousy at having seen Anlyn and Edison snuggled together. Ever since Lucin’s death, he and Molly had been working through some problems. Even so, he’d considered broaching the subject of sharing a room, but didn’t know how to bring it up.
Or perhaps he was just scared of what Molly would say once he did.
She was still clattering away at her keyboard as he squeezed back into his chair. “If Walter’s screwing with us, he’s doin’ it in his sleep,” he told her.
Molly stopped typing and looked over at him. “Hey,” she said. “Be honest with me. Am I crazy to think this might be my mom? Because this is something that I really, really want to believe, and I’m sick and tired of being lied to and disappointed.”