Molly Fyde and the Fight for Peace

52 · Free

“This is it?”

“Yeah.”

Cole peered out his porthole at the maze of canyons below, at the web of black traces and the tan marble like the latticed skin of a Callite.

“How can you be sure?” he asked. “They all look the same to me.”

“Trust me,” Molly said. “This is the one.”

She lowered Parsona into the dead-end canyon, aiming for a bank of shade long enough to reach the cargo bay and keep them out of the sun. The ship’s struts met the hard rock and settled under the pull of Drenard’s gravity.

“Be careful,” Parsona said through the radio.

Molly didn’t reply. She unbuckled her harness and left the cockpit without bothering to wait on Cole.

“I’m coming too,” Cole yelled after her. He shrugged his harness off and hurried to catch up.

“Here.” Molly handed him a set of egg graspers as he entered the cargo bay. She kept a set for herself. Neither of them wore any of the rest of the Wadi gear, their flightsuits comfortable enough in the shade. Molly stomped down the cargo ramp and into the eerie howling of the windswept canyons. Cole watched her click the graspers nervously as she went.

“You’ve gotta talk to me about what’s going on,” Cole said, running up beside her. “How do you even know these eggs need rescuing?”

Molly pointed toward one of the Wadi tunnels at the base of the high cliff, then started off toward it. The sight of the large tube, big enough to crawl inside, sent a powerful numbness through Cole’s knees. He remembered his ordeal in just that sort of cave not so long ago. He hurried after Molly, his fears about her deep depression taking a new and more severe turn.

“Molly—”

She ducked her head inside the cave, one hand resting on the upper lip of the smooth hole in the marble. She turned and looked back, her face veiled by a shadow on top of a shadow.

“The Wadi told me,” Molly said flatly. “I saw this place in her mind like I was here. I saw the eggs, what the other Wadi did to her, and what we need to do right now.”

With that, she turned to the darkness and stepped inside.

Cole fumbled in one of his pockets for a glowstick. He cracked it back and forth, then hurried in after her, shuffling along on his knees and knuckles, his egg graspers in one hand and the feeble glowstick in the other. Molly moved ahead of him as if she would’ve slid through the pitch black even had he not joined her.

They crawled for dozens of meters, past holes in the floor and drips from the ceiling. The green light from the stick would fade, Cole would work it back and forth, and a bit more soft glow would keep the cave barely discernable. When Molly stopped, Cole bumped into her, his knuckles scraping on the rough rock.

“Oh my gods—” Molly breathed.

Cole held the glowstick aloft.

“I didn’t realize they would be this big,” Molly said. She moved to the side to allow more of the light to pass, and Cole felt goose bumps surge up his arms when he saw the objects on the other side of her. There were at least three of him that he could see, nestled against one another and halfway reaching the roof of the cave. The colors and patterns were remarkable, even muted by the awful green cast of his glowstick. The shells of the eggs seemed to dance and waver like the skies outside. They were big enough that a fully-grown human could pop out, which had him worrying about what was inside of them, and how safe this “egg canyon” really was.

“Hey, Molly, I think we need to reconsider this.”

She looked back at him and brushed some loose strands of hair off her face. She bit her lower lip and nodded.

“I think you’re right,” she said. “I think we’re gonna have to free them right here.”

“No,” Cole said, shaking his head. “That is most definitely not what I meant.”

“Give me your knife,” Molly said. She leaned on one palm and stretched her other hand out to him. Cole’s lightstick ebbed a little, dimming the light in the tunnel.

“Molly, we need to pause for a sec and talk about this—”

“Give me your knife,” she said again. Her voice had not risen nor modulated, but Cole felt himself succumbing. The past weeks had been full of one attempt after another to soothe Molly’s hurts. He knew there was no denying her this, not after what they’d gone through to get permission to fly out there unescorted.

He reached back, pulled his knife from his ankle holster, and placed it hilt-first into her palm.

Molly situated herself in the tight confines, wedging her back against the side of the tunnel, her legs folded up beneath her. She gripped the knife with both hands and slammed its point down into the shell of the massive egg. There was a solid twack, like an axe on wood, but nothing more. She looked over at Cole as she reared the knife back once more.

“In my vision, I saw a Wadi claw doing this.” Molly struck the egg again, harder this time. It left a mark, and she pulled the knife up for another blow. “I don’t think the moms sit on them. I think they guard them, and then they do something like this right before they die.”

She hit the same spot, and a series of cracks appeared, fanning out from the impact. Molly ran her finger over one of the cracks, feeling it. Cole held the glowstick closer, but he was searching Molly’s face. There was a grim determination, a profound sadness there that he wanted desperately to break through. He had high hopes that this day, this mission she had spoken of for weeks, would do her some good. He was suddenly worried that nothing ever could.

“I think it’s trying to help,” Molly said.

Cole moved the light and redirected his attention. Something seemed to stir beneath the colorful shell. Molly scrambled to the next one, the knife attacking with vigor.

“We need to hurry,” she grunted between blows.

Cole extended the glowstick over the first egg to help light up the next two. He watched the creature inside the egg move like an amorphous shadow. Between Molly’s blows, he could feel something striking the egg beneath him, but from the inside.

Molly moved to the last egg. “We don’t have much more light,” Cole warned her. He worked the plastic back and forth, but his efforts did little. Molly struck the egg’s shell, her palm flat on the back of the knife’s hilt, both arms driving as hard as they could. She rubbed the cracks in the shell and whipped her head around to face Cole.

“Go,” she said.

Cole turned and went. He left the graspers behind and threw the glowstick ahead of him, crawling toward it on his palms and knees. When he reached the stick—barely glowing now—he scooped it up and tossed it further ahead, repeating the process until the light of the tunnel’s mouth came into view.

Behind him, something shrieked, a high and piercing wail that surfed down the skin of solid rock all around him. Cole looked over his shoulder for Molly. He stumbled forward, away from the blackness and toward the growing light. The peals of something newborn and powerful shot out again, the voices overlapping and resonating now that there was more than one of them. Cole scrambled the last few meters, dove for the edge of the tunnel, fell out to the shaded rock beyond and rolled to an aching, sore stop. He looked back to the hole in the cliff. The screams came in triplicate, now. Molly tumbled out after him.

“C’mon,” Cole yelled.

The shrieks from the tunnel mixed with moans from the canyon walls, the combination causing Cole’s heart to race. He reached for Molly, tried to pull her toward Parsona’s open bay, but she darted out of his reach and moved up against the cliff face to one side of the cave. She waved Cole over to her side, her arm wheeling in fast and tight circles, beckoning haste.

Cole dashed over, obeying. He took up a spot between Molly and the mouth of the cave, shielding her with his body. He felt her hands on his shoulder, on the side of his ribs. Her arms were trembling, but not with fear. He looked back to see the barest of smiles on his love’s lips, a sight that nearly erased the terror of the approaching screams and the harsh clack of claw on solid rock.

Cole put his arms around Molly and held her close while the awful sound grew and grew.

The first Wadi shot out of the cave in a shimmery blur. It shot out and kept moving, its feet not touching the rock, its body not falling toward the floor of the canyon. It burst out in a straight line, there was the leathery pop of fabric flapping straight in the air, and then a graceful curve up into the canyon winds.

“What the flank—?”

Cole traced the soaring flight of the Wadi as the next blur whizzed by to join its mate. The wings popped straight, the breadth of them several lengths of a man, and up the creature went, its colorful scales bursting with brilliance as it left the shade and met the light of the twin stars above.

Cole turned to Molly, wondering if she knew about any of this. He felt his own mouth agape as her hands clutched his flightsuit with a renewed vitality. He turned and saw her looking up at the two circling Wadi, a wide smile on her face, tears welling up in her eyes.

“So beautiful,” she whispered.

Cole wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands resting on her hips. They watched in silence as the two animals spiraled up on great, unflapping wings, catching the strong Winds of Drenard. They forgot about the third Wadi until its head emerged beside them, its claws gripping the edge of the cave.

The sudden presence startled Cole, but Molly was unnerved. She moved around him and stepped closer to the animal as it extricated itself from the tunnel and unfolded its wide wings.

Molly reached out, her palm down, her fingers extended as if to touch the Wadi, but she didn’t move any closer. Cole watched as she stood there, arm outstretched, eyes closed. It was like watching someone communicate with a red band on. Her face flashed with emotions, and tears that seemed not for sadness rolled down her cheeks.

Cole waited, transfixed, while the two seemed to share something between them.

After a moment, the Wadi strode forward, two large wings extending from where most Wadi bore ancient nubs. It bent low to the stone, flexed its spindly legs, then threw itself up in the air with a shuddering leap.

The wings did the rest, catching the perpetual winds of Drenard, powering the animal up and into the bright light, soaring high to circle mightily with its newborn brethren.

53 · Unions

Anlyn Hooo stood before the clockwise gate of the great Pinnacle. If she imagined Drenard’s thin habitable band as a ring, this was the jewel on top, the meeting place for the Great Circle, walled off from the winds and filled to bursting with the flora and fauna of the Milky Way’s lusher worlds. A haven for life, the Pinnacle forever stood as a reminder to the Circle of what they fought for.

Two ornate gates led through those high stone walls, one entrance on either side of the ring. Anlyn surveyed one of those gates, collecting herself. She could feel her heart fluttering with some unknown alloy of nerves and excitement. She could hear the trill of cloudswifts from beyond the walls, their high pitched laughter seeming to beckon her inside. She was only dimly aware of the guards to either side of the gate, standing at attention and awaiting her signal to open them.

Anlyn considered the unthinkable event she was about to step into, the forbidden joy hidden deep within those tall walls. As she pondered the occasion, she became mutely aware of her escorts standing to either side of her. The significance of the moment washed over her for quite some time, and when the sensations ebbed, she remembered that people were waiting on her. So she rallied her nerves, stretched herself to her full height, and nodded to the gatesmen.

Oiled hinges and perfectly balanced steel swung silently open. Anlyn grasped her outer tunics, held their edges off the stone walk, and stepped through the arch of the clockwise gate and into the great and gorgeous Pinnacle.

The colors and vibrant hues immediately assaulted her senses.

Anlyn saw that the Pinnacle had been draped in its finest celebratory regalia. The predominate shades were orange and blue, customary wedding hues symbolizing the union of hot and cold and serving as a temporary celebration of each. But there were other colors mixed in: The bright yellows of hope, the black of peace, even the purple of empire. It seemed every banner, bunting, and flag from a hundred settled worlds had been gathered on Drenard and raised for the occasion, even though Anlyn doubted Ryke’s rifts would be abused for such a trifle as herself.

As she wandered into the full splendor of the bountiful decorations, Anlyn felt herself purple in embarrassment at the ostentatious show. It was a lot more than she had expected for such a simple affair, especially since her union remained controversial for so many; she knew it was still whispered among her people with sideways glances. Anlyn turned to Molly and her Aunt Ralei—her two chosen bridal escorts—to gauge their reactions to the festive gardens.

Molly was smiling from ear to ear, a welcomed sight to Anlyn’s eyes. Her dear friend had done her best to feign happiness the past weeks, trying not to chill Anlyn’s warmth, but Anlyn could forever sense that a deep ice had taken hold of Molly’s heart. Watching part of that coolness melt, seeing her friend’s eyes flit about, her cheeks blush as Molly struggled to take it all in—it was enough for Anlyn to justify the ludicrous lengths the decorators and gardeners had gone to.

Anlyn looked next to her Aunt Ralei and saw that the elder statesman was ignoring their surroundings. Her eyes were fixed solely on Anlyn, her face beaming with pride.

“It’s a bit much for a wedding,” Anlyn said.

“Nonsense,” her aunt replied. “And it’s more than just a wedding. Two empires celebrate this day. Think of it as a galactic union.”

Anlyn smiled and nodded. She loved the analogy. She turned, and the trio of women set down the adorned walkway, heading counterclockwise around Drenard and toward the Pinnacle.

As they entered the path of reflection, the three women had to fall into a single file, the blooming bushes and bursting flowers pressing in on either side. The walk was measured out to take four hundred and eighty steps, and they were to be walked in silence. It was a time for meditation and for dwelling on the upcoming promises to be made.

Anlyn lost herself in the path of flowers, her bare feet trampling the thick petals sprinkled over the stone walk. She reveled in the garden’s lush elegance, the feeling of the Horis’ reflected light warming her skin. She closed her eyes for a few steps and felt as if floating in a dream-like state of perfect contentment.

When she opened them, she noticed for the first time the crowds of women lining the path ahead of her beyond the four-eighty mark. So many! A dozen deep, they crowded the bushes to either side, pressing together and clutching bouquets or holding aloft video recorders. Anlyn felt her cheeks tighten, her lips quiver. The silence of the reflection walk became unbearable, the looming crowd positively vibrating with stifled energy. When Anlyn reached the end of the sprinkled petals and walked her last step of silence, the crowd of women erupted, cheering and waving and throwing flowers and paper-thin Wadi shells painted all sorts of bright colors.

Anlyn felt a stream of tears course down her face. She was awed at the sight of so many eyes directed her way and twinkling with their shared joy. The roar from their throats rang in her ears and lifted her up, making her feel light enough to soar up to the Horis. She wanted to take them all with her, wanted to run to each of the women, throw her arms around them, and celebrate together.

The Drenardian women kept up their cheers all the way to the grand steps leading up to the balcony. Wave after wave of renewed jubilation soared all around the Pinnacle, sustaining itself on the infectious quality of an excited crowd as confetti, petals, eggshells, and birds vied for airborne supremacy.

At the steps, a contingent of the royal guard stood at arms, saluting her. Anlyn scanned their faces, seeing a few she recognized, including the young captain that so briefly had barred her and Edison from the Circle all those sleeps ago. She gave him the barest of nods, and he smiled, exuding obvious relief at the kind acknowledgment.

At the top of the steps, Anlyn had to pause and catch her breath. The sight of what awaited her stole the air from her lungs: All along the Great Balcony, stretching off in both directions around the low circular Pinnacle, stood a dense collection of the empire’s mightiest. Circle members, planetary regents, entire lines of the royal lineage, they were all gathered there and dressed in their heaviest and most colorful tunics.

So much status gathered in a single place caused Anlyn to reflexively bend her knees and bow her waist. Without even thinking, she found herself scooping up her outer tunics and lowering herself to the ground, her eyes falling to her lap. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Molly repeating the gesture. No sooner had she succumbed to the weight of so much power and authority, Anlyn became self-conscious of her humble position and stood.

When she looked back to the crowd packing the Great Balcony, she found every one of its occupants had fallen to their knees.

Anlyn dropped her tunics and fought back the tears. To receive the blessings of so many—and for such an unorthodox union—her cheeks hurt from trying to hold it together. It was too much. A military victory had bled over to her personal ceremony, carrying with it the exultation of an end to war. It was too much and also too wonderful to bear.

Anlyn suddenly felt herself glow in anticipation, positively radiating purple as the trio made their way through the circle of shade cast down from orbit. The ensuing coolness was symbolic for something—something about having left the heat behind—but her brain was too overwhelmed to seize upon the ritualistic meaning. She stepped through the great old doors of the Pinnacle and another crowd erupted, and again she was overcome with emotion. There he was, across the building, walking through the counterwise door on the far side of the pinnacle:

Her Edison.

Large and handsome and bedecked in the finest honeycloth tunics. Even across the great distance of the bowl-shaped building, Anlyn could see his broad teeth spread across his face. She fought the temptation to run to him. She concentrated instead on each step as she descended toward the Circle below.

Behind her, Anlyn heard the high-ranking guests from the Great Balcony file down after, all of them eager to become part of her retinue. She looked up from her careful steps and glanced to either side at the thick crowds standing among the benches. Thousands of blue faces were turned in her direction, silent and expectant. Anlyn had anticipated a fraction of their number; she had been embarrassed to even hold the ceremony at the Pinnacle. She looked up and saw that the balcony was packed as well, and again she found it difficult to breathe.

Across from her, she could see Edison struggling to match her slow pace. He took each plodding step one at a time, his foot extended and hovering over the next tread as he waited for her to catch up. Anlyn nearly burst out laughing, and she silently thanked her love for again keeping her grounded. For the rest of the descent, she kept her eyes on him and remembered just why they were there—and how lucky she truly was.

As they reached the end of the long flight of steps, Anlyn and Edison stopped at the circular table while the most honored guests filed down from behind and took their seats. Anlyn noticed the ambassador bridge had been set up on Edison’s side. It was sometimes referred to as the treaty or peace bridge, reserved for the signing of great documents, royal affairs, and the occasional wedding. Ahead of Anlyn stood the original bridge, its ancient wood still speckled with blackened spots from the day, not too long ago, when Edison’s lance had erupted, and her speech had paved the way for all else that had occurred since.

Anlyn began dwelling on the significance of that day, but her drifting thoughts were startled back into focus as the Pinnacle bells tolled. She glanced back at Molly, who stood dutifully to her side and behind her a pace. Anlyn’s aunt reached out and squeezed her shoulder. The members of the Circle bowed and took their seats, their dozens of tunics rustling like distant thunder.

Anlyn looked across to Edison and nodded. They both began to ascend the steps of their respective bridges, which reached over the unbroken circle of the great table. At the top, they turned and bowed to the gathered. They next faced one another and bowed again. And then they descended into the center of the circle, each of them walking out to occupy one of the two spots of light shining down from above.

For Anlyn, it was the Light of Speak from Hori I, the same light that had bathed her during her great speech. Edison took his place a few meters away in the Light of Turn from Hori II, the same light he had given to her in order to conduct the speech. Anlyn smiled up at Edison and received an even bigger grin in return. She sighed at the sight of her love’s fur, neatly groomed, as it shimmered in the concentrated starlight. The two of them stood alone in the great circle for a few breaths. Past Edison, Anlyn could see Cole and her uncle, the Empire’s King, standing on the far side of the counterwise bridge. She knew without looking that Molly and her Aunt Ralei would be doing the same behind her.

She paused a moment, gathered in a deep breath, and attempted to take it all in: the rapt throng of spectators, the warmth of the light of Hori, the seated circle members. She scanned the great table and saw that Edison’s chair and her own were draped with honor cloths. She saw Bodi’s empty chair, and a brief pang of undeserved sorrow fluttered through her. His disappearance was still a mystery, and the trial that had exiled him had thus been mostly symbolic. She noticed there was no mourning cloth draped over his seat, so she assumed she was alone in her pity. She continued around the circle and came to Dani, Tryl, and even Bishar from the Great Rift. She saw Ryke, Ryn, and Scottie, and the girl with the burn-red hair. They were all smiling at her, and she felt her cheeks cramping with joy.

As the ringing of the bells subsided, the minister of ceremonies rose from his seat and ascended the bridge behind Anlyn. She turned to watch.

“Current and future Drenards,” he bellowed. “Welcome!”

The crowd erupted, cheering for the sheer joy of cheering—cooing and clapping and stomping their feet. The minister waved them down, taking quite some time to do so.

“Today we celebrate much, including the union between two of our Circle members, two of our finest Drenards, and two heroes of the Bern War: Lady Anlyn Hooo and Lord Edison Campton!”

He paused and scanned the crowd while he waited on another round of cheering to subside. Finally, raising his hands, he chanted: “Gifts presented, promises made, lights divided, two become one.” He dropped his hands and nodded down to Molly and then looked across in Cole’s direction and nodded to him as well.

The minister made his way down the steps and into the circle. Anlyn watched with pride as Molly rose up the steps behind him. She admired her friend’s choice of all-white tunics draped in modest layers. The two friends smiled at each other—both seeming on the verge of laughing as Molly approached. Anlyn glanced back over her shoulder to get a look at Cole, who was wearing dark green tunics, and wearing them nobly. Cole bore Edison’s lance in both hands. He handed the large device to Edison, who received it with a slight bow. Anlyn turned back to Molly, who held out a small cloth bag for her to take. Breaking decorum, Anlyn accepted the bag, then pulled her friend into an embrace, pressing her head against Molly’s shoulder.

The cooing and sniffles from the crowd assured Anlyn she wouldn’t be thought poorly for the slight break with tradition. She pulled away and turned to face Edison as their two witnesses, Cole and Molly, took their places to one side. High above, a chain began rattling down from the domed ceiling, signifying the start of the wedding ceremony.

Edison spoke first: “My gift to you is this lance,” he said in Drenard, his voice booming and filling the Pinnacle. He held it out level, his palms flat. “Power turned to peace, harm transformed into harmony, electricity made electrifying. I give it as a symbol of what your own tinkering has transformed within me.”

Anlyn smiled, flushing with pride. Edison stepped out of his light and walked over toward hers. He bowed low and gingerly laid the lance at her feet. After he returned to his circle, she held up the bag Molly had given her with one hand and opened her other palm beneath it. Slowly, she tipped the bag on its side. The crowd bristled with anticipation at what her gift might be.

Out of the bag fell a dull, normal, alloy of metal. She held it up between her fingers and showed it to Edison. “My gift to you is this broken circle,” she said.

The crowd stirred, the strangeness of the gift sending waves of taboo through a people that idolized the perfect and the round, the harmonious and the unbroken, the shape of their great, ringed world.

Anlyn ignored them and continued: “This is the link you weakened to set me free.”

She watched as tears spilled out of Edison’s eyes and rolled down his furry cheeks. She fought back her own tears and struggled with the rest: “It was my bondage, and you broke it. It was my slavery, and you slayed it. You took out a piece, and then you made me whole.”

She walked forward and set the dull, gapped hoop of her slave chain in his light, then returned to her own illuminated disc.

“I promise to love no other for all the cycles,” Anlyn said, as the loose end of the shivering chain descended between them.

“And I promise to earn that love each moment,” Edison replied.

The chain stopped a meter from the ground, and the minister stepped forward with the prism. He ceremoniously attached it to the end of the chain, bowed to Edison and Anlyn, and then exited the circle. Anlyn watched him go and caught a glimpse of Molly, who was standing behind her. Tracks of tears were on her friend’s cheeks, a smile on her lips.

High above, the chain rattled as it began to spool back up. Anlyn looked at her feet, waiting for the pool of light to move. As the prism ascended over Edison’s head, the two lights quivered, then began to come together. Anlyn and Edison walked with them, shuffling forward, urging the process along. The moment the edges of the two circles of light touched, the crowd erupted yet again. Anlyn and Edison stepped into each other’s arms as the discs became one. They embraced while the prism above was hauled into the overlapping illumination of the two stars, spreading the rays in a glory of hues that made even the residents of that planet, with its eternal sunrise, shiver.

Outside, bells began to ring.

They were followed by the thunder of peaceful explosions.

When Anlyn pulled free, she noticed everyone around the circle was standing and stomping their feet, the boom of their approval mixing with the distant cannons. To her side, Molly and Cole were embracing as well and smiling at each other. Anlyn reached for Edison’s lance. She was tempted to set it off one more time, showering the celebration in sparks, when her uncle’s voice, the voice of the King of Drenard, interrupted her over the Pinnacle’s amplified speakers:

“My people! Attention, please!”

It seemed to take several minutes for those gathered to heed their king. He rose to the top of the clockwise bridge and waved the crowd silent. “My people, we have more to celebrate this day than a marriage between two mere individuals. We also celebrate a union between two empires long at war.” He turned to face the crowd behind him. “We celebrate the stability along both our boundaries that keeps us safe from our true threats. We have learned to distinguish friend from enemy, not letting appearances guide our hearts.”

The king bowed and descended into the circle. The crowd applauded politely, but they were obviously annoyed at having the joyous occasion interrupted by talk of politics. Anlyn smiled at her uncle as he walked toward them, the shiny fabric of his royal tunics shimmering in the colors cast by the hanging prism. He rested a hand on each of the newlyweds’ shoulders and beamed.

“Relationships are like unto alloys,” he said. “The perfect mixture is stronger than either alone, but they are weak while being hammered hot, and are fragile if overly cooled.” He turned to the audience. “The alloy of Human and Drenard will forge the sharpest of Wadi hooks, but we will need guidance on how best to wield them. That’s why I want envoys to travel to Earth and foster this new relationship.”

The king smiled at Anlyn, who was having a hard time processing what he meant through all the metaphor. Was she being exiled to Earth?

“My wife and I are to be those envoys,” her uncle said. “We know better than any the cost of our wars and the price to be paid.” The king reached down and lifted the hem of his outermost layer, his royal cloak, and pulled it over his head. The crowd reacted with coos and whispers. The king turned to Anlyn. He held the cloak open and nodded to her.

Anlyn found herself swimming in a dream. The lights danced through myriad colors as the crowd sucked all the air of the Pinnacle deep into their lungs. Her uncle nodded again, and Anlyn lowered her head, her mind fluttering and dazed. She felt the heavy honeycloth sink to her shoulders, wrapping her with its weight. She looked up to see her uncle holding the front edge of the garment off the ground for her, the back of the tunic dragging behind.

“It has been too many cycles since the peaceful sex ruled the land,” her uncle said quietly to her. Louder, he said: “The empire is yours.”

Whatever the crowd had left, they let it out. The entire Pinnacle shook from the foot-stomping and shouts. Anlyn felt the vibrations from all that noise fluttering against the heavy cloak. She could feel it thrumming in her heart. Edison grabbed her hand and led her forward. He escorted her on a slow stroll around the interior of the great table, a stroll through a dancing rainbow, while he presented to a people his new wife and their new queen.

Anlyn’s uncle, the former king, watched them from the center. After a pause, he bent down and scooped something off the ground. It took him a moment to figure out the modified trigger, but once he did, he set one end of the old weapon on the ground and activated it.

Edison’s lance erupted in the Pinnacle for the second time, throwing up a glory of sparks and a ringing hum that would one day become legend.

54 · Promises

Cole weaved through the raucous crowd of the reception party and tried his best not to spill the two overly full drinks. He looked around for Molly, but it was hard to locate any one person in the wedding celebration. Anlyn and Edison were being seen off on the Drenardian version of a honeymoon, and it seemed everyone on three planets had to take a turn dancing with each of them before they left.

He bumped into Dani, and rather than practice his rough Drenard with the old interrogator, Cole simply yelled Molly’s name over the din. Dani squeezed Cole’s shoulder and steered him around. He pointed through the glass and out toward the balcony.

Cole felt relieved to see her away from the crowd and hurried out to join her, admiring as he walked the spectacle of the Drenard sunset in the distance.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Molly turned and smiled—a welcomed sight he was gradually getting used to seeing once again. But he also saw something stirring beneath the guise, some lingering pain that needed addressing.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Huh? Yeah. Just thinking.”

“I know that look. You’re doing more than just thinking. Here.” He handed her a glass.

“Thanks,” she said.

He took a sip from his own. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Molly shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Just missing him?”

He held his glass to his lips, waiting on her reply, knowing by now how best to discuss her loss.

Molly shook her head, no longer trying to conceal her dour mood.

“Walter?” Cole asked, still fishing.

Tears fell across Molly’s cheeks, but she shook her head again. “No. Not until you brought them up.” She forced a laugh and wiped at her cheeks, then took a sip from her glass and looked out to the horizon.

Cole stepped by her side and Molly leaned against him, allowing him to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m prying aren’t I?” Cole asked. “Am I trying too hard? Last time you said I wasn’t trying hard enough.”

Molly pressed her temple against his shoulder. “You’re fine, I promise. I—I just haven’t gotten a handle on this new feeling.”

They stood together and sipped the watered-down Wadi juice for a moment.

“How about that parade?” Cole asked, trying to change the subject.

Molly laughed softly and rested her glass on the wide, flat railing before them. She looked into the distance. “Do you remember dreaming of something like that back at the Academy?” she asked him.

Cole laughed. “Yeah, but we always talked about licking the Drenards, not joining them.” He took a sip of the gingery, lemony drink, the foreign taste adding to his ironic sentiment. “And the parade was always in New York,” he said. He lifted his glass to the perpetual sunset before them. “Not anywhere like this.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re having parades there as well,” Molly said. “I bet Saunders is standing on top of some float as we speak.”

Cole studied Molly’s face while his love peered into the sunrise. The wavering and colorful lights did magnificent things to her eyes.

“Is that what’s got you down?” he joked. “Has seeing one of your Academy fantasies come true ruined your cheerful mood?”

Molly pinched his side as he went to take a sip, causing him to spill Wadi juice down his new tunics.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” she said, smiling.

“I know what it is,” Cole said, dabbing at the juice with his napkin. He looked up and gave her his most evil grin.

Molly shook her head.

“Yeah, I do. You want a wedding like Anlyn’s, dontcha? You do! You totally want me to sweep you off your feet and give you a sappy gift and cry and go on a vacation!” He taunted her while absorbing her playful blows.

“Not anymore, I don’t!”

Cole looked through the transparent barrier around the balcony and raised his glass. “That’s what it was,” he said.

“No,” Molly said, her voice suddenly serious. “I think it was the confetti. It was all the joy in the crowd.”

“All the joy’s got you down?” Cole scrunched up his face.

Molly turned to face him. “It’s the idea that the war is over and everyone’s safe. How can everyone feel that when the Bern are still out there and some of them are probably still among us? How long before people grow suspicious of each other, or they find some other way through to our galaxy?”

“Drenards, you sure know how to wreck a party.”

“I’m serious, Cole.”

“I know. I wish you wouldn’t be. Look, you’re right, but we’ve lived with those things lurking for years and years. And besides, Ryke seems pretty sure the Bern won’t be a problem in the next universe.”

“That’s a long time from now,” Molly said. “What about until then? How many people, how many alien races we’ve never heard of will suffer until then?”

Cole looked out at the shimmering colors beyond the horizon. He imagined he saw a black silhouette flying out there somewhere. “Gods, Molly, I don’t know. What do you expect you can do for them?”

“Nothing,” Molly said. She leaned her head against Cole’s shoulder. “I think that’s where this new funk is coming from.”

Cole kissed the side of her head. “And that’s what I love about you,” he said. “Always demanding the impossibly good out of everything, especially yourself.”

Molly lifted her shoulders. “But what if we could do something?”

“Like what? I mean, think of the scale of what you’re suggesting. You’re talking like we could march on Mount Olympus and knock the gods on their butts. Everyone else seems to think we’ve done enough to wall off our corner of creation, and I happen to agree. We have entire galaxies to safely explore. We have billions of years to foster peace. And when the universe wraps around on itself and starts off again, life is gonna spread in a way even the Bern won’t be able to control.” Cole laughed. “I mean seriously, we totally kicked their asses, right?”

He stopped laughing as Molly refused to join in.

“You’re serious about doing something,” he said.

“Of course I am,” Molly told him. “I don’t want to live in fear of them. I want to throw that door open and shine a light in the darkness. I want to spook them before they spook me.”

“And I love you for that, but what’s wrong with living our lives out and being happy and just letting things take their course? What long-term impact are you hoping to have that will justify risking the completely nebular next century we could have together?”

“I give you two weeks, mister, before you’re the one itching to cause trouble.”

“Fine, but I’ll be convincing you to surf the Palan floods or to basejump through Ganji or something like that. I won’t be hankering to take on some pan-galactic empire that sounds like they’re eventually doomed anyway.”

Molly looked up at him. With that look. The same one she’d given him on Drenard over a month ago. The look that back then let him know they were going to escape the alien planet, eschewing a comfortable existence to try and end a war that was too big to contemplate denting. She gave him that look once again, and he found himself wilting.

“Alright,” he said.

Molly smiled and threw her arms around him, sending Wadi juice down his back. “I love you,” she said. “More than you’ll ever know!”

“On three conditions,” Cole said.

Molly pulled away. “Which are?”

“We won’t leave this galaxy until we’re thirty, so you have to give me a dozen years of awesome bliss just living together and not trying to start any trouble with alien races.”

Molly smiled and nodded. “Twelve years,” she said. “I can handle that. What else?”

“You have to let me take you someplace special for our honeymoon.”

“Okay,” Molly said. She continued to nod, and then her head snapped up to gaze at Cole, her eyes wide, her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Wait. Our what?”

“Third condition,” Cole said, sinking down to one knee…