Molly Fyde and the Land of Light

23

The stars shifted as Parsona jumped into Dakura, and a dark, gray sphere popped into view amid the smattering of stars. Molly reached forward and flipped on the radio to let her mom know they’d arrived.

“That’s Dakura?” Cole asked. “Not much to look at.”

It was Parsona that answered. “It will be,” she said. “Eventually. It used to be a frozen wasteland, much like Mars.”

“Well, it still looks that way to me,” Molly said, thrusting off toward the planet’s largest moon.

“What color is it?” Parsona asked.

“A darkish gray. Why? What color should it be?”

“When your father and I were here sixteen years ago, it was a dull red—the color of rust.”

“Looks like it’s just getting worse, if you ask me,” said Cole.

“It’s a long process. That gray dusting will trap heat over a long period of time, thawing the crust and releasing the water inside. It will take thousands of years.”

“Makes sense,” Molly thought aloud, “for a guy dedicated to immortality to plan something like this. I bet he got a great deal on the planet.”

“Someone owns that planet?” Cole asked.

Molly looked over. “I thought I mentioned that.”

“Who are you guysss talking to?”

Molly and Cole spun in their seats to see Walter standing behind their chairs. The Wadi’s tongue flicked out into the air.

“Flight control,” Cole lied. “Getting permission to land, buddy.”

“Starship Parsona, you’re cleared for landing pad four,” Parsona said through the radio speaker. Molly smiled at Cole, who bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Before Walter could respond, another voice—heavy with static—crackled through the same speaker. “GN-290, ship ID Parsona, this is Dakura flight control, come in.”

“Who’ss that?” Walter asked, pointing to the dash.

“Uh, that’s Customs. We’ll have to clear in with them, now.”

“Why did he call himsself ‘Flight Control’?”

“Hey, Walter, I don’t question the way you organize the cargo bays, do I?”

“No.”

“Okay, man, you just have to trust that Molly and I know what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, but you guyss keep getting uss in trouble,” Walter said, pouting.

Molly laughed out loud at this and switched the radio over to her helmet. “Dakura Flight Control, Parsona here, looking for clearance. Over.”

“Roger, Parsona, you’re cleared for landing pad two. And welcome back.”

Molly looked to Cole to see if he was listening in, but he and Walter were busy arguing about something.

“Strap in for the landing, boys.”

Walter huffed and looked down at his flightsuit, brushing his hands across it as if to remove some dust. He marched back to his seat, gurgling in Palan.

Only one other ship sat on the moon’s landing pads as they descended to the surface. “Looks like we have the place to ourselves,” Cole said.

Molly nodded and followed the beacon for Pad Two. Once she had a visual—the large number etched into the paved surface—she decreased the thrusters and brought her altimeter to zero. The shocks in the landing gear took out what little jarring there was, making the arrival so smooth, it felt like they weren’t there yet.

“Nice landing,” Cole said. “We did land, didn’t we?”

Molly beamed. “Yeah, and this moon is massive. A lot of gravity here, but no atmosphere, so keep your helmet on.”

Molly reached to unbuckle her harness when the entire ship trembled slightly. She put both hands out in confusion, preparing to steady herself against more tremors.

“Nebular,” Cole said, lifting his visor up and peering through the porthole on his side of the cockpit.

Molly looked out her side and saw the surface of the moon sliding up to block out the stars. “A lift?” she asked.

“Yeah, and we don’t have this place to ourselves at all.”

Below the artificial surface of the moon lay a lit parking facility. It stretched further than they could see, filled to bursting with a wide variety of gleaming hulls, some of them being tended to with long, robotic arms.

“Whoa. That’s a Viking 500 over there.”

Molly unstrapped herself and leaned over Cole to see. Walter ran in to investigate the clamor, nearly climbing over their backs to get a better view.

“That’s a pricey ship,” Cole pointed out.

“I wanna sssee!”

Molly scooted over and patted her armrest. “Get up here,” she said. He jumped up at once and the Wadi leapt from the back of Molly’s chair over to Cole’s.

“There’s no people,” Molly said.

She longed to ask her mother some more questions, but not with Walter around. It was imperative they hide her mother’s existence from the people on Dakura, and she trusted Walter with a secret as much as she trusted him with a computer. As Parsona had reiterated earlier: she was stolen contraband, an unauthorized copy snuck off the planet. If they found her, she’d be deleted, and they’d all be in a ton of trouble.

Molly didn’t like the situation, but felt relieved to have a warning. At least I know what to avoid doing here, she thought.

Meanwhile, Cole and Walter went nuts over spaceship designs. While they took turns pointing out which paint jobs were the flashiest, Molly imagined what Parsona must look like to all these other ships; her outdated hull was streaked with micro-burns from space debris; the paint job was original and boring, covered in drab, stenciled lettering. Reflexively, she reached out and rubbed her hand across the dash, as if her mother could feel the comforting touch.

As Parsona sank down to the level of the other ships, Molly braced for a jarring halt, but the lift continued to lower them through the floor of the parking garage. Beside her, the boys moaned over how quickly the show had come to a close. She actually felt relieved to have the gaudy things out of her sight. Better to not compare, she figured.

They descended into a hangar the same size as the landing pad. Molly looked up through the carboglass window in the top of the cockpit and watched the ceiling come together, sealing them inside.

“Stop squirming,” she told Walter. He was practically bouncing around on her lap as he tried to take it all in.

“Ssitting in the cargo bay ssucksss,” he spat. “It’ss nebular in the cockpit.”

Molly saw him look down at Cole’s seat, almost as if he longed to own it.

From above, a dull thud sounded out as the doors slammed shut. Atmosphere hissed into the sealed room from vents along the wall, the condensation billowing out like steam. The same male voice cracked through the radio and told them to wait five minutes for pressurization.

“Expensive setup they have here,” Cole said, leaning forward and gazing up at the large chamber.

“I’m sure immortality doesn’t come cheaply.”

“Yeah. Hey, I thought you always said your parents were poor, from a frontier planet and all that.”

“They were. Trust me, I’m as confused as you are.” She shot the radio speaker a look, reveling in the situation her mother was in thanks to Walter’s presence: forced to sit and listen and not say anything in return.

Her mom’s instructions had been vague, mostly because even she didn’t know what their options were. The first step would be to pay her other self a visit and see what she knew. They also needed to find out if anyone else had come to see Parsona in the last half year. And finally, if there was any legal way for a surviving family member to take her body off-line, they would do that. But the last was not something Molly wanted to consider. It would remain a nasty contingency in case all else failed.

“Let me out,” Molly told Walter. “I’m gonna go get changed.”

“Me, too!” he yelled, jumping off her lap and dashing back through the cargo bay.

“What in hyperspace are we gonna do with him?” Molly asked, watching him tear through the ship.

Cole shrugged. “My vote a long time ago was to airlock him. But more immediately, what are we gonna do with the lizard while we’re here?”

“She’ll stay in my room. And she’s a Wadi, not a lizard.” Molly looked down at her flightsuit. “And at least she doesn’t leave footprints on me the way Walter does.”

Cole laughed. “Yeah, she just tried to claw your face off.”

Molly touched the small bandage on her cheek. “She did not! That was a different lizard.”

“So that one was a lizard, eh?” Cole unstrapped himself and worked his way out of his seat, laughing.

“Yeah,” Molly pouted. “The boys are lizards, the girls are Wadis.”

Cole’s laughter got louder as he disappeared into the cargo bay.

Molly and the Wadi stared at one another.

They understood the difference.

By the time Molly came out with a clean outfit on—a nice blouse and a pair of pants she’d picked up in Darrin—Cole was already waiting in the cargo bay. Walter stood nearby, playing his video game. Above them, both the atmosphere and pressure lights flashed green, signaling it was safe to lower the ramp.

“You wanna pop the hatch?” Molly asked Walter, trying to break his attention away from his computer.

“Pretty good wirelesss ssignal here,” he murmured.

“Do not hack the network here, Walter,” Cole said. “Now put the computer away.”

Walter sighed, but holstered the device. They waited on him to lower the ramp, a job he insisted belonged to the supply officer, since, as he put it: “That’ss where the cargo comess in.”

He made a great show of lifting the protective glass shield over the release button before pressing it. Molly swore she heard him making missile-launching noises as he activated the door. It was all she could do to not crack a smile.

As the captain, she exited the ship first, her soft shoes giving her a bounce and gripping the loading ramp in a way her flight boots couldn’t. It felt great to be arriving someplace where they were welcome, and at a stop they’d actually planned. The novelty of things going so well took her mind off the difficult task they were there to accomplish.

She stepped away from the ship and looked around at the hangar bay. It was basically a cube, about two hundred meters to a side. The floor had been painted a neutral shade of tan, a color that also went up the walls about to eye level before a light blue hue took over, which expanded upward to cover the ceiling. It seemed designed to make landlubbers feel at home.

On the far wall, two double doors stood, large enough to drive a loading truck through. Molly faced them, expecting the entry to pop open, when a smaller, almost invisible door set within them slid back instead.

An older man in a well-fitted suit strolled through the new opening. He had his hand out, a smile frozen on his face. Molly walked toward him and extended her arm in greeting. She was a dozen paces away before she realized he was an automaton, the sort of android that had been banned from most human planets.

“Greetings and welcome, I am Stanley, and I will be your host for the duration of your stay.” The voice was the same one from the radio. It sounded perfectly natural, but the lips didn’t move quite right. They flapped open and shut to mimic speech, but they clearly weren’t forming the words. Near the corners of the mouth, the rubbery coating substituting for flesh folded unnaturally, distracting Molly.

She shook her head, trying to remember what the robot had just said. “Hello. Uh—I’m Molly Fyde, and, uh, this is my navigator, Cole Mendonça, and my supply officer, Walter Hommul.” Cole came forward to shake hands as well. Walter waved from a distance, his video game already sneaking out of its holster.

“And this is Parsona?” the robot asked, gesturing toward the ship behind them.

“Uh. The ship? Yeah, I guess. Um, we just refer to it as a GN-290. None of us are into really thinking of ships as women, you know? Uh, my father named it after his—”

“His wife. And your mother. Yes, it’s all on file. Welcome back.”

“Uh, this is my first time, actually. But I guess the ship was here a long time ago?”

The robot tilted its head to the side; its eyes moved up and down, almost as if scanning her. Molly stood close enough to hear the small servos buzzing in its artificial skull.

“Yes,” Stanley said, “I suppose you were much too young to remember. No matter, I recall you well. And I must say, sixteen years is not so long a time at all. Just a blink. Now, if you will follow me, your friends may rest in our hospitality suite while you visit with your mother. Family only, I’m afraid.”

Molly held up her hand. “Actually, before I get straight to the visit, I was wondering if we could get a tour of the facilities? Maybe hear a little about how all this works. I still don’t understand why my mom came here or even what it is that you guys do.”

“Oh, but of course. I’m terribly sorry. Most people are in such a rush these days. It pleases me you are willing to take your time and do things in the proper order. Most excellent. Very well, then, if you will follow me I will show you all that LIFE has to offer.”

“Life?” Cole asked as they followed Stanley through the door.

The android spelled it out: “Ell eye eff eee. Longevity through Interactive Fantasy Environments. LIFE.”

Walter straggled behind, coming through the door last; it swooshed closed behind him. The sounds of heavy machinery whirring into operation emanated from the hangar, and a light above the door winked from green to red.

“Uh, Stanley?” Molly said. “Is our ship gonna be okay?”

“What? Oh, of course. It will be valet parked until you are ready to leave. Must make room for our new arrivals! Busy, busy.” As if to demonstrate, Stanley turned and started walking swiftly down the long, tiled hallway.

Molly pictured Parsona being parked in the vacuum of the hangar and thought about the poor Wadi in her crew quarters. She guessed there were several days of atmosphere locked up in the ship, and their visit shouldn’t take nearly that long. She tried not to worry and hurried after Stanley, past doors labeled “Hangar Six” and “Hangar Four.” Their guide kept up the pace as he launched into a history of the company.

“Founded in 2312, LIFE was designed to offer an alternative to the finality of death. The brainchild of Dr. Arthur Dakura, a wonderful philanthropist and brilliant psychologist, it fulfills the broken promise of so many ancient systems of belief—”

Stanley spun around on the group and threw his hands wide across the hall.

“—Heaven,” he gushed, saying it as if he were about to unveil a new private-class GN starship model. The maneuver was flamboyant enough to make Walter glance up from his computer.

Molly and Cole froze. She wondered if they were supposed to ask a question at this point, then Stanley whirled back around and continued to walk and talk.

“What Dr. Dakura discovered in his mapping of the human brain was that it works just like a computer. Data flows in, the computer does some crunching, and data flows back out. Simple as that.”

“If it’s so simple,” Cole asked, “what makes this Arthur guy so smart?”

“Excellent question. Step right through here, please.” A door opposite Hangar Eight led the small group into a lobby of sorts. There were several other figures in suits milling about, all of them identical to Stanley in every way. One of them looked up from behind a large wooden desk and smiled. Another passed right by them, escorting an elderly lady. This Stanley reached into his suit and proffered a handkerchief, which the woman accepted and sniffled into.

Molly moved aside to let them pass, watching the duo head out toward the hangars.

Dozens of identical voices could be heard talking with prospective clients, family members, and each other. Molly nodded to another human whose eye she caught, the feeling of evolutionary kinship as powerful as it was absurd—a sense of tribalism thousands of years past its usefulness.

The place really was busy, she saw. And being run like clockwork. Several species Molly didn’t recognize moved through the lobby, listening to a Stanley as he gave them a tour.

“Fyde, Parsona,” their Stanley said to the Stanley behind the desk. Then he turned to Molly and explained, “Your mother will be told to expect you. How long will you be visiting?”

Molly hadn’t thought about that. How long would she need? How different would this be from talking to the “mom” in her spaceship?

“A few hours?” she asked out loud.

“Put her down for three hours, Stanley.”

“Very good, Stanley.” The man behind the desk produced three visitor passes.

Their guide turned and handed them the passes, which they draped over their necks. Then he turned to Cole and pointed to a large portrait on the wall. “Your question, my good man, regarding Dr. Dakura’s intellect is still awaiting its answer. Let’s go down a few levels and see for ourselves, shall we?”

Molly nodded eagerly and followed along after their energetic guide. She put one hand on Walter’s elbow and guided him through the lobby and down a short hallway, allowing him to play his game without crashing into anyone.

An elevator dinged ahead of them and disgorged an elderly human couple. Molly and Cole both nodded, reflexively, as their group entered the lift. Stanley pressed a button and typed some commands into a keyboard affixed to the wall.

The back of the elevator flickered for a moment, then displayed a video. The first scene showed an elevator descending toward the center of a circular, gray moon. Below this stood a side-on view of the human brain.

“We begin our tour at the center of Dakura’s moon,” Stanley began. “At the heart of LIFE. Of course, ‘heart’ is a poor metaphor, a holdover from the days of anatomical ignorance. We now know primal emotions lie here, at the core of our brains.”

Stanley faced them, but still managed to trace his fingers over appropriate portions of the image. It was an uncanny and jarring sight, similar to holovid weathermen back on Earth.

“Dr. Dakura’s genius,” he directed this to Cole, “was to understand the computer programs and previous attempts at AI were doomed due to their complexity. For hundreds of years, computer scientists tried to recreate an object around which they knew nothing. It took a psychologist who understood that object, and dabbled in computer science, to make the breakthrough.”

The video flashed to a shot of a scientist standing over a man as he slid into a scanning machine of some sort.

“Dr. Dakura knew two things about the brain these other researchers neglected to take into account. First, the illusion of a single program is just that: an illusion. Second, the brain is imperfect.” Stanley’s mechanical eyes peeled away from Cole and resumed their steady flicking over the trio. The video changed back to a graphical representation of their descent to the center of the moon with an overlay of the human brain on top.

“The human brain is composed of thousands of small programs, many of them working against one another. All of them are imperfect. They make mistakes. Dr. Dakura was the first researcher to introduce competition between his simulated brain modules and also program in a degree of randomness. Every now and then, his AI would ‘see’ or ‘hear’ things that weren’t truly there. They would incorporate lies as truths. It was brilliant work for which he never sought recognition, neither through publication nor awards.”

The elevator dinged. It must have been moving swiftly, but there had been no sense of it ever starting or stopping. Molly looked to her feet, wondering if there were gravity panels in the floor.

“Right this way,” Stanley said.

They filed out while another group, a Stanley and two Callites stood to the side. The Stanleys greeted one another politely. Molly smiled at the Callites , assuming they were a couple. She remembered the race from her childhood on Lok and was somewhat surprised the notoriously impoverished people could afford the services. The female Callite smiled back at her while the male struggled forward on two canes, barely able to walk. There was no need to guess which of the aliens was considering enrollment.

Molly stepped out of the elevator and made room for them to pass, pulling Walter along with her. Their group exited onto a long, wide balcony. Two other groups stood by the low wall lining the edge and listened intently to their own Stanleys. Beyond the railing loomed a massive chamber, carved out of raw moon, that stretched out for kilometers. Flat concrete walls rose up, covered with gigantic shelves on which stood colorful drums easily large enough to hold a human body.

“This is where it all happens,” Stanley said, waving his arm across the vast expanse. “Almost forty three thousand heavens.”

“That’s how many clients you have?” Molly asked.

“And counting. As you can see, we’re signing people up every day. Not just humans, either, as Dakura’s advances have translated well to other biological systems. And not all of our clients are sick or dying, I might add. Many of our clients are just bored with their normal lives and ready to plug into ours.”

Molly walked to the balcony and looked at the canisters in the distance. She thought about the analogy her mom had made of people in jars. “Is my mom in one of those?” she whispered.

“Oh, my dear, no. Our clients are sleeping in another portion of the moon. These cylinders are packed with spools of fiber-optic cable. Each cylinder contains billions of terabytes of data, stored as little pulses of light that move in and out of a reading and writing device thousands of times a second. We love to point out that people who’ve had brushes with death always saw a light approaching. We offer that. Literally. An entire afterlife created by light waves, a land of li—”

“It’ss a hard drive,” Walter said. Molly turned, shocked to see how rapt the boy had become. The computer had even been returned to its holster. His silvery hands grasped the railing as he leaned forward, peering across the expansive chamber.

“Why, yes, my boy. They are like old-fashioned hard drives. I’m impressed someone your age would even know such a thing.”

“He’s from Palan,” Cole explained. “Lots of antique equipment there.”

“What would heaven be like?” Molly asked, her thoughts far from the technical wizardry. “For my mom,” she added.

“Excellent question, young lady. I was just getting to that.” He addressed them all in hushed tones of wonder: “Heaven would be whatever you wanted it to be! Imagine that. A place where you can be forever happy, no matter what.”

“Wouldn’t that get boring?” asked Cole. “Or repetitive? And how can you know what makes each person happy? Or even leave it up to them to decide?”

“Quite right, and you are extremely sharp, young man. If Dr. Dakura were still around, the two of you would get along quite famously. And he encountered those very problems before he stumbled upon a simple solution.”

Cole narrowed his eyes. “Which was?”

“Leave the brain in charge! Dr. Dakura’s algorithm is tied to the pleasure module of his brain program. As soon as the client becomes less happy than it was earlier, the environment shifts. If the unhappiness continues to increase, it tries a new tactic. It keeps doing this until it maximizes data output from the pleasure center. It’s the same way a robot—much simpler than myself, of course—learns its way around a darkened room by bumping off things and trying a new direction.

“And the best part is, every interaction is recorded to make the process go smoother and smoother. Since the problems Dr. Dakura ran into never surface until after an initial honeymoon phase, the algorithm has you figured out before you even begin to challenge it!”

Cole raised his eyebrows at this. Molly knew the look well: he wasn’t impressed—he was skeptical.

She asked a question of her own: “When I visit my mom, will she be happy to come out of there?”

For the first time during their brief tour thus far, Stanley seemed at a loss for words. He pointed out to the barrels behind him, his head cocking to one side.

“My dear lady,” he replied. “She will not be joining you out here. You will be joining her in there.”

24

“I’ll be going into one of those canisters?” Molly asked, pointing over the rail.

“I’m so sorry, you requested a tour of the facilities, but I can see now that I really should have broken you into two groups. Ms. Fyde, you need a visitation tour. This is more of a facilities tour for prospective clients. Let’s go up to the guest suites and get you caught up and plugged in, shall we?”

“Before we do—” Molly hesitated. “Can I see her? Her body, that is.”

“Oh, my dear, no. I’m afraid that’s strictly forbidden. If you would like to continue the facilities tour, I can show you where the clients sleep and how that procedure works, but it is just a demonstration. Most of our customers pay dearly to be remembered in a state other than the one in which they arrived. It is a responsibility we take quite seriously here at LIFE.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see that. Before my visit.”

“Of course. Let’s hail one of our elevators, shall we?”

There were at least a dozen shafts that opened onto the large balcony. Despite the congested feel of the place, they didn’t have to wait long for one to arrive. Once inside, a video of a female in a patient’s gown popped up on the rear wall. She conversed happily with Stanley-doctors in a silent promotional video.

“We provide the best medical care offered anywhere in the galaxy,” their guide intoned. “Whether you are coming to us with an intractable disease or in top condition, our painless preservation procedure will maintain you and your brain for all of eternity. Neural growth is stimulated with the latest hormone therapy and stem-cell technology. Our own studies show conclusively that your brain will grow younger even as your body hardly ages at all.”

The video switched to a shot similar to the person being scanned, but this time they were slid into something resembling a morgue drawer. “Inside your personal rest compartment, you will find an eternity of peace and wish-fulfillment. Family members can network with one another, and you may even reserve the rest compartments next to you so loved ones may be just as close in body as they are in spirit.”

“How do you network the people?” Cole asked.

The interruption didn’t faze Stanley at all; he smiled and seemed to launch down another branch of his tour logic-tree. “We let our guests know when family members have joined them at LIFE. How they incorporate one another once a link is made is entirely up to both members and their individual pleasure algorithms. We have had very few cases of family members rejecting one another or not wishing to combine their experiences into a shared environment.”

“But you can’t include people that aren’t here, can you?” Molly asked.

“My goodness, no. How could we? They haven’t been scanned. No, the people that inhabit their own heavens are personalities they make up. Just like when you dream.”

The elevator dinged again; the video screen showed them three quarters of the way to the surface. Stanley waved Molly and Cole through the door, then looked back at Walter, who was reaching for the keyboard by the elevator terminal. “Let’s not touch anything, okay?” he said cheerily. “Excellent. Follow me, please.”

Molly shot Walter a stern glare and waited for him to exit the lift. She looked around at the large lobby they’d entered, the same bank of a dozen elevators lined up along one wall. The other three walls were broken up with hallways leading away in various directions, each cordoned off by a solid glass barrier. Stanley walked toward one of these and waved them along.

Through the glass, Molly could see the edges of the corridor, but not its end. The hallway stretched out so far in a straight line that the opposite wall became an illusion of converging planes. She watched Stanley reach into his coat and produce a card similar to their visitor passes; he swiped it through a reader, and the glass barrier slid silently into the jam.

Walter hissed with delight and reached for his own pass.

“I’m sorry, my dear boy, but your pass will only open limited doors on the surface levels. Now, allow me to show you one of our unoccupied rest compartments.”

They followed him down the hallway, which Molly now saw as just a long line of other hallways connecting at right angles. The layout created as much surface area as possible, just like the folds of a brain. Stanley turned down the first of these branches, and the rest of the group followed.

The sight humbled Molly.

Ahead of her, and stretching out for hundreds and hundreds of meters, lay a passage lined with square doors, each of them about a meter to a side. Stacked four high, the top row would have been difficult for even Edison to reach. Small LCD screens on every door flashed with a series of numbers along with the word “Unoccupied.”

“Is my mom here somewhere?” Molly asked.

“Down a different main branch, yes. This is our phase four expansion. We use it for demonstrations and meetings with prospective clients.” He swiped his card through a reader on the door nearest them and the cover hinged open with a pop and a hiss.

“This rest compartment could be yours one day,” he intoned. The door opened fully and a long metal tray slid out. “Imagine all the amazing dreams you could have here. An eternity of happiness. Is that something you’re willing to wait for? Why not start creating your heaven today?”

“Not interested,” Cole said, a tad rude for Molly’s liking.

“Of course,” said Stanley. “Just think about it. There’s a lot to take in and we urge you to return for another tour at any time.” He turned to Molly. “Have you seen enough of the facilities? Would you care to visit your loved one now?”

Molly looked to her friends. Cole shrugged. Walter gazed longingly down the row of compartments; he looked ready to move in.

“I think we’ve seen enough,” she told Stanley, pulling Walter away from whatever he was thinking.

Stanley swiped them through the glass barrier as yet another group filed out another elevator. It was one of the same clusters they’d seen on the balcony below. The other Stanley held the adjacent elevator door open for Molly’s group.

“Thank you, Stanley.”

“Of course, Stanley.”

Molly waved to the touring family, then heard a commotion to her other side. She turned and saw that Walter had walked right into the other group’s Stanley, dropping his video game and hissing with alarm.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized for her friend. “He doesn’t watch where he’s going.”

“Not a problem,” the Stanley assured her, straightening his jacket. Walter grabbed his game and hurried inside the elevator while Cole and Molly exchanged an embarrassed glance.

Their Stanley was all smiles, artificial yet sincere. He swiped his card to keep the tour moving, and the doors slid shut on the group outside.

The other Stanley stood at the glass barrier to expansion phase four, patting his jacket and apologizing profusely to his group.

“The visitation and guest suites,” Stanley announced. The elevator doors dinged open, and they stepped out into a grand, carpeted lobby. Plush furnishings and chandeliers dominated the space. Elegant columns pretended to do something structural with the ceiling. Paneled walls and detailed moldings adorned everything, signifying class and wealth.

It wasn’t a Drenard prison cell by any stretch, but it was awfully nice.

A dozen Stanleys strolled purposefully in every direction, almost always accompanied by a guest or two. People and aliens lounged on the furniture with electronic readers, a reminder to Molly of the one she’d lost on Palan and still hadn’t replaced. A Stanley behind the registration counter directed a group, pointing down a hall and giving directions through a broad smile.

Walter’s eyes were as wide as Molly had ever seen them.

“Remind you of the Regal Hotel back home?” she asked him.

“Not even closse,” he whispered.

Stanley led them to the registration desk. “Fyde, party of three,” he said.

“Of course. Excellent,” the seated Stanley said. “We have two guests on the West wing, suite thirty-eight, and one visitor—a Molly Fyde?” he searched their faces until Molly nodded. “Of course,” the Stanley said. “You will be in visitation room twelve.” He smiled and held out his hand. “Passes, please.”

They each fumbled for their passes, and the Stanley swiped them through his computer. The two Stanleys smiled at one another before their Stanley waved them out of the crowded lobby and down a lushly carpeted hall.

“Hey, Stanley,” Cole said, “I have a question.”

“Absolutely, my dear man. Ask away.”

“Why did Dr. Dakura decide to put people’s personalities and memories in barrels of fiber-optic cable when he has such good android technology? I mean, no offense meant, but your model is really impressive, and you would think—”

Stanley turned on the group, cutting off Cole’s question. “Suite thirty-eight,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

Walter insisted on using his card to open the door, his delighted hiss providing a fitting sound effect as the passage slid open. Molly giggled to herself.

Stanley waved them inside what appeared to be a lovely and large hotel room and turned to Cole. “Excellent question, my good boy, superb. It’s no secret that our work here is being done alongside an even grander project below—”

“The canisters?”

“No, my boy. Below the moon. On Dakura. We have begun a very long and expensive project there—funded primarily by LIFE—to terraform the planet into a custom-made paradise.” He grabbed a small device off the suite’s kitchen counter and pointed it toward the wall opposite the beds. A video projection flashed up.

Stanley worked his way through a few menus while Walter threw himself onto one of the beds and made a pile out of the pillows. “Thiss iss like Drenard!” he told the room.

A video began playing; Stanley handed the remote to Cole.

“Watch this,” he suggested. “It’s all about the future of Dakura and our expansion plans to offer a different kind of afterlife.” He addressed Molly. “Upgrades will be offered to our existing clients first, of course. And we are already scouting other planets that could be purchased cheaply and set aside for future phases.

“Now, while you catch up on that, I am going to get Ms. Fyde situated. Room service menus are on the table if you’re hungry. Everything will be credited to your Unlimited LIFE account.”

Molly and Cole exchanged a look. She waved, nodded her head, then followed Stanley back to the lobby and down a different hallway.

“Will my mother know who I am?” she asked Stanley.

“Why, of course she will. She has already been notified of your visitation.”

“Yeah, but—it’s been a long time. I mean, I was only a few months old when she last saw me.”

“Not quite three months,” he said. “Don’t worry. We have visitors all the time that have never met nor known their relatives.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Usually here begging for money, if I can be so blunt.”

Molly thought about what she was here to do.

It gave her a shiver.

“Visitation room twelve,” Stanley said, waving her toward a door. Molly swiped her card, and the passage opened without any of Walter’s sound effects.

They entered a room very similar to the one they had recently departed—same color scheme, same tasteful fabrics. However, unlike the suite where Cole and Walter were likely wrestling over the remote, this room was much smaller and only had a single cluster of furniture. They formed an arrangement in the center of the room: a lush chair, a matching ottoman, and a metal table. The last was covered with expensive-looking gadgets that gleamed in the light from the suspended chandelier.

Molly followed Stanley as he led her to the chair. As she got closer, she noticed the IV stand behind the chair, from which hung a full bag of fluids.

“Please sit,” Stanley said, sweeping one arm through the air.

“What’s with the IV?” she asked.

“Oh, you shouldn’t be needing that. It’s for our clients who wish to have an extended stay with their loved ones. Of course, if you change your mind, your unlimited account would allow us to move you into a long-stay visitation room. Entirely up to you, of course.”

Molly shook her head. “Uh, no. Thanks. I probably won’t even need the three hours, to be honest. I’m not even sure what to say to her.”

“That’s every visitor’s biggest fear. Trust me, it goes smoothly. The time will whiz by faster than you will want it to.”

“You’re probably right. But, no needles, okay?”

“Of course, of course. Now, please, do sit.”

She settled into the chair and Stanley scooted the ottoman toward her. Lifting her legs, she let them fall to the padded surface of the stool. The chair was extremely comfortable, but only physically. It reminded Molly of the yearly dental checks the Navy used to subject her to, the thought of which made her stomach feel hollow.

Stanley lifted an object from the tray and held it reverently, both palms up and perfectly flat. A thin wire spooled off the back of the device as he raised it to her head. Molly was reminded of the red Drenard bands as Stanley fit the hoop in place. He stepped back to survey his handiwork.

“Excellent,” he said. “As soon as you are ready, I will begin the visitation. Your mother should be expecting you. If you decide to leave early, just exit by using the door you enter through. Also, some of our clients can be quite insistent that their visitors stay longer, so if your time runs out, we will simply bring you back ourselves.”

He reached to the side of the chair and brought up a padded strap, placing it over Molly’s wrist.

“Wait.” Molly shifted her arm out of the way. “What’s that?”

“Oh, this is for your safety. The visit will be indistinguishable from reality. When you move your arms and legs, they will often try to comply here. These are simply to make you as comfortable as you can be.” Stanley smiled at her, the flesh-colored plastic folding unnaturally at the corners of his mouth.

Molly attempted to smile back, and likely did it just as convincingly. “I think I’d be more comfortable without them.”

“Trust me, Ms. Fyde. You wouldn’t be. They are very comfortable. Now, lay your head back and relax.”

Molly shifted herself a little and pressed her head back into the chair. Stanley secured her wrists and ankles with the straps. His face hovered close to hers as he fastened a padded belt across her chest, the smooth skin on his face poreless and plasticy up close.

“Excellent,” he said, stepping back. “Now, when you are ready—”

“I’m ready,” she lied.

The frozen smile returned as Stanley reached for something on the small table beside her. He held it up and moved to press a button.

That image—a robot in a nice suit pressing a small device—burned itself into Molly’s brain.

It was the last thing she would ever see of the room.

25

A wall of wood appeared directly in front of her, so close she could see the rise and fall between the grain. It swung away from her, and as soon as more light spilled across it, she recognized it for an old-fashioned door.

Molly squinted into the light that poured through.

Natural sunlight.

She reached out with one hand, guiding the door all the way open, and stepped through.

She stood on a porch. Below her bare feet, she felt the rough ridges of poorly milled planks. A flimsy-looking rail stood before her, beyond which lay a grassy lawn crowded with people.

Children. The ages varied, but they were all female. Light-colored dresses trailed behind several as they chased one another and squealed with delight. Another cluster sat on the grass, laughing. Ringing the large lawn was a collection of similar houses, their doors squeaking open and banging as children flew through them with more chirps of delight and laughter.

Molly scanned the crowd, looking for her mom. She moved to the railing and leaned out into the bright sun. It all looked and felt so real. She could smell the grass, could feel the cool wind on her cheeks. Something fluttered against her thighs; she looked down the front of a bright yellow dress, just like the others wore.

She’d entered a dream, only more vivid and solidly consistent.

A thrill grew in her with the weather and the sounds of so much joy. She felt her mission slipping away, replaced with an immediate fondness for this place. Nostalgia constricted her throat, choking her, but in a good way.

She knew this place. Memories, long forgotten, tried to make themselves known—

“Mollie?”

She turned, searching for the source of the voice. On the porch of the neighboring house stood a woman, cradling a cloth bundle. A baby. Molly ran down the steps of one porch, through the bright green grass, and vaulted over the steps leading up to her mother. She found herself giggling and smiling and leaving a wake of fluttering yellow, just like the other kids.

Rushing into her mother’s embrace, careful of the baby, she cried out: “Mom!”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her mother held her with one arm, rubbing it up and down her back. It felt alien and normal at the same time.

“I’m so glad you’ve come to visit.” Her mother pulled away and looked to the other porch with bright, brown eyes Molly recognized as her own. Her cheeks, sprinkled with a constellation of faded freckles, rose up in cheerful bunches atop a smile. Her mom looked so young—full, wavy hair hung down past her shoulders and wrapped around her thin, flawless neck.

“Is your father here?” her mother asked.

“No, Mom. Dad couldn’t make it.”

“Oh well, not surprising.” Parsona took a step toward the edge of the porch and called, “Mollie!” into the crowd of girls. A single child turned her head before rushing over to her mother. She was one of the older children, ten or eleven years old.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Will you hold Mollie for me while I visit with my daughter?”

“I would love to!” she squealed, cradling the bundle carefully and skipping back down the steps.

Molly watched her go, then asked her mom: “Are they all named Mollie?”

“Every one. Your father and I just adore that name.”

Molly turned and saw one of her mother’s hands rubbing a swollen belly. She looked back to the lawn. “How many of them are there?”

“The next one will be number thirty two. They come even faster now, which makes me happy.” She gestured to a swing set tucked in one corner of the yard. “Would you like to swing?”

Molly laughed. “I’m a little big for that, Mom.”

Parsona nodded. She turned toward the end of the porch where a double swing hung on the end of two chains.

It hadn’t been there before.

Molly took its appearance in stride and thought of Stanley’s encouragement. This certainly was more natural than she’d hoped.

But then, she hadn’t gotten to the hard part yet.

They crossed to the porch swing and sat together, their dresses folding over each other in the soft breeze. Parsona pushed them back and forth with her long legs, and a comfortable silence grew as they watched the children play in the grass. Molly recognized the scene; she felt like she’d played there herself in the few good dreams she’d had.

“How’s your father?” Parsona eventually asked.

“He’s good,” Molly lied, unsure of why she would. Maybe to not spoil the world her mom had created? Or perhaps because she sought to gather information, not leave it behind. She tried reminding herself that she sat beside a copy of her mother from sixteen years ago. Her real mother lived within the ship that bore her name.

But… Molly could reach out and touch this one, could smell spring in her hair. The other one was just a voice and some green phosphorous font on a nav screen.

Doubt crept up, followed by fondness and familiarity. Filial duty joined them. These internal saboteurs arranged themselves in a phalanx of worry, all armed to force Molly to waver.

She summoned her military training and shouted them down, calling them to attention. She realized she hadn’t come adequately prepared for this. Especially not to handle it all by herself.

“Well, tell your father I’d love it if he stopped by,” her mom said, interrupting her thoughts.

“I will,” Molly promised, but from what Stanley had told her, the fact that her father didn’t already exist in her mind meant her mom was the one lying this time. To herself, perhaps.

“I do enjoy getting visits,” Parsona continued, “and catching up with news from the outside.”

Molly froze.

Visits?

“Who’s been by to visit, Mom?” She tried to ask the question calmly, but wasn’t sure that she succeeded.

“Well, nobody lately. But an old friend used to drop by all the time. He stopped coming years ago—now, what was his name? Come now, you must know him. He and your father were such good friends.”

“Are you talking about Lucin?”

“Wade Lucin? Of course not. How could I forget Wade’s name? No, this was a new friend. We met him on Lok. On the very day you were born, in fact. It happened right out there.”

Parsona pointed beyond the playing children. Molly looked across the commons and noticed the sunlight fade, as if a cloud passed overhead. But then a rainbow popped up in the distance. And out of nowhere, a flock of doves appeared, fluttering above the children who ran after them with little hands spread open, shrieking with delight.

“Now isn’t that lovely,” Parsona said.

Molly turned back to her mother.

“This is Lok?” she whispered, even though she knew it was. Part of her knew this old house, the very porch. But it had been so long ago, and she’d been so young.

Parsona’s eyes didn’t leave the rainbow and the dancing children. Couldn’t, perhaps.

“Yes,” she said, smiling.

“You and Dad were working on something here, weren’t you? What was it? Anything important?”

“Now, sweetheart, why would you want to know about that?”

“It’s important, Mom. To me.”

“It’s dreary stuff, that’s what it is. And it’s all my visitors ever want to talk about for some reason.”

Molly looked at her arms and marveled at the simulated goose bumps. “I’m sorry, Mom. Honest. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really important.” She rubbed her arms.

“I suppose it can’t hurt. I don’t see how any of that can be considered top secret now, right?”

“Of course not. I just want to hear your side of it—to get to know you better.”

The pace of the swing picked up; Molly couldn’t tell if the motion was making her nauseous, or if it was something else.

Her mother spoke, her brown eyes focusing beyond the horizon, “Our investigation ended up leading us to this very house.” She glanced at Molly before gazing back over the commons, toward the past. “Isn’t that funny? Anyway, it was a routine assignment, my very first undercover operation. I was so excited to get the job. You just wouldn’t believe what I put up with on my way to Special Assignments…”

Her voice trailed off—another cloud passed over.

“Anyway, your father and I posed as a couple—blending with the frontier life on Lok while we looked for an unauthorized source of fusion fuel—”

“Fusion fuel?” Molly asked, diverting the stream of consciousness.

“That’s right.” Parsona studied her intently. “You sound surprised. Anyway, we tracked the source all the way back to this very village. It took us almost a year to work our way into the group.” Parsona frowned. “A bunch of anti-GN radicals and Drenard sympathizers, they were. And we were getting close to their source, the initial supply point, when—”

The porch shimmered, the wooden planks waving as if they were fluid. Parsona planted her feet, jarring the swing to a halt.

Two Mollies dashed up, their feet slapping solid wood. They had trays of goodies with them.

“Tea and cake, Mom? We made them ourselves!” They said it in unison. In harmony.

“Now, isn’t that lovely of you girls. Go ahead, Mollie, take some.” What Molly took in was the scene around her. All four of them in identical dresses. Everything so real and yet so surreal. When she’d first arrived, the girls had looked nothing like her, but now they bore an eerie resemblance.

She managed a meek “thanks” and accepted a cup of tea. She blew the steam into wisps, but didn’t take a sip. She wasn’t even sure what it would mean if she did.

“Mom, I need to know if something important happened here. Something that might mean big trouble for the galaxy—or anything like that. Do ‘two doors’ mean anything to you?”

Parsona seemed to chew on this. She cupped her tea in both hands and nodded to the two Mollies. They ran back to the commons to join the others. “There was one thing,” she said. “My other visitor always wanted to talk about it, I’m not sure why. While we were here, a bunch of settlers started going missing. We were looking into it on the side and reporting back to the Navy, but—”

“Mrs. Fyde?” Molly and her mother both turned; a Stanley walked across the lawn to greet them. He nodded at Molly, “I’m so sorry to interrupt your visit.” Then he turned to Parsona. “You have another visitor, Mrs. Fyde. Normally I wouldn’t intrude, but it’s your account benefactor. He would love to see you at your earliest convenience.”

Parsona smoothed her dress across her thighs with both hands, her cup of tea somehow gone. “Well, isn’t this lovely,” she said. “Two visitors on the same day! Is it my tall friend?”

“I believe so, Mrs. Fyde. It’s the only other visitor you have ever had.”

“Well, this is simply too delightful! Molly, would you like to meet him?” She turned to Stanley before Molly could respond, “Can we do that?”

Stanley smiled. Molly noticed his flesh looked flawless in this place—perfectly natural.

“I will inform Mr. Byrne that you are with your daughter and see what he says.”

“Splendid,” Parsona replied.

Stanley bowed and Molly waved goodbye. Moments later, she felt a sharp prick on her arm—as if she’d been pinched. It hurt so bad, she nearly dropped her tea. Molly looked down at her skin, but it appeared normal. She glanced around the swing, but they were alone.

Probably nothing, she thought, blowing simulated steam from the surface of her tea.

“Problemss.”

Cole looked over at Walter. The boy had his computer out, probably playing that stupid video game of his.

“Did your guy die again?”

Walter clucked his tongue. “No. Real problemss. Molly’ss mom hass a vissitor.”

Cole turned back to the video of a Stanley showing off a terraformed Dakura, all covered with beautiful androids living in harmony. “Yeah she does, it’s your captain—” Cole sat up in the bed. “Wait. Are you hacking into their system? I told you not to—”

Walter hissed, cutting him off. “Another vissitor, dummy. And I think… I think they’re moving Molly.”

“What?” Cole got off his bed and walked around Walter to look over his shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

“Sshe wass in vissitation room twelve. Now sshe iss in ssomething called Long Sstay nine-two-one.”

“What does that even mean?”

“They have a sschematic.”

“Pull it up,” Cole said, reminded again how wicked smart Walter was in some things to be so annoying and juvenile in others.

“Long Sstay nine-two-one,” Walter said, pointing to a small square on a long hallway somewhere.

“Is that on this floor?”

Walter shook his head. “Not the hotel. Thiss iss where the bodiess go,” he told Cole.

“Which bodies?”

Walter looked him in the eye. The boy’s face was a dull sheen, like an old coin.

“The dreaming oness,” he hissed.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen this other friend of yours, Mom?”

“Oh, it’s so hard to keep track of time here.”

Parsona rubbed her belly as if calculating the time in trimesters. “Ten years?” she guessed.

Ten years, Molly thought. This was too much of a coincidence.

“What can you tell me about this friend of yours?”

“Oh, I would love for you to just meet him and see for yourself. I’ll have the girls make some more tea and cake.”

Molly sighed. “It would just be nice to know what sorts of things he enjoys talking about, so we can avoid any awkward moments.”

“Aren’t you thoughtful? Hmmm. I do recall him being into politics.”

“Politics? What kind?”

“Navy stuff. The war with the Drenards. Hey, is that war still going on?”

“Yeah, Mom. It hasn’t let up. Speaking of Drenards, did you and Dad ever go to their planet?”

Parsona gaped at her as if she’d lost her mind. “The Drenard’s planet? Of course not, dear! They were my sworn enemy. Still are, I suppose.”

“So, you don’t speak Drenard?”

“Where in the world—?” Parsona paused. “Although, if I did, the Navy would’ve taken me a bit more seriously, wouldn’t they?” She studied her daughter closely. “Now, where are these questions coming from? What has your father been telling you?”

“Nothing, Mom. I just heard you guys were onto something really important on Lok and that maybe my being born messed some things up. I hoped—”

“You hoped you could make things better by picking up where we left off? Oh, sweetheart, that is such a wonderful gesture. It really is.” She put her arms around Molly’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Thank you, but I don’t have any regrets. I’m perfectly happy here, and I have so many wonderful girls to keep me company.”

“Maybe I need to do this for me, Mom. To make myself happy.”

Parsona’s eyes twinkled, as if something registered. “You know, you mentioned two doors. Well—and it’s probably nothing—but after you were born, I was in pretty bad shape for a while. Your father would hardly leave my side. We were here, inside this very house. Wait, that’s right! The group we were investigating, they took us in that night. Kept us warm. Mr. Byrne didn’t come with us for some reason, just led us to the porch. Carried me, in fact, while I carried you. We didn’t see him again until I got really sick. But I—the last thing I remember is those people we were cracking down on—they tried to do everything they could to help me.”

“What about the doors, Mom?”

Parsona looked at Molly and brushed some of her brown hair off her head. She gazed out over the commons where dark clouds and rainbows battled for supremacy.

“Oh, they took great care of you,” she said. “And your father—he was a wreck. When my fever wasn’t too bad, I can remember them talking. About the Drenards. About a race from another galaxy. No, maybe that was something I dreamt at the time. We haven’t made contact outside of our own galaxy, have we? So hard to remember.”

Parsona shook her head.

“I do recall one of the fellows, an older gentleman with a thick white beard—clever fellow. He went on and on about hyperspace. Very agitated man. I’m sorry, dear, I’m afraid I forgot what I was thinking… wait! I do remember. Oh, no. That must’ve been a symptom of my fever.”

“What was it?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a dream I must’ve had. I’m just awful at remembering.”

“Even if it’s weird, Mom, I’d love to hear it.”

“Promise not to laugh? Because this is not the sort of dream I usually have, but I wasn’t in the best of shape at the time.”

“I promise, Mom.”

“One night—like I say, it must’ve been a dream, but vivid as this one that I live in now—the wall of the living room opened up. They had you and me set up on a cot out there, keeping us warm by the fire. I remember—what a crazy dream—that the wall just opened right up, like it’d been zipped open. And—don’t laugh—but people came out of it. Well, not people, aliens! All kinds. Thousands of them.”

“Thousands?”

“You promised not to laugh.”

“I’m not laughing, Mom, I’m flabbergasted. This house doesn’t look big enough for twenty people, much less a hundred.”

“It was a dream. It had to be. But they weren’t all in there at once. They passed from one wall to the other, appeared and disappeared. They marched right through the living room for hours.”

“Sounds like a great dream.”

“It wasn’t. I remember being terrified and powerless to do anything. You were bundled up next to me; I thought they might take you, or do something awful. It must’ve been the fever. And every last one of them wore armor and carried foul weapons of all sorts. Probably a metaphor for my body trying to fight off whatever took me. Or nearly took me. It was one of the last things I remember before we came here. That, and the fight in the commons.”

“What was that about? The fight in the—”

Parsona stopped the swing, cutting off Molly’s question. She rose, gazing out at the grassy square.

“Look, Molly. We have a visitor.”

Molly turned to follow her mother’s gaze. Over the sea of children, she could see a tall, pale man strolling their way like a mast pushing through the mist. His white linen shirt and matching pants sagged on his skeletal frame like becalmed sails. He seemed familiar to Molly, in the ephemeral way this setting did. He was a walking déjà vu and heading right for her, a wide smile on his face.

And something altogether different in his eyes…

26

Walter strolled through the lobby and ignored Cole, who was trailing along behind him. The human kept hissing at him, trying to convince him to go back to the room without being overheard. It sounded like he was making fun of how Walter talked.

“We don’t even know that she needs saving,” Cole whispered.

The lobby buzzed with activity. Several Stanleys turned to watch the two boys as they weaved through the organized chaos. Walter felt exposed—conspicuously unattended, as all the other guests had escorts—he hurried toward the elevators. The situation reminded him of many a clumsy heist he’d attempted in the past, and shouldn’t have. Well, he should’ve planned them better, at least.

“I know sshe iss in trouble,” he hissed over his shoulder. “You can sstay here if you like.”

A tour group popped out of one of the elevators—Walter veered toward it, dodging around a Stanley that seemed to be heading for the same elevator. He beat the robot to the lift and pressed the button to close the door. The Stanley stopped and stared at him, confused. Cole, unfortunately, managed to shoulder the android aside and squeeze through the shutting doors.

The human seemed angry.

“Listen, Walter—hey, where’d you get that card?”

Walter looked at the pass he’d swiped through the elevator reader; it differed in color from the ones around their necks. The human might not be quite as dumb as he looked.

“I borrowed it,” he said. He typed away at the keyboard by the elevator, then turned to look at the back wall. The tour schematic of the complex came up. It showed their elevator descending the shaft.

“How do you know how to do that?” Cole asked.

Walter sneered. “Englissh makess me ssound sstupid becausse of Englissh, not becausse of me.” He looked to his handheld computer. “They usse the ssame passsword for everything here,” he said, shaking his silvery head.

Mr. Byrne stomped up the porch, the steps creaking with a heft his frame kept hidden. Parsona rose to give him a hug—Molly remained seated. As the two adults embraced, Byrne peered down at Molly over Parsona’s shoulder.

“Mollie Fyde?”

“Isn’t she lovely?” Parsona asked, breaking off the hug and gazing adoringly at Molly.

“Mr. Byrne,” the man said, holding out a thin hand, pale as a corpse’s.

Molly warily accepted the outstretched hand, then shivered as her small grasp wrapped all the way around his fingers.

Parsona clapped her hands together. “Let’s go inside where there’s plenty of seating, shall we?”

Mr. Byrne held Molly’s hand and stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable. “That sounds splendid,” he said.

A roaring fire greeted them inside, despite the pleasant weather. Three comfortable chairs faced the hearth, a low table before them.Quaint pictures of frontier life adorned the clapboard walls, and folded quilts were draped over anything that would hold them. An especially ornate one stretched out across one wall like the skin of a cottage drying for the tanner. Random pops sounded from the fire, and worn wood creaked under their feet.

Even the imperfections are perfect, Molly noted.

“I’ll sit in the middle, if you two don’t mind,” Parsona said. “I just can’t believe my luck to have you both visiting.” She lowered herself gracefully to the center chair and turned to Mr. Byrne. He eased himself down into the floral upholstery as well. “This is Mollie’s first visit with me, and I haven’t seen you in almost, what, ten years? Quite the coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Quite,” agreed Mr. Byrne. He smiled warmly, looking past Parsona and eying Molly.

“After we catch up, perhaps we could go for a horseback ride, or head into town for a play. They always have the best shows at the opera house.”

“That would be lovely,” said Mr. Byrne. Molly saw him glance to the coffee table and then back to Parsona. “Perhaps the girls could make us some cake or tea?” he asked.

Parsona slapped her thighs. “Why, of course! I say, what manners!” She looked at Molly apologetically. “You can tell I’m out of practice. You two get to know one another while I go see how the girls are coming along.”

The floor squeaked with her passage. As the door flew open, the sounds of laughter and play flooded through like a joyous outburst, then fell silent as it closed.

Molly narrowed her eyes at the man. “Who are you?” she asked.

Byrne folded his fingers together and rested his elbows on the cushioned armrest, leaning toward Molly. “Why, I’m your godfather, Mollie.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, but I am. Your father and I were the closest of friends.”

“Then how come I’ve never heard of you before?” Molly asked.

Byrne looked to the fire; embers spat out on a rug that seemed incapable of burning. “There are many things your father never told you.”

“Yeah? Maybe that’s because I was six years old and I didn’t need to know them yet.”

Byrne shook his head and clucked his tongue. “No, no, no, Mollie. Things he couldn’t tell you.”

Molly thought about the elusiveness of her mom—the one trapped in Parsona’s nav computer—but she refused to let this creep trip her up or cast doubts. This had to be the man her mother wanted her memories kept from.

“You don’t scare me, and I don’t believe your lies,” she said.

He spread his arms; the skin above his eyes rose in surprise, or amusement—it was difficult to tell without hair on his brow.

“Scared? I’m not trying to scare you—”

“Whatever. Just so you know, my last godfather tried to mess with me and I killed him.”

“Ah, yes. Lucin. I heard about that.” He shook his head again. “Shame, really. I should have gotten to the old bastard first.”

“Yeah?” Molly challenged. “Why? What did you want with him? What do you want from my mother? Why are you even here?”

He leaned closer, his voice lowered to the level of the crackling flames. “Why, Mollie, I’m simply here to collect what’s mine.”

“Which is?” She tried to conceal the very real sense of dread creeping up her spine. The door burst back open and Parsona entered, joined by a cough of laughter from outside. The sound of joy just augmented the creepiness of the situation. Molly stared at Mr. Byrne, her question hanging in the air.

He lifted a hand, unraveled a long bony finger and stretched it out in Molly’s direction. He didn’t say it, just mouthed the single word with thin lips that gaped open, then formed a small circle.

“You,” he mouthed.

Cole still didn’t believe Molly was in any danger, and he was normally the paranoid one. Recently, he’d been right more often than not, so he decided to trust his gut and assume Molly was fine. He just needed to concentrate on keeping Walter from causing any trouble.

“Are you sure Molly was moved?” he asked.

“Possitive,” Walter said. “Computerss don’t lie.”

“Maybe they do,” Cole said. “Maybe you just can’t smell it on them the way you can on people.”

The boy glanced up from his computer. “They’re programss. They can only do what they’re told.” The elevator dinged, and the doors cracked open. Walter scrunched up his metallic face. “Unlesss they’re told to lie,” he mused aloud.

The elevator opened up on the lobby with the glass partitions. Cold strode out and saw another group standing nearby, waiting to enter a neighboring lift. It dinged open just as Walter strolled out. The Stanley with the group turned to survey the two boys.

Cole froze, speechless. He could see that they were about to get busted for walking around without an escort.

Walter didn’t miss a beat. He turned and looked back into the empty elevator they’d just exited. “After we tour thiss level, can we get ssomething to eat?” he asked, as if there was someone in there.

Cole glanced from Walter, to the empty lift, then over at the Stanley. The android gave him a fake smile and joined his potential clients in the neighboring elevator. The doors closed, meeting with a soft thud.

“We musst hurry,” Walter said. Cole nodded. He watched the boy hold his computer level and stare down at it, swiveling in place as if he needed to line up the virtual with the real in order to get his bearings. He pointed to one of the glass partitions, then started walking in that direction; Cole followed.

The stolen passcard opened the glass door without a problem, and they hurried inside as an elevator dinged behind them. “Down here,” Cole snapped, grabbing Walter and pulling him into the first hallway.

“No,” Walter complained. “Third on the left!”

Cole put his hand on the Palan’s mouth and tried not to recoil at the odd coolness of the boy’s flesh. “In a second,” he whispered. “We have to wait for the lobby to be empty.”

Walter nodded and shoved himself away from Cole, shooting him a nasty look. They remained in the side hall, staring at each other, waiting for the muffled voices to leave. Cole finally looked away from Walter’s sneer and up and down the hallway. The doors looked identical to the ones they’d been shown earlier. A meter square. Stacked four high.

The only difference: these had names on them.

“I’m so happy to see the two of you getting along,” Parsona chirped as she arranged a tray of snacks and tea on the coffee table. It suddenly struck Molly how different this Parsona seemed from the other one she’d been getting to know.

Could they really be the same person? she wondered. Could years of different experiences alter someone this much, or does perpetual happiness do something weird to a person?

“Oh, yes, we’re getting along famously,” Mr. Byrne answered. “And I think we’re going to have a lot of time for catching up.” He smiled at Molly. “More than enough time.”

“I just wish Mortimor could be here. I can’t tell you how lovely that would be.”

“I would love that as well,” Mr. Byrne said through a tight smile.

Molly gritted her simulated teeth. He was toying with her, and it drove her crazy. Then, something occurred to her—

“Why am I doing this?” she asked out loud.

“Doing what, dear?” Parsona blew across her tea, poised for her first sip.

Molly stood up from her chair. “This.” She spread her arms out. “Pretending that any of this is real. Listening to this creep tell me—”

The room shivered. Molly looked at her feet as the floor waved. Her dress became a brighter shade of yellow, spotted with cheery flowers.

“Now, now,” her mother chided her teasingly. “Let’s not spoil the mood.”

Molly leaned down close to her mom and pointed at Mr. Byrne. “Who in hyperspace is he?”

“Mollie! Language, please.”

But Molly was in no mood for pleasantries. She had no idea how much time she had left, and she couldn’t afford to leave these two together.

“It isn’t a coincidence that we’re here at the same time, Mom. I think this guy followed me here. I think he wants something from you. I—”

“Please,” Parsona said, “let’s settle down, dear.”

Molly opened her mouth to continue, but Mr. Byrne interrupted. “She’s right, Parsona,” he said. “I did come here because of her.”

“What?” Parsona asked.

“I told you,” said Molly.

Mr. Byrne leaned over and put one hand on Parsona’s arm. “I came as soon as the gentlemen here at LIFE called. They said your daughter had arrived to visit with you after sixteen years of neglect.”

He looked up at Molly, an evil grin on his face.

“And I think she came here to kill you.”

Cole peeked around the corner and watched the elevator doors snap shut. They were alone again. He turned to tell Walter, but the boy had already rushed down the hall. Cole set off after him, voicing his doubts: “How could they have gotten her down here this fast? We were with her just half an hour ago.”

“How long did it take uss to get down here?” Walter hissed over his shoulder.

“Maybe she talked them into showing her the body. That was always the prime objective here, anyway.”

“Here sshe iss,” Walter announced. He stopped in front of a column of square doors about thirty meters into the corridor. He glanced at his computer as if to confirm it, but he shouldn’t have needed to. Her drawer was the third from the bottom, the handle a little over two meters off the ground. Beside it, the LCD readout showed, plain as day: “Mollie Fyde.”

“Damn,” Cole said.

“Ssee?”

“You think it’s safe to open it? I mean, if she’s in there?”

“Iss it ssafe not to?”

Cole frowned, then held out his hand. Walter reluctantly placed his stolen pass-card in it.

“I want that back,” Walter told him.

Reaching up, Cole swiped the card through the reader, which made the LCD screen flash green, just as the demo unit had. A faint clicking noise followed. Cole grabbed the handle and gave it a tug; the door snapped open. A thick metal tray slid out slowly, like a robotic tongue.

Neither of them could see what lie on top. Walter hopped as high as he could, over and over. Cole grabbed the edge and put a foot on the lowest handle on the wall. He pulled himself up and peered inside.

The tongue mocked him. The mouth was empty.

Molly felt her face flush with heat after Byrne’s accusation. She couldn’t fib well, even in a simulated world. She thought it would be safe to drag the discussion out into the open: What could possibly hurt me in this make-believe place?

Parsona studied her face, eyes wide and searching. The scrutiny felt torturous, mostly because Byrne had spoken the truth.

“I’m not—” she began, but the world shivered, losing substance.

“I’ll not hear any more of this,” Parsona said flatly. The cabin disappeared. A dark room took its place. Light and noise from behind Molly made her spin around.

It was a play. Characters on a stage danced while a melodious voice carried through the room from some unseen singer.

“Sit down,” someone hissed at her.

Molly spun around and searched for the source of the complaint. Around her, a shapeless crowd shifted and stirred in the darkness. She looked for an escape, but knees walled her off on either side. An empty seat, obviously meant for her, seemed to scoot forward. Her mother and Mr. Byrne glared at her from the next row back.

“Mother, please. Get us out of—”

“Shhhhhhh!” sang a chorus of leaking air.

“Stop it!” Molly yelled at her mother.

The theater descended into a deeper darkness, then a bright light flashed in Molly’s eyes. A stranger in a mask leaned over her. She tried to ask a question, but she couldn’t speak. Molly fought with her arms and legs, but she was strapped down tight, her mouth forced open and tasting of metal.

In the back of her throat, a puddle of her own spit threatened to drown her. She tried to shake her head back and forth, but a padded headrest constrained even that movement. “Nnngh,” she managed.

“Suction, please,” the man said, his blue mask puffing out with the words.

Molly felt more metal in her mouth and heard the slurping sound of her saliva being pulled from under her tongue. Her eyes widened with fear, but relief from the drowning came as the puddle of spit was removed.

“We had such a good dentist on Earth when I was growing up,” she heard her mother say. “I always worried about what we would do for you on Lok. We were going to be here for quite some time, I was sure. Luckily, we have Dr. Daniels in town now.”

Her mother’s voice emanated from beyond her peripheral. Molly couldn’t move her head to see her, to plead with tear-streaked eyes for an end to the torture.

The doctor held his hand in front of her and bent his fingers in a small wave. “Just a routine cleaning, Mollie,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. You girls never have cavities.”

Molly struggled to form words, but gargled and choked on her own spit instead. Somewhere in the back of her mouth, where only she could hear it, she begged them to let her up. The dentist just forced her jaw open wider and reached for something.

Molly could hear Mr. Byrne speaking just as a tooth-scrubber whirred to life, its high-pitched whine filling her ears as it pressed hard against her teeth. She tried to keep her moans of discomfort low. She strained to hear the conversation taking place just a few feet away. But as saliva pooled up beyond her tongue, her head filled with the scream of ground enamel and the dull roar of torturous agony.

Her mother, of course, was perfectly happy.

Cole lowered himself from the empty tray. “You idiot. I told you there was nothing down here.”

“Then what about her name?” Walter asked.

“Maybe her father bought her a spot here for the future. Ever think about that? Look how it’s spelled.” Cole felt kinetic and knew Molly would be as well when she found out he’d let Walter drag him down here. They were probably looking for them right now while that Stanley reported his card stolen.

His stolen card.

Cole slapped his own forehead and turned to Walter. “Gods! I’m the idiot. We’re sitting around waiting on Molly to try some miracle with her mom, and here we are in the very place we needed to get to!” He jerked around to scan nearby compartments. “Her mother must be here somewhere. We can pull the plug ourselves!”

Walter got busy with his computer while Cole went down each column, stooping to look at the bottom drawers and leaping up to check the ones high off the ground. “You find it?”

“Different hallway,” Walter said. “And we have a problem.”

“What’s that?” Cole asked, pausing his search.

Walter held up his screen. It showed a camera feed, revealing the lobby down the hall. A dozen Stanleys could be seen fanning out, pulling out their passcards and swiping them in the various glass partitions.

“Is that live?”

“Yesss,” Walter hissed. “Idiot,” he added under his breath.

Cole wanted to point a finger in his face and remind the boy just who had wanted to come down here and who’d been against it, but he could hear footsteps moving down the hallway. He used his accusatory digit to point upwards, instead.

Walter allowed him to give a boost. One of the boy’s boots kicked at the air, grazing Cole’s nose as he pulled himself up onto the slab. Cole grabbed the lip and hoisted himself after, his feet scrambling for any edge along the wall of doors. He could hear the footsteps squeaking down the hall as they turned to survey another corridor. Cole reached out to pull the door shut, activating the withdrawal of the metal tray.

He turned to Walter, who ducked away from the roof of the mouth as the tongue drew them inside. “Can I shut the door?” he asked.

He could see Walter’s bright silvery eyes in the darkness as the slab pulled him in as well. Walter blinked once.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back.

Drenards, Cole thought. If he left it cracked, they might be spotted. If he closed it, they could be trapped.

A solitary set of footsteps drew near. Cole didn’t know what to do; he felt paralyzed. Then, trusting Walter for some inexplicable reason—that he’d be able to open it from within—he snapped the hatch shut. Out of the darkness, a soft glow radiated from Walter’s little computer, illuminating the boy’s face and the walls around him.

Both seemed to be made of the same alloy of metal.

The Palan looked down at the screen as he thumbed in some commands.

“That might have been a misstake,” he told Cole.

The wide doors on the service elevator split open, and Molly’s body slid out, feet first. The bag of fluids hanging from the gurney swayed as the Stanleys wheeled her down the hallway. A wireless repeater plugged into Molly’s headgear blinked rapidly with a strong signal. One of the Stanleys walking alongside spoke to the Stanley pushing the cart.

“Hangar six,” he said.

“Of course,” the other Stanley said. “And how long did Mr. Byrne say he would be? We can’t have him tying up a hangar all day long, even if he is a valued client.”

“Busy, busy,” one of the other Stanleys chimed.

“I am to notify him as soon as the young lady is loaded into his ship, so it shouldn’t be over an hour.”

“Excellent,” two of them said at the same time.

The same Stanley told them, “I will stay with her to collect our equipment; the rest of you can return to the rotation.”

They all agreed that this was best.

Busy, busy.

The light by hangar six shone green. Molly’s feet led the group through another set of opening doors and toward a loading ramp beyond.

“What do you mean, that might have been a mistake?” Cole whispered.

Walter’s eyes peered up from his screen. “The doorss aren’t on the network,” he said softly.

Cole held up a hand as the muffled sounds of footsteps went by outside. He felt torn. Part of him wanted to bang at the door and beg for it to be opened. It could be hours or days before another Stanley passed through. The other half of him urged caution, terrified of being discovered. His recent habit of touring the interior of every planet’s prison was one he had hoped to break. While he struggled to decide, the sounds outside faded back the way they came, making his mind up for him.

“What do we do?” he asked Walter.

If Molly really was in danger, they were no longer in a position to help. If she wasn’t, how long before they were found, and what kind of trouble would they get her in?

He could see Walter shrug in the glow of his display. Cole reached over and grabbed the computer, flashing it around the interior of their hiding spot. Walter hissed at him and tried to wrestle it back.

“Hold on,” Cole demanded.

He shone the light on the cables and equipment at the far reaches of the space. It looked like life-support equipment and lots of other complex gizmos.

“Anything we can use?” he asked.

The Palan settled down at the sight of the gear. He took the computer and used it to study the head harness and electrical interfaces. “I’ll try,” he informed Cole, squirming back to fiddle with the gear.

“Could we join Molly’s dream somehow?”

Walter’s eyes flashed at the suggestion. He turned to his computer and started jabbing at it intently. He looked back up at Cole, then grabbed the headgear and worked it onto his head. “I need to download ssomething,” he said with a sneer.

“Fine. Just hurry it up.”

Walter scrunched down and rested his back against the wall of the small space, his hands adjusting the headgear. By the light of the computer, Cole could see his eyes moving below his lids, pushing side to side like orbs searching for a way through his metallic skin.

The boy’s legs twitched several times, and at least two full minutes went by. The odd scene seemed to stretch out into forever. Cole considered breaking the connection, or shaking the boy, but then his eyes popped open on their own.

Wide open.

Cole turned around and tried the door, but it remained locked.

“Anything?” he asked Walter.

“Oh, yesss,” the boy said. “Everything. And I found Molly.” He removed the headgear and brought his computer back up; Cole crawled closer to view the screen. He expected a schematic that he wouldn’t understand, or perhaps some computer code, but he recognized the feed as soon as he saw it. Video. And crystal clear. It showed Molly’s body strapped to a gurney. She looked asleep and was being pushed up a ramp and into a spaceship—but not Parsona.

“What in hyperspace?” he wondered aloud.

“Sstanley 8427,” Walter said.

“Do what?”

“Thiss iss a vissual feed from a Sstanley.”

“You can hack them?”

“Jusst the feedss.”

“So, you can’t control them or anything.”

“If I had their passscode, maybe.”

Poised on his hands and knees, Cole had to fall to one side to free up an arm. He dug in his pocket and brought out the card that had opened their little cage

“What about this guy?” he asked. “Where’s he?”

Walter snatched the card and used the light from his computer to read it. He typed something into the small keyboard and sucked air through his teeth.

“Where is he?” Cole asked again.

Walter looked up from the screen. “I think he’s looking for us.”

27

The spinning pad whined madly, pushing grit between Molly’s teeth and gums. The nerves at the base of her tooth ached; the chalky cleaning substance threatened to choke her. Every now and then, she received a welcomed jet of water, but it just pushed the foul-tasting cleanser to the back of her mouth. She fought to not swallow, to form a barrier at the top of her throat using her tongue, and then the suction would come again and give her relief from one misery, only to start the process all over again.

Each of her teeth had been cleaned at least twice, but the dentist had begun a third round. Molly cursed the feedback loop operating between Parsona’s pleasure circuits and the AI routines. The result was pure torture for her, as this “heaven” didn’t seem to take any feelings into account other than its creator’s. She felt certain that her three hours must be up by now; she should have already woken up in a padded chair, yelling at Stanley to get these restraints the hell off.

The dental tool was only halfway done with one of her molars when it spun to a stop. Molly could hear herself moaning and realized she’d probably been doing that for quite some time. The myriad bits of metal holding her jaw open were removed; she experimented with closing it.

Her jaw ached realistically.

The chair came up and her head moved free from the padding; she looked around for her mother and Mr. Byrne, but he was gone. It was just her mother, smiling.

“Let me see those pretty teeth,” she said.

Molly wiped the saliva away from the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Where’s Byrne?” she asked, her tongue and jaw aching from the effort.

“Now, dear, let’s not get into any more unpleasantries. Mr. Byrne said he needed to go and that he would come and visit me soon. Why don’t we finish our tea?”

Just like that, the dentist office vanished. Molly’s spit-encrusted bib was replaced with a new dress. Only the pain in her jaw, something that didn’t seem to affect her mom’s happiness, remained.

Parsona sat down in the swing and patted the wood slats beside her. Molly remained standing. She worked her mouth open and closed a few times, then asked her mom: “What did you guys talk about?”

“No more talk of Mr. Byrne, Mollie. I mean it.”

Fine, Molly thought. This has been a waste of time, anyway.

She started to say goodbye, but no longer cared. There had been plenty of time to think about the horror of this place while the dentist did his work—and he had been wrong. She gave her mother one last, sad look and realized there were plenty of cavities here. All created by too much sweetness.

Without a word, she ran and leapt down the stairs leading from the porch. She ignored the laughter and chatter in the commons as she ran up to the door she’d entered. She heard her mother calling for her as she flung it open and jumped through, back to the real world—

But it was just a room. A room identical to the one in the other cabin, only with two chairs instead of three. Parsona sat in one and patted the other.

Molly felt absolutely certain that she’d been under for more than three hours.

Stanley #8427 was walking down hallway 8C, looking for their missing guests—when his legs went goofy. His right foot slammed into the back of his left calf, sending him sprawling forward toward the floor. Automatic arm routines tried to compensate, but something went wrong with them as well. A hand flew out in front, fingers straight, and the weight of his gear-filled body crashed down.

Several metacarpal joints snapped back and injury codes flashed red in his vision.

He flopped around on the ground for a few moments, one of his legs kicking a containment drawer noisily.

Gradually, some semblance of coordination returned. He used his undamaged hand to push himself to his knees; he looked purposefully at the handle of the nearest drawer and grabbed at it. His timing was off, but he managed to hook two fingers around the steel.

Stanley pulled himself to his feet.

He took a few experimental steps while he kept one hand on the wall beside him. Stanley #8427 turned around and stumbled back the way he had come.

He was on the wrong hall.

“You wrecked him!” Cole complained.

“Sshut up. I’m getting it.”

“It looks like he’s having a seizure.”

The camera was sideways. On the ground, vibrating.

“Thiss sstupid computer only hass one analog sstick.”

“I thought you were good at these things.”

“You wanna try?”

Cole watched him work the controls and the small keyboard at the same time. The camera gradually made its way off the floor. He shook his head. “How long until he gets here?”

“I don’t know. He’ss one hall over from here. Uh, oh. Another Sstanley.”

“Greetings, Stanley. Any luck?”

The other Stanley didn’t say anything. It just waved a ruined hand awkwardly.

“You should have that looked at. Should I call maintenance?”

The mute Stanley staggered, its shoulder brushing the doors on its right side.

“Hold still. I’ll call maintenance.”

The helpful Stanley walked over, graceful as a cat. It reached out to steady the other android.

The hurt Stanley didn’t have the dexterity of the approaching robot, but it also lacked its compassion. The mangled hand spun around as fast as its servos could move it, brutal strength moving with no control.

It caught the nice Stanley on the temple, nearly taking its head off at the fragile neck-joint.

Both Stanleys went down from the blow.

One of them struggled to get up, getting the hang of it now.

“If we get out of this,” Cole told Walter, “I’m gonna make you practice your video games as part of your regular duties.”

Walter hissed, ignoring him. His fingers tapped buttons in frustration. He had the Stanley in front of their door—they could even hear the damn thing banging against the wall outside—but swiping the card through the reader was infuriatingly difficult. The robot had already dropped the card once, and trying to pick it up off the floor gave Walter a new appreciation for everyday feats he took for granted. He had resorted to scooting the flat card across the floor with the robot’s fingernails until it hit the wall, popping one edge off the ground. After that ordeal, he instructed the finger-grip servos to lock down and never loosen. The card would snap in half before he let it slide out again.

“I need the other hand,” he moaned. He jammed Stanley’s bad fingers behind the handle of a lower cabinet to steady the body, then he pressed the edge of the card against the wall with the other hand, adjusting its angle of attack. Cole kept crawling back and forth between the screen and the door, egging both him and the robot on—it was driving him absolutely crazy.

One more swipe, and Walter heard a beeping noise. He yelped with delight, trying to get the Stanley to grab the handle before the green light on the LCD went off. Reluctantly, he instructed the robot to drop the card so he could use the good hand. He guided the digits up to grasp the door handle and ordered a yank.

There was a pop. Light came in through a crack. The metal floor of their tiny cell jolted forward and both of them lost their balance, falling backwards.

Walter laughed with relief, then remembered that last sight of Molly—her body being loaded into a ship.

Cole jumped down from the platform first. Walter could see the Stanley hanging casually from the door’s handle, the body lifeless. His jacket had been torn and his pants hung down around his thighs. Walter leaned over the edge and let Cole help him down.

“Can we use him?” Cole asked.

Walter shook his head. “I can’t ssteer and walk at the ssame time.” He watched as Cole picked up the dropped passcard from the ground.

“Which way to Parsona?”

“Through the hangarss,” Walter said.

“Wrong Parsona,” Cole told him, shaking his head. “We have something else to take care of down here.”

Walter understood. He punched some keys and turned the screen so Cole could see it as well. Two hallways over, six side halls down on the left, compartment 3815.

“What about Molly?” he asked.

“We’ll be quick,” said Cole. “I promise. See if you can get our ship loaded in one of the hangars while we move.”

Molly sat quietly beside her mother. Ahead of them, a perpetual fire danced across logs that seemed to neither diminish nor budge.

As her mother’s voice droned incessantly, Molly nodded to feign interest. The visit had been a complete waste of time. Worse than a waste, actually. She had failed to prevent Byrne from having contact with her mom. She had learned nothing of her father, or what had taken place on Lok. And the dream of reuniting with her real mom had turned into a nightmare; dealing with her was like battling wills with a petulant child-god.

“—the third heaven. Earth just couldn’t do it for me in the long run, much like in real life, so that’s when I visited Lok. It was children, always the idea of having lots of children that—”

Molly watched her mom’s lips move, felt the words enter her ears and bounce around, but they weren’t her mother’s ideas. They were the thoughts of something that hadn’t felt pain for almost seventeen years. Hadn’t known suffering. How could that not change a person?

While Parsona talked about the miracle of a natural childbirth, Molly thought about the last few weeks of her life. She had endured much hardship, even some severe bouts of sadness, but overall, the time had seemed… exciting, if not quite happy. The time had been full of reminders that her life was temporary, and somehow that gave it extra meaning.

Hadn’t Cole mentioned something similar on Drenard, during that long shuttle ride? He’d said something about not being scared of death while he was around her. Molly didn’t understand what that meant at the time, except that he loved her.

Now she knew.

She surveyed her mother’s face, saw again how young she looked. Her skin positively glowed in the light of the lambent flame. In fact, she was probably only ten years or so older than Molly—her body frozen in time, remaining as old as she remembered herself.

Emotionally, however, her mother seemed to be aging in reverse, the product of a hedonistic fantasy world of her own creation. It was the sort of existence only young children got away with, and one that only unknowning adults could crave.

If these visits were designed to sell her an eternal life, they’d failed. She would never want this. Would the program run for millions of years? Billions? What would this “heaven” look like by then? Would her mother even remember the real life she’d once lived? What would her father represent to her in a few billion years? Which Molly would she know and love? The real one, or the thousands and thousands she sired virtually?

Molly pondered these things and felt an overwhelming sadness for her mom; she reached out a hand and placed it on her arm, squeezing it gently. Her mom broke off from her story and searched Molly’s face.

“Sweetheart? You look sad. Do you need some more tea?”

Molly shook her head and fought back tears. She could reach out and touch her mother; it would feel very real, but her mother was long since dead.

“I want a hug, Mom.”

Parsona beamed and reached out both hands. “Come sit on my lap, dear. Let me finish my story.”

Molly got up and eased herself onto her mother’s legs. She put an arm around her neck and rested her head on her shoulder.

Parsona continued her story, recounting the settling of a virtual Lok and how painless it had been to give birth there. One of her arms rubbed Molly’s back while the other waved in the air, conducting the tale.

Molly settled in, smothered in sadness. One of her hands fell to her mother’s round belly.

It was already larger than when she’d first arrived.

Cole knelt beside Parsona Fyde’s body, the metal slab fully extended from a bottom drawer. He could see why loved ones would never be allowed to visit in person. Dozens of wires and tubes snaked out of every natural orifice—and some that’d been created. Parsona’s scalp had been removed completely and replaced with a clear plastic shell. The edges of something similar extended out of her armpits, and long wispy hair on her thin legs suggested the purpose of these devices.

They made the quasi-living body easier to maintain.

A collar of metal ringed her forehead below the plastic shell, identical to the device Walter had used. Pale flesh, laced with bright capillaries, hung from her bones except where it was pinched by the straps crisscrossing her body. They seemed ludicrous to Cole; he didn’t see how those muscles were capable of strenuous movement. The gentle rise and fall of her chest, ridged with bony ribs, provided the only clue that this thing was alive.

Still, despite the dehumanizing nature of the apparatus, he couldn’t do it.

Walter paced nervously behind him while Cole berated himself for his inability to act.

“How’re you coming with the other Parsona?” he asked Walter, trying to stall.

“About like you’re doing with thiss one,” Walter said. “Sship docking iss on another network. I can open and sshut the bayss, but I can’t control the loaderss to move the sship.” He stopped pacing and pointed his computer toward Parsona. “We’re wassting time.”

“It’s her mom.”

Walter bent over the pale, naked form. “Sshe lookss dead.”

“I don’t think I can do it,” Cole finally admitted.

Walter shoved the computer in its holster and knelt beside Cole. One of his hands rested on Cole’s shoulder, a gesture of support that filled Cole with hope for the boy. He was about to lay his own hand on the Palan’s, reciprocating the rare contact from him, when Walter reached down with his other hand, grabbed a fistful of wires trailing off Parsona’s torso, and yanked as hard as he could.

Cole reached for Walter’s hand in shock, trying to stop him, but the boy moved fast—grabbing and tugging as calmly as if he were pulling weeds. Parsona made sucking noises when the tubes popped free of her nose and mouth; her chin came up; she gasped for air.

Fluids leaked out and puddled on the slab of metal; bony limbs jerked against the restraints; ribs heaved. All indications that this thing was alive.

Cole felt bile rise in his own throat, burning it. He swallowed it down and grabbed a hose, trying to remember where it went. He wanted to plug everything back in, to save her.

Parsona vibrated and gurgled.

Once again, he couldn’t act.

Red lights descended from the ceiling and began flashing up and down the hallway as Cole felt overcome with shame and horror.

“Let’ss go!” Walter hissed, tugging on his shirt and pulling him backwards. “They’ll be coming to ssave her.”

Cole fought to regain his balance, physically and emotionally—he needed to focus on Molly. And Walter was right: they needed to get out of there. He turned away from the open drawer and the dying woman, running back to the main hall. He caught up with Walter, who tugged him to a halt. A Stanley could be seen beyond the glass partition at the end of the corridor, talking to a human couple.

“Sservicse elevator,” Walter said, looking at his computer.

“That’s our way out? Which way?”

“No, that’ss what’ss heading thiss way. We need to go that way,” he said, pointing through the partition.

Cole looked down the hallway at the glass door. “Can you stop the service elevator? No point in what you—what we did if they get here in time.”

Walter nodded.

“While you’re at it, call a single elevator to this floor and send the rest down to the center of the moon.” Cole placed a hand on Walter’s elbow. “And walk while you’re doing it. We need to get close to that partition.”

Molly had her ear pressed to her mother’s collarbone, listening to the distant thrum of her mom’s voice as it resonated through her body. She spaced out again, not really hearing what her mom said, but rather marveling at how real her lap, their embrace, seemed.

And yet, the illusion remained incomplete.

It wasn’t her real mother she embraced, but a nostalgic recollection of her. This felt more like the comfort of a stranger, perhaps consoling a child for the loss of a parent.

Molly felt saddened by the irony of it all. A massive gulf had formed between she and her mom in such a short time. And while they were pressed close together—

And then the world went blank.

White light.

Everything was white light.

She had no eyes, and yet the searing brightness filled her vision. It was so intense, it made a sound, as if ocular neurons bled over to auditory ones. The result was something between a drone and a hiss. And her world smelled like an electrical fire, or rubber burning. Molly could taste it, but she had no mouth.

Her body floated, but not in some painful void—her body was the void.

She tried to scream or call out, but the agonizing hiss that filled her universe could not be modulated nor reduced. She was trapped in the center of a star, hot, white, burning, blinding, noisy.

And yet, her body was unwilling to melt away and end the torture.

It went on forever.

Unyielding.

28

Two elevator doors stood open on the other side of the glass partition. A Stanley, its back to Cole and Walter, faced the open doors, surveying the curious behavior from its less-evolved mechanical brethren. To one side, the human couple stood and conferred, going back and forth as if considering the purchase of a new spaceship.

“Now,” Cole whispered.

Walter swiped his passcard and the glass slid away. Cole pushed off the tiled floor like a sprinter. The sound of him coming made the Stanley turn around; its eyes locked onto the source of the squeaks just as Cole went airborne.

Slamming into the Stanley felt like tackling a refrigerator. Cole’s air rushed out of him as the Stanley flew backwards, skidding into the elevator he’d been peering into. Walter ran past, entering the other elevator door. Cole paused to regain his breath, but the Stanley had no such requirement. The android shoved off the floor of the elevator and rose with an unnatural power. Cole scrambled on all fours into the other elevator.

“Shut it!” he yelled, before his feet even crossed the threshold.

Walter swiped his stolen passcard and the doors began to move, the mechanical slabs closing with an agonizing slowness.

Nothing at all like the speed the Stanley used to dash between them just before they sealed tight.

“Hi,” Cole said. “We’ve lost our tour guide, perhaps you’ve—”

It happened so quickly, it felt like teleportation. One moment, Cole was kneeling in the center of the elevator, trying to smooth talk the android. The next, he found himself pinned against the rear video wall, his feet off the ground, metal vises around his neck. The Stanley had both hands around his throat; the android began squeezing the life out of him.

Cole kicked his legs in the air, looking for something to support himself on, but unforgiving metal formed walls on both sides. He twisted his head to look for Walter, saw the boy frozen by the elevator controls. Cole tried to mouth a plea, but all he could manage was a grimace.

Walter sneered back at him.

Time did not elapse in the buzzing, scorching, droning whiteness. It had gone on forever, or it had been a mere moment. There was no difference.

Then it stopped, replaced with the dentist chair scene once more. Molly found herself strapped down as someone hovered over her. She blinked him into focus. It wasn’t the dentist—it was a Stanley.

She worked her jaw, trying to ignore the residual hiss in her head as she regained her senses. She could barely hear herself ask if her three hours were up. The Stanley nodded. Something else swayed in her vision. A clear bag of fluids. The IV.

She looked past it and the Stanley to the metal panels above her. This isn’t the visitation room, she realized.

“Where am I?”

The Stanley ignored her. He tightened one of the straps across her chest before packing away various electrical gear. When he pulled the contraption from her head, he did it so roughly that it took clumps of her hair with it.

“Ow!” she complained. “Hey, loosen the straps, and I’ll help you.”

The Stanley said nothing. Molly heard him zip a bag below her, then watched him rise and stroll away.

“Help me take these straps off!” she begged.

Footsteps banged down a metal ramp—then she was alone.

Molly pressed her chin to her sternum to peer down her body. She was lying flat on a hard surface, dozens of strips of webbing pinning her down. She could see an IV needle taped to the crook of her left elbow.

She gasped, then began crying out for help.

But the only person heading her way at that moment was a tall, thin man, who only needed to stop at the registration counter to thank his hosts for their call and hospitality.

Cole felt his head lighten as blood struggled to reach his brain. He would pass out before the choking killed him, he realized. His eyes watered from the effort it took to breathe—and the odd sensation of not being able to manage a sound, even a grunt.

He pleaded with his eyes in Walter’s direction, who still hadn’t moved from his corner of the elevator. With both hands, he pried at the fingers on his throat, but it was like trying to bend steel. He kicked and punched at the Stanley, but only hurt himself. Grabbing the collar of the android’s suit, he clenched the fabric in pain as his grip on consciousness slipped.

One of his hands came loose as he began blacking out. It slid down Stanley’s coat, lifeless, and caught in the robot’s pocket. He felt something there. A feeble signal tried to worm its way through Cole’s dying brain:

Passcard.

Some still-conscious sliver of him heard the message. He fumbled for the plastic card with a numb hand, as uncoordinated as a poorly controlled robot. He felt it between his finger and thumb, yanked it free, and tossed it in Walter’s direction.

Then his world went black.

Walter watched the glint of red plastic fly through the air and settle on the elevator floor. Cole’s body had stopped fighting, his legs and head completely limp, but the Stanley continued to hold him off the ground.

It hadn’t noticed Walter yet.

This is working out pretty good, he thought.

Then he wondered what would come next. Would he have to fly a spaceship to rescue Molly? Would he have to fight a Stanley in the hangar hall? So many unknowns ahead, but one thing he felt sure of: he could get rid of Cole any time he wanted. The human thought he was stupid, which made him the dumb one.

He reached for the card, amazed at how easily his fingers could pry it off the floor. He studied it, then carefully punched the ID number into his computer. Taking control of these things had already become routine. He imagined the power he could wield if he lived here, or if he could just take a few of these androids with him.

I’d need better control inputs, he thought.

It wasn’t obvious which direction on the analog stick would loosen the grip and which would tighten it. He tried one way and watched Cole’s face turn a darker shade of purple. He chuckled to himself and moved the stick the other way.

The human boy fell free and collapsed in a heap.

Walter stepped around the motionless robot to try to rouse him.

He sure hoped he wouldn’t regret saving this loser.

Again.

She was in a starship, but not hers. Human-built. A GU-Class bird. Molly couldn’t tell the exact model from her surroundings. The interior panels looked new—or possibly just incredibly well-maintained. A medical station had been cobbled together and secured against a bulkhead. She could almost see across and into the cockpit, but the strap across her shoulders made it impossible to turn or sit up.

Outside, she heard footsteps; they stomped her way, clanging up the cargo ramp and near her feet. She didn’t have time to scream for help, they arrived so fast.

One of the figures yelled her name.

“Cole?”

He bent over her, his face red, his hair matted down with sweat. “Hold on,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “We’re getting you out of here.”

“What’s going on?” Molly asked. “Are you okay? Your neck looks—”

“I’m fine,” he assured her.

“Thankss to me.”

Molly looked down her body to see Walter fumbling with the straps across her thighs.

“What’s going on?” she asked again.

Cole flipped back the strap across her shoulders and helped her sit up. “No idea and no time to discuss it. We need to get out of here.”

“I ssaved Cole’ss life.” Walter said. “Now I’m resscuing you.”

Molly pried the tape off of her arm and slid the IV needle out with a gasp, mostly from the sight of the metal leaving her flesh. “What’re you saving me from?”

Cole tore open a box of bandages, spilling them everywhere. She watched him pluck one and fumble with the paper. “Whose ship is this?” she asked. “Where’s Parsona?”

Cole grabbed her arm and took her fingers off the wound so he could apply the adhesive strip.

“No idea and no idea,” he whispered. “Our plan was just to get to you. We haven’t had a lot of time to think past that.”

“Company,” Walter told them. He peered at the computer screen, but Molly could hear for herself: the sound of more feet approaching.

Cole reached over and hit the cargo ramp controls, bringing the door up. The stomping outside quickened into a run. Someone yelled, “Hey!” as the ramp came up too far to board.

Molly’s head continued to spin, making her useless in whatever was going on, but she couldn’t stand to be alone, either. She swung her feet off the gurney, steadied herself, then staggered over to join Walter and Cole by the door.

When an angry face flashed in front of the porthole, her wobbly legs nearly gave out.

“Byrne!” She pushed Walter to the side for a better view, holding onto him and Cole for stability. The tall, pale man stood outside, looking at the cargo ramp in a mixture of confusion and fury. When he saw Molly peering through the glass, his eyes narrowed, his lips clamping down into a flat line.

The line turned into an evil smile as he reached to the side of the porthole. Through the door, Molly could hear the hinges of an access panel open, and knew he was about to manually lower the ramp.

“We have to do something,” Cole said, looking around the bay.

“What?” Molly asked. “He’s got the captain’s codes.”

Walter fumbled with his computer while Cole looked around in frustration. Molly remained frozen at the sight of the strange man in the flesh—just as he had appeared in her mother’s fantasy.

Walter hissed. Molly turned to see him smiling—or sneering. The green environment and atmosphere lights above their heads flashed from green to red. Molly spun back to the porthole, confused. Wisps of white could be seen rushing up, swirling like a disturbed fog. The air in the hangar was rushing out through the ceiling; Byrne’s jacket flapped up around his thin shoulders and vibrated there.

Molly watched him peer from the access panel to the opening hangar doors above. He looked back though the porthole at her as his suit settled in the new vacuum outside.

Byrne’s nostrils flared, despite the absence of air.

He appeared extremely annoyed.

“What did you do?” Cole asked Walter.

“Killed him.”

Molly shook her head, her eyes never leaving Byrne’s. “He’s not dead. I don’t think he’s human.” She turned to her two friends. “How are we gonna get to Parsona?”

Cole pointed at the cockpit. “Can we fly?”

“I know where sshe iss parked,” said Walter.

Molly nodded. “Cole, round up some space suits, we’ll still be in a vacuum when we get there. Walter, come navigate.”

Cole headed off to the rear of the ship while a giddy Walter followed her to the cockpit. The two of them settled into the flight seats. Byrne had a 500-series, Molly noticed. The seats were closer together in a narrower cockpit, and duplicate flight controls sat in front of each crew member.

“Don’t touch anything,” she commanded.

Walter nodded and pulled the harness over his shoulders, working it tight. Molly started the warm-up for the thrusters. She wasn’t worried about Mr. Byrne getting inside—overriding the atmosphere sensors could only be done from within the airlock—but she did feel a sense of panic rubbing off from Walter and Cole. Yet again, they needed to get away in a hurry.

And the fancy thrusters were taking forever to check themselves out—too many mechanical systems in this model had given way to solid-state electronics.

“What’s the danger, here, Walter? Who’s after us?”

“That guy outsside. And Sstanley.”

“Our Stanley?”

Walter paused. “All of them,” he said quietly.

Molly cursed under her breath. The thrusters finally went green, and she saw through the carboglass above that the hangar doors were open. The ceiling of the parking chamber, which held up the underside of the moon’s crust, loomed beyond.

“Going up!” she yelled over her shoulder. She directed the rear thrusters down and routed some of their energy through maneuvering channels to the nose jets. The ship lifted slowly and evenly off the ground.

Walter pressed his head to the glass on his side. “That skinny guy issn’t sso happy,” he said, laughing.

“I bet not.”

Cole ran up into the cockpit. “Bad news. Only one suit on the ship. I checked the staterooms and the airlock.”

“Is it an extra-tall?”

“You got it.”

“Okay,” Molly said. “You’ll have to go over to Parsona through the airlock and bring our suits over.”

The cockpit of the GU-500 rose up into the parking cavern where a sea of gleaming hulls spread out in all directions. In the distance, a crane could be seen moving one of the ships further away from them, a new arrival. Several other parking cranes stood idle, but one approached them with a ship in its clutches.

“I don’t think we’re gonna have time for that,” Cole said, pointing toward the crane. It clutched a military hull, the words “LIFE SECURITY” emblazoned across the side. Missile pods could be seen under the wing as the crane lowered the ship into the hangar next to theirs.

Molly heard Cole swallow.

“I think that’s meant for us,” he said.

The roof of the parking bay had several square openings in it from the lowered landing pads above. Molly spotted stars and the promise of open space through them—they should have more than enough time to fly out and make it to a safe jump point before the security ship warmed up. The Stanleys would have to pressurize the hangar in order to board. Just because they were androids, that didn’t mean they could vacuum the entire hallway beyond. Without airlocks, their clients would be killed.

She considered the easy and quick escape, but only for a moment. Whatever was inside her father’s old ship, it felt more like a mother than the one she’d just spent time with. And the ship itself was the only place that felt like home, where the nightmares of being left behind never tormented her sleep. Then there was the Wadi to consider, some sort of national treasure that had become another companion, another part of her family. She gave the stars another wistful glance, then turned to follow Walter’s directions, who was pointing in the direction of Parsona.

Cole gripped the arm of her flight seat and turned as the ship did, watching the menacing security ship dip into the hangar bay.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

Molly estimated how long it would take to land near Parsona, airlock Cole out of this ship, have him airlock into Parsona, retrieve their flightsuits, then repeat the steps to get back. She and Walter would then need to get suited up before all three of them airlocked over one final time. There simply wasn’t enough time for that many depressurizations.

“How strong are airlock collars?” she asked Cole.

“I dunno. Why? What’re you thinking?”

“You probably don’t want to know.” Regardless, Molly thought she knew the answer: most ships were designed to airlock with the old-fashioned stations that spun up for gravity, rather than manufacture it with expensive grav plates. If ships could hang from their own weight at the outermost ring of those spinning stations, it meant her idea just might work.

“How far to our ship?” she asked Walter.

He checked his computer. “Half a mile.”

“I’m not good with Imperial—”

“Less than a klick,” Cole said.

“Alright. Cole, get in that suit. You might not need it, but just in case.”

He plopped down in the cockpit hallway and started worming into the oversized suit. “What exactly am I gonna be doing?”

“Warming up Parsona’s thrusters as fast as you can.”

Molly slid the accelerator forward, moving off in the direction Walter indicated.

Below them, the hangar doors snapped shut on a furious Mr. Byrne.

Cole stationed himself in the airlock as Molly began her crazy maneuver. He couldn’t believe what she was trying. Through the small porthole, he watched the world slowly turn on its side as Molly rolled the ship over, the gravity panels keeping his boots firmly planted on the deck. Below, he could see Parsona’s hull slide into view.

“Ten meters,” he said into his mic.

“Copy.”

They were nearly inverted now. The airlocks on both ships were arranged three quarters of the way up their hulls, out of the way of the wings. Molly was attempting to do something in the gravity of a large moon that most pilots have a hard time learning to do in zero Gs.

“Three meters,” he said, calling out numbers like this was an ordinary docking maneuver.

“Copy,” she said.

“Go one meter aft.” In the reflection of Parsona’s hull, Cole could see the wash of the 500’s thrusters licking out as Molly fought to hold them in an unnatural angle. “Two meters. Just a touch aft,” he cautioned.

“Copy.”

Damn. Her voice sounded so calm. As if she’d done this a million times. Cole had seen her work plenty of miracles in the simulators, but watching them in real life, like the rescue from the Palan canyons, it filled him with awe. And made him love her even more.

“You need to rotate a few degrees flatter, honey, and a few more centimeters aft. One meter.” He already had the inner airlock door closed and the room vacuumed. One hand squeezed a grip by the porthole, the other hovered over the airlock controls.

“Copy. And don’t call me ‘honey.’”

The two hulls banged together, spot on. Cole engaged the collar locks and listened for them to snap into place.

“Secured,” he said.

As the outer airlock doors slid open, he wondered if he’d ever be allowed to call her any pet names.

“Going up,” Molly radioed. Cole felt the hull vibrate as the thrusters strained with the added weight. Parsona would get a few new burn marks to go with the old, but both birds lifted off the ground, struggling against the moon’s gravity. Adding to the insanity: Molly’s plan required Cole to transfer in flight, as Parsona’s landing gear would never withstand the weight and imbalance of a ship attached to one side.

As she took them back toward one of the holes in the moon’s crust, Cole considered his long jump from one airlock to the other. The two ship’s ideas of “down” didn’t match, which meant he’d be jumping through the side of one and into the roof of another. And his suit had a lot of extra material around the legs, making him feel clumsy. He held himself by the lip of the 500’s hatch, swung out until the other grav plates grabbed him, dangled for a moment, then let himself fall to the metal plating inside Parsona. He rolled as he hit, trying to absorb the impact in all his joints instead of just a few.

Not bad, he thought, struggling to his feet. He looked up through the hatch into the 500, where the world that once seemed level now looked askew. Above Parsona’s inner hatch, the atmosphere and pressure lights were green; Cole thumbed the doors open.

“I’m in,” he radioed, stumbling toward the cockpit. Parsona said something through the speakers as he staggered through the cargo bay, the crotch of his outfit down around his knees. He couldn’t hear her clearly through the helmet, so he popped it off and tossed it aside.

“Fire up the thrusters!” he told the ship as he made his way forward.

“I’m sorry, Cole. I can’t do anything like that.”

He waddled into the cockpit and reached over the flight controls to start the procedure himself.

“Is everything okay?” the ship asked. “Where’s Mollie?”

“She’s in the ship airlocked to you,” Cole explained. “So, no. Everything is not okay.”

Molly turned both ships around and headed back for one of the openings created by the lowered landing lift. She didn’t like the sight beyond the first hole: the security ship could be seen rising up through its hangar. She gave the 500 full thrust, filling the docking bay with a glow of harsh plasma and hoped Cole still had his suit on in case the locking collars broke loose, dispelling Parsona’s air into the vacuum.

“Thrusters are coming up now,” Cole radioed. “But they won’t be ready for a full burn for a bit longer.”

Molly thumbed the mic. “Roger. We’ve got company.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. Change of plans. Get the thrusters up and get ready to hold us steady.”

There was a pause. “Molly, I… I don’t think I can do that—”

“You’ll have plenty of room, just get ready.”

She turned to Walter. “Go get in the other ship,” she told him.

He holstered his computer and darted out of the cockpit.

“No looting!” Molly added.

Ahead, the Security ship rose clear of the hangar, spun around slowly, then began accelerating their way. The radio was turned way down, but she could still hear nonstop threats being broadcast their way. She reached forward and flicked the unit off, then reduced thrust as she began rolling the two ships over. Gradually, she positioned Parsona on top, spinning her own view of the parking deck from the 500.

“Get ready!” she commed to Cole. She pulled under the first exit through the deck—nothing more than a large, square hole of trussed-up regolith left open by a lowered landing pad—and diverted the thrusters to boost them up. Parsona popped above the moon’s crust, still attached to the 500, the Security craft bearing down on them both. The armed ship would be on top of them as soon as they cleared the parking deck. The Stanleys inside were probably waiting to capture them where their clients’ ships couldn’t be harmed; they must think a clean escape was going to be impossible.

As the SADAR beeped with a missile-lock warning, Molly began to suspect the same thing. She tried to level her thoughts, even as the world outside turned sideways. It helped to imagine herself on the bottom of the moon, falling down through the crust, rather than half inverted and rising up. The whine of the overworked thrusters made the illusion hard to maintain, however, and she watched, powerless, as the parking deck fell away with agonizing slowness.

She waited until they were clear of the crust, counted to five, then keyed the mic.

“Now!” she barked into the radio.

She reversed the thruster controls, but left the accelerator at full. Now, rather than forcing Parsona into the clear, the full power of the 500 was trying to drag them both back down into the opening in the moon. She jumped from her seat and sprinted down the center aisle of the ship, grabbing the airlock jam to swing herself through. She jumped up for the hatch, pulled herself over the lip, felt the switch in gravity fields, then crashed into a heap on the floor of her own airlock deck.

She groaned in pain, and could feel the vibration in the deck as her ship did likewise, trying to counter the more massive thrust from the 500. She forced herself up through sheer will and jumped across the airlock to close the outer hatch. As soon as the indicator went green, she released the locking collars.

The GU-500 popped free, its thrusters and the moon’s gravity, powering it back down through the landing pad shaft. Molly stood up and peered through the viewport, watching the ship race away as Parsona slowly rose. Just before it fell through the crust, she saw the blue hull of the Security ship come into view.

The two crafts slammed together, the wings of the inverted 500 snapping in half and wrapping themselves around the small craft beneath it. It looked like a fierce bird of prey snatching a blue robin out of the air, driving its meal deep into its lair—

A massive explosion ended the illusion, the ball of fire spreading out among the gleaming hulls before rising up through the regolith and toward Parsona’s belly. Molly turned away from the harsh scene and leaned out the airlock door, her hand on the jamb. She looked up the center of the ship and saw Cole gaping back at her from the pilot’s seat.

“What in the world?!” he yelled, his voice still raspy and weak.

Molly limped toward the cockpit, her ankle twisted from the fall through the airlock.

“Did you think we were keeping that ship?” she shouted back.

Cole shook his head, his shocked expression fading to a grim smile. He turned and increased thrust, leveled Parsona out, and headed away from the moon, careful to keep the Gs low and the vector straight.

None of them had flightsuits on, of course.

Which would pose all sorts of problems as a Navy fleet, led by Admiral Saunders, prepared for their jump into the Dakura system.