From what I’ve learned, Stork has a high rank. It’d make sense that he’d be considered for the position.
“I’m ineligible,” Stork admits.
Court flips through the Dis Pater encyclopedia, not even looking over. “Because you’re Saltarian.”
He pauses. “Mainly, yeah.”
I chime in, “But you were raised human.”
Stork abandons his bowl on a bench and puts his hands to his sculpted chest. “I’m still biologically Saltarian, dove.”
Court lifts his gaze. “We’re anatomically different?”
“We all have the same body parts, same organs,” Stork explains, being more forthcoming today. Probably to help educate us for the mission’s sake. “We look alike, but there are separations.”
I sink down on our cluster of benches. Listening keenly, my pulse scampers fast. “Like what?”
“Your DNA. You have a double helix.” He tips his head. “I have a triple.”
Mayday.
Realizations sway me backward. “The Helix Reader,” I mutter. On the Romulus, that’s the name of the device that declared we were human.
Court looks faraway in thought. “It read our DNA.”
Strangely, Stork lowers onto the bench beside me. One is occupied with books, but there are two other free ones in our circle.
I try not to give him attention, but I’m wholly invested in his words.
“A triple helix doesn’t change my outward appearance, but my cerebral cortex develops at a faster speed.” He unstraps a flask attached to his skirt’s band. “Cognitively, Saltarians can do more at a younger age. We’re more aware, more adept, brighter—”
“Court is a Wonder,” Mykal says, licking grub off his fingers. “Blessed by the gods, he’s as smart as they come.”
Stork barely glances at Court, unsurprised by Mykal’s declaration.
I narrow my eyes. “You know about Wonders?”
Stork nods. “Wonders exist on all Saltare planets. It’s a way for society to make use of intelligent Babes and Fast-Trackers before they die. They allow the brightest children to attend school and enter Influential jobs.” Court has a stern I told you so face.
Mykal makes a noise, still believing our gods kissed Court.
My brows bunch. “If human children aren’t as smart as Saltarian children, how’d he become a Wonder over others?” He had to take a test. And at StarDust, Court consistently ranked at the top of the class.
Stork uncaps his flask. “Court is a genius.” Before he sips, he clarifies, “An extraordinarily smart human.”
Genius. I pocket all these new words.
“Wonder suits him more,” Mykal declares. “Sounds prettier.”
Court nearly smiles, but his mouth forms a grave line. “What’s the average age of human pilots and drivers?”
I drop my head, pulse ratcheting.
“Why do you ask?” Stork questions, looking curiously between us.
He’s asking for me.
Court knows I’d want this answer. To make more sense of who I am.
I thought I’d be gushing forth all my stories about driving by now. Even the notion that the retrieval operation may involve piloting enthuses me. What I’d give to fly one of those jets parked in the docking bay.
But here and now, my stomach tumbles in nervous patterns. I perspire worse, tunic suctioning to my breasts. I waft the fabric.
I’m less frightened at unleashing this secret for secrecy’s sake. Mostly, I’m anxious to share this with Stork. Someone who may not understand. Who may poke fun. Driving is such a big part of my old life.
With Zimmer, I blurted out my past almost too easily. He was a Fast-Tracker. Something familiar.
Stork is the opposite, and his unfamiliarity both excites and terrifies me.
Standing side by side, Court and Mykal are quiet, not about to share my old job without approval. Court senses my uneasiness and tells Stork, “No significant reason.”
My stomach clenches at the lie.
Stork doesn’t prod. “Humans can’t be younger than fourteen to drive or pilot.”
Fourteen? I was capable of driving much earlier than fourteen—maybe all these humans are underestimating themselves.
“You were fourteen when you first sat behind a wheel?” I ask him.
He grins. “An exception was made for me. I started at eight.”
Same age as me. I consider telling him, but nerves attack my insides. Shifting uneasily, I pull my feet on the bench.
“What about reproduction?” Court asks.
Stork appraises him in a long sweep. “You were a doctor,” he states as plainly as Court did to him about Saltarians not being allowed an admiral position. Mykal and I already agreed that both are too clever for their own good.
Court looks humorless. “Reproduction—”
“Is identical,” Stork cuts in. “We all reproduce the same way. Sorry to broach this, dove, but…” He rotates to speak directly to me. “The fleet nurses asked about your cycle and you said you didn’t understand.”
I shrug, confusion compounding with Mykal and Court. “It’s an odd question.”
Stork thinks for half a second, staring at the domed ceiling. His blues fall to me. “Your bleeding.”
He’s not referring to my nose bleeding. “Right, that. I never had a bleeding in the brig—and not because I’m with child,” I add quickly. “I’ve been malnourished.” Court calmed my paranoid fears back in the brig. I thought I might’ve been dying inside; I’d never missed a bleeding before.
No one says anything.
“Right?” I question my rational thinking.
“Did Court tell you about malnourishment?” Stork wonders.
“Maybe…” I feel like we’re all playing an Influential board game, and I’m the chump trailing behind.
Stork unconsciously touches his sapphire earring, shaped in what he said was a blue jay. “Growing up, who told you about bleedings?”
“Are you afraid I’ve been told wrong? Have I been?” Stop panicking, Franny. I bite the inside of my mouth and scowl.
Very softly, Stork says, “I reckon you weren’t told a lot.”
So I’m not wrong.
Just uneducated.
Court has a pitying melancholy that lowers him onto a bench. Sitting beside him, Mykal leaves his bowl behind and opens a pack of cigarettes, breathing harsh breaths. He’s not enjoying our emotions.
“Court?” I ask.
“You didn’t know there could be other reasons you missed a bleeding,” he reminds me.
“But I knew enough,” I retort. “My mom prepared me and said it’d come every month and when it stopped, it meant I was with child. At the orphanage, I learned more.” I point at my chest, defending my decent knowledge that I thought would last me till death. “I knew to drink roselthorn broth if I planned to bed a boy and didn’t want a baby. Most FTs did it.”
All three boys are silent, letting me finish.
I’m not done yet. Sweltering to a stance, I continue. “My mom taught me all she knew. I wasn’t supposed to be around for long. Why should I know about sicknesses when I’d die at seventeen years anyway? That’s why I know what I know, and I loved my life. So save your pity for the real misfortunate. Because it’s not me.”
Stork tries to shelter a growing smile. He hooks my gaze an extra beat.
Court nods several times; his understanding is one of the best feelings. Like wading in warm waters. I exhale fully.
Mykal raises his hands in defense. “Heya, I never pitied you, little love. Just minding myself here.” He upturns my lips most of all.
And I ease back down. Just to double-check, I ask Stork, “is malnourishment the cause?”
“Highly likely,” he confirms.
Good.
Since Stork is obliging us for a change, Court shuts the encyclopedia and asks, “Back when both races lived on Earth, did anyone learn what happens when a Saltarian and a human conceive a child together?”
My brows fly off my face. Why in the hells would Court want to know that?
Stork sips from his flask. Licking liquor off his lips, he says, “There’s a fifty percent chance the baby would be human or Saltarian. It hasn’t been a factor in human population.”
Maybe that’s why Court asked. I sit up out of a slouch. “Are there any Saltarians still on Earth?”
“I’m the only recorded one.” He flashes a bitter smile. “You want to know the main difference between us? The triple helix affects body chemistry, and in turn, Saltarians differ when it comes to mortality. We live longer than humans.” He raises his flask. “I’ll outlive you three. Cheers.” He swigs.
Mykal cringes at his drinking. Disgruntled every time Stork puts the rim to his lips.
I’ve had my fair share of binges, so it’s hard to be snappy. And I focus on the life span bit. “So how old can we be?” The Lucretzia crew ranges in age, some in their forties or fifties. So I’m not too distressed.
“Early one hundreds,” Stork admits.
I smile. That’s old.
Mykal also wears a lopsided grin.
We all thought we’d die much, much earlier. To hear about this possibility is good news.
Stork swishes his flask. “Body chemistry is also why we’ve been immune to most lethal affronts. Even before deathdays were known, Saltarians couldn’t die easily. The invention of Death Readers just made our immunity more of a certainty.”
Court processes with another faraway look.
Mykal asks, “You always drink like you’re dying of thirst, baby brother?”
Stork lets out a short laugh. “Saltarians can hold their liquor down for longer.”
Resting my chin on my knee, I tell him, “I’ve seen FTs who were sloshed drinking less than you.”
He considers this quietly and says something about body mass and alcohol. He reroutes the topic in a flash. “I brought you all to the library for the retrieval op. You all need proper knowledge about Earth and Saltare before we can move forward.” He nods to the shelves. “We have a small collection of physical books here.”
To us, this is humongous. Court is even astonished at the amount of hardbacks, and he’s traveled to all the fancy Influential places.
“At first,” Stork continues, “we only held a trillion volumes in the digital databases, but with the threat of Earth being overrun, the Republic of Gaia agreed to send these copies for historical purposes. No one is allowed to remove the hardbacks from the library. You’re free to read them here. Otherwise, you’ll have to take a digital pad.”
Court frowns. “You already lent me the Myths hardback.”
Stork caps his flask. “That book comes from my personal collection. I like graphic novels and the occasional fable, but to get physical copies, I have to purchase them at auction. I bought the Myths hardback about a year ago.”
Finished eating, I realize that Stork is saying we should read the big pile of books. Court is already scouring another one, but the thought of perusing these texts pounds my head. I hope they’re not too dense.
Mykal seems to be avoiding the mental slog too. Puffing on a cigarette. He’s been trying to take short drags of his cig, and Court and I can handle easygoing smoking.
“I have a new plan,” I tell Stork. “What if you skip the part where we read and you just tell me what I need to know?”
Court sends me a strict look.
I sigh hard and snatch a book. Not wanting to let him down, but I trust Court to read quickly and verify what Stork says. I’ve chosen Earth, 30th Century.
My lips part. “Wait, you’re letting us read about Earth?”
His brows arch mockingly. “Why are you so surprised?”
Court answers first, “We tried to search your computer for information about Earth. Everything was password protected.”
Stork massages his own shoulder, tensed. Thinking, he sucks in a breath. “See, here’s the thing, mate, I can’t tell you about thirty-sixth-century Earth.”
Cig in mouth, Mykal mumbles, “Why not?”
“So you’re hiding this information just from us,” Court confirms.
I think about Nia, Arden, and Barrett. “If we ask the crew—”
“They won’t be helpful. Most have no clearance for the scope of information you’re seeking,” Stork says. “And some have been spaceborne for decades.”
Yet they fight for Earth. I turn and face him. “You promised you’d tell us information while we’re here.”
Stork laughs like I’m joking, but he sees my seriousness. “You haven’t even been here for a week.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll tell us about Earth.”
He shakes his head, almost laughing in disbelief. “No bloody chance.”
“How long is training going to last?” I question.
“Two months.”
“Then in one month, you’ll tell us about—”
“When we reach Saltare-1,” he interjects but lets his voice drag like he’s reconsidering. He pushes forward. “… Then I’ll share what I know about Earth.” He sighs out a tight breath, and I have a feeling this wasn’t his original plan.
That’s mostly why I nod. “Deal.”
He sips his liquor and hands me the flask. “We drink to deal—”
“I remember what you said.” I put my mouth to the rim. Slowly swigging to help Court and Mykal with the taste, and the liquor runs sharply down my throat.
Mykal coughs softly into his shoulder.
Before Stork glances at him, I say, “So are you going to tell us about Earth’s and Saltare’s past?”
He reclaims his flask. “We’d have to start at the beginning. To well over a thousand years ago. Two two twenty-two hundred.”
2-2-2200 seems so long ago.
Stork continues, “The day that Saltarians landed on Earth.”
“That’s wrong,” Court says, seizing Stork’s gaze. “Saltarians were on Andola before anyone else.”
I nod. “I read that in one of our history books too.” And StarDust taught us as much.
Stork laughs into a groan. “Terrific.” He gathers his snowy-white hair and ties the strands back. “Let’s do a training exercise, forget everything Saltare ever taught you about history.”
Court glares. “Your history could be the inaccurate one.”
“No, see, our version matches forty other species. The one version that stands all on its own is Saltare,” he says casually. “We don’t rename planets to suit our own agenda. That’s what Saltare does. For millennia, they’ve been jumping from planet to planet. Usually uninhabited ones. They stay as long as they’re welcome, rename the planet to Saltare, and once they leave, the planet becomes Andola. Why do you think there are five current Saltares?”
Because Saltarians are currently living on five different planets. I never thought that was strange.
I slump forward. Elbows on my thighs. My mind so full.
Stork continues, “Saltarians entered Earth’s galaxy and chose to land on the planet because of the similarities between humans and Saltarians. It was said to be for research purposes. Humans welcomed them so that humans could learn more about triple helixes, while Saltarians collected information on the double. For the most part, the relationship was amicable.” He stares at his flask. “… Saltarians and humans coexisted peacefully for over two hundred years. Everything changed in 2414.”
“The year deathdays were discovered,” Court says, no longer thumbing vigorously through his hardback. He’s interested in what Stork has to share too.
“Yeah.” Stork nods. “Saltarians invented Death Readers and learned the day we’d die. Humans didn’t.” He laughs in thought. “To say it created turmoil would be an understatement of the millennia. By 2450, relations between Saltarians and humans were unsalvageable. Saltarians were banished from Earth in World War V.”
I hug my book to my chest. “Why would they be so determined to take Earth back if it never belonged to them?”
&
nbsp; Stork sighs with a solemn shake of his head. “Greed. Pride. Earth was the first planet that Saltarians didn’t leave of their own accord. We’re talking about billions of years of Saltare history where a united people peacefully jumped between planets. And here, they were forcibly exiled. It bothered Saltarian leaders, and it’s why your history has been warped.”
He goes on to explain that some of our language has human origins, even our early history. Woolly mammoths existed only on Earth, not on any Saltare world, and all the extinct animals in our natural history museums were Earthen mammals, reptiles, and amphibians. Though Saltarians did transport some wildlife from Earth to the Saltare planets.
Court asks, “How do you know all of this?”
“Because you can read it, listen to it, and watch it. The same event from multiple sources,” he says. “Our history isn’t absolute, but it’s recorded much better than anything Saltare has done for its own people.”
Brows cinching in deep thought, something nags at my brain. A missing piece to the greater picture. I replay all that Stork shared. Trying to imagine this inconceivable Earth.
I picture a place where deathdays were invented.
How for the first time people began to learn the day they’ll die. But both humans and Saltarians must’ve been tested. Stork said that humans never learned their deathdays.
Neither did we.
“Stork,” I say with a tense breath. “When humans were tested for deathdays, what happened to them?”
He tucks a fallen piece of hair back. “Clarify.”
“Death Readers, the date that shows on the device for Saltarians is a deathday, but what date would appear for humans? What did that day mean?” For me, it was the day I was supposed to die. But the next day, I woke up in a dirtied alleyway. Cold. Helpless. And then two boys found me.
They bent down and asked if they could help me.
I said, yes.
I often wonder, if that date on the Death Reader is the day a human becomes linked to someone else.
Stork seems to stare right through me, and all I can think is, does he know? Does it mean other humans are linked too?
He blinks rapidly and rubs his temple. “Look, humans are no longer allowed to test their deathdays. The Republic of Gaia passed a law over a thousand years ago.”
The Last Hope Page 13
