The Last Hope

by Krista Ritchie

  I cover my face with my hand. Trembling with desire. Wishing they wouldn’t shelter their needs, and I hope and pray to the gods it’s not because of me. They did say they wanted to resist their affections so no one onboard would discover our link.

  They’re resisting almost too well.

  The thought forces me out of the bed. Quietly, I stand in the dark and tiptoe toward the liquor cabinet and bookshelf.

  Stork is fast asleep on the floor, his chest rising and falling in what seems like a heavy slumber. Giving me enough time to search his shelves.

  First, I go for the leather pouch. I push aside a book and slip the pouch in my hand.

  Easy enough.

  I unzip. Slowly, so slowly. Holding my breath, I glance back at Stork. Still asleep. I peer into the folds and only find two items.

  The snow leopard carving and …

  I’m not sure. I pull it out for a better look. Lying flat on my palm, I inspect the light-blue rectangular object. Thin dark material spooled in two holes. I flip the item over and frown at the symbols.

  I touch my EonInterpreter behind my ear and the symbols become words.

  Prinslo Tape.

  Tinier, hurried scrawl lies beneath that label.

  For Stork: play when all is saved, destroy if failed.

  I can only make sense of those instructions with some grand assumptions. Based off of what Stork has told us, he can’t reveal answers until we’ve completed the operation. Maybe this tape has the answers to our lost histories, and he can only play it once we’ve saved Earth.

  But it scares me to think he’s been told to destroy the knowledge if we fail.

  I hesitate to return the tape. Should I steal it? I cringe at thieving from anyone. And tapes are human intricacies. If I can’t figure out how to play the tape, what good is even stealing it?

  At ease with my choice, I slip the tape back and set the pouch in its rightful spot. Abruptly, nerves prick in a pleasure—I reach out and clutch a shelf.

  It’s not me.

  Hot tension fortifies, their hands remaining on their own bodies, but friction gathers—I whimper and catch myself too late.

  Mayday.

  Stork is awake. My high-pitched noise just jostled him from sleep. Out of the corner of my eye, he’s already begun to stand.

  I cross my legs and bury my face in my arm.

  I’m not Court or Mykal.

  I’m me.

  I’m here.

  All of my tricks start to work, but my face is still flush by the time he nears. “What?” I snap defensively.

  He smiles weakly, about to speak, but the pouch catches his attention. Oh, gods.

  I forgot to zip the pouch.

  Stork rubs his eyes, almost tired. It’s not the reaction I expected. Dropping his hand, he asks, “What’d you see?”

  I inhale, able to straighten up. “The Prinslo Tape. What is it?”

  “Nothing for you to hear,” he says strongly, and even in the darkness, I distinguish a faint redness to his eyes. “Not yet, at least.”

  I prickle. “Did the admirals write those instructions? Before they died, is that what they told you to do? To destroy the tape if we fail?”

  He has his hand over his mouth, processing. Thinking.

  His silence is my answer. Yes, they did.

  “Why would they do that?” I ask, angered tears burning on their ascent.

  His hand falls again. “It’s complicated, dove.” He sees my ire. “Don’t hate them.”

  How is he not enraged? He has to keep so many secrets. He truly is carrying an excruciating amount of weight on his shoulders—because of an order. From their order. “Just disobey them.”

  “Disobey?” He laughs. “Okay.”

  “Good…?” Can it be that easy?

  His brows rise at me. “I was joking.”

  I sigh roughly.

  “Look, I trust in what the admirals wanted,” he explains. “You should too.”

  A rock lodges in my throat. I simmer quietly. He’s placed so much trust in his leaders, and now I’m concerned he’s loyal to a fault.

  Maybe what the admirals wanted is not what we need.

  He seems rooted into this purpose. Even when the secret-keeping causes pain, he’s still barreling ahead.

  “I think you hate this,” I whisper.

  His chest collapses. “I think you hate me.”

  “I can’t hate what I don’t understand,” I breathe.

  He nods a few times and then waves an arm with more lightheartedness. “What else can we tell each other in the dead of night?”

  My eyes drift. And I spy a globe on the bookshelf next to his shoulder. “Is that Earth?” I ask, peering closely at the blue contours and dots of green.

  “No,” he says. “That’s Saltare-1.”

  Oh. “I should know that,” I mutter.

  “You’ll know more during training,” he reassures me. “Like how those patches of green are an illusion to make the planet appear better than the rest. Saltarians are a prideful race.” He wags his brows, admitting to his own arrogance.

  “Wait…” I trail off in thought. “If the land isn’t real, then…”

  Stork nods again, and in a whisper, he answers what I’m thinking. “Saltare-1 is a water world.”

  TWENTY

  Mykal

  I messed up.

  Truth being, I’ve been messing up a lot recently. With expressing myself to Franny, with making good strides toward my baby brother, and early this morning in the dining hall, I messed up with Court.

  We were all right until he sneezed, and the tickle in my nostrils caused me to sneeze. To keep from mimicking me, he forced out a cough. Heads were already turning, Lucretzia crew already staring, and I tried to trap breath and growl instead of hacking a lung.

  No willpower of mine could restrain the wretched noise. I coughed loudly. I coughed hoarsely. Court and I began a downward spiral of giving and taking senses.

  Drawing too much attention, fear pummeled us both like a furious stampede. We left the dining hall abruptly and ended up arriving early to our master Saltare-1 training. Stork said to go to the indoor garden by noon.

  No one here yet but us, I pace and pace on spongy grass. Flower bushes and vegetables are planted jaggedly. Water lettuce grows in corners of a deep pond. Some sort of dark-green ivy weaves and tangles up the walls, and fuzzy moss dangles off the ceiling. It’s a better sight than metal and space, but this isn’t the wilderness I’ve been missing.

  There are no trees.

  No snow.

  Surely no ice or animals.

  And the one person who can make up for the frozen homeland I’m craving is standing at a grave distance from me.

  “This can’t keep happening,” Court says, voice tensed. Nearly choked, his nose flares and gaze burns. “Not in front of the crew.” He means the humans and Stork. Who could know about linking and put all the pieces together if we can’t hide these strange synchronicities.

  I storm back and forth, back and forth, thinking about how providing for the ones I love makes my life worthwhile. And there aren’t many I love in this big ugly universe.

  I growl out the rock in my lungs and scuff the base of a blue flower bush. No dirt surfacing. “We’ve already been trying to be careful around one another,” I say aloud. “And poorly at that.” I often forget that I can’t put an arm around him.

  I forget that we can’t hold gazes like love endures inside and between us.

  I forget a lot of damned things.

  “I’m as much at fault,” Court murmurs in a tight breath, eyes bloodshot. “You used to hold me even before we coupled, and I like feeling you.”

  The corner of my mouth pulls upward. I knew he did, but hearing the words is nice. “I think you more than like it, you little crook,” I tease, but my smile leaves as miserable realities shadow his beautiful features.

  Court aches to come forward, his legs nearly jerking beneath him. But he forces himself backwa
rd one foot, and then two. “Mykal,” he starts, but hanging moss suddenly brushes his cheek.

  I swat my face, the bad reflex freezing us both.

  It’s what can’t be happening anymore. Gods bless, it’s what I keep doing wrong. If the crew were around, we could be in deeper trouble.

  Roughly, I wipe my running nose with the back of my hand, and recognizing what needs to be done, I stop pacing.

  I stare at the boy I’ve loved more than my homeland, more than wind and the wild. More than the winter wood. His dark-brown hair whisks over his lashes, with intense grim grays and a vigilant stance like he’s facing loaded guns at every second. Court is braver than he realizes and stronger than he knows.

  “One of us needs to be strong enough and make it official,” I tell him. “We have to feel that we’re done with one another. That way we won’t be slipping up. And we’ll be forced to be careful. Everyone onboard knows we’re coupling because of my loud mouth, and we should’ve kept that a secret like you wanted. We gotta go backward, Court.”

  His face twists. “I didn’t want to be right about that.” Tears well, and agony claws at my flesh, fists my throat. Emotion belonging first to him or me, I dunno. Regardless of our link, I think we’d be feeling the same pain.

  I rest my coarse hands on my head. Breathing hard as I keep feet rooted here. When all I’d like to be doing is bridging the gap and pulling Court into my chest.

  “I won’t be sinking you in a damned grave because I love you too much,” I promise him, hot tears slipping down our cheeks.

  He pinches his eyes. “Is this official then?”

  “Yeh.” I’m bare-chested, but our hurt stifles me like I’m wearing musk ox furs in the blazing sun. “We’re pulling apart, you and I.” I say the words that couples use when they end their coupling.

  Court nods slowly, in agreement here, but we’re both letting this sink like a pit in our stomachs. He’d shove his hands into pockets, but his tunic has none.

  I grind my teeth for something to chew. “When we know we’re safe,” I say, “then I’ll be putting my arms around you again.”

  He doubts. “What if we’re never safe?”

  “We will be,” I say surely, my chest pumping with hope and optimism that he better embrace, even for a short bit.

  He shuts his eyes tightly, one last tear sliding out, and then he wipes his face dry. Resolve pushes his carriage higher, standing straighter, and I crouch down by the pond. Gathering smooth pebbles.

  Court seems to just be staring up at the ceiling. Thinking hard and long, and while we stay quiet, trying our hand at uncoupling, the door whooshes open.

  I sense Franny.

  I’ve been sensing her faintly for some time. All spirited scowls and raging heart. As she treks into the starcraft’s garden, she breaks our silence.

  “What happened?”

  Court does most of the talking. Once she’s up to speed, she sighs out a worrisome breath and says there’s now more reason than ever to find answers and safety.

  She’s still thinking about us when we’re concerned about her.

  I flip a pebble in my hand and come right out and say it. “You were mighty hot last night.”

  “As I said this morning, I was irritated,” she snaps, lowering onto a silver bench beside a pink blossom bush. Before Court and I left the dining hall, she’d been telling us about the Prinslo Tape she found and how the dead admirals ordered Stork to keep these secrets. “Try sleeping in the same room with Stork and you’d feel the same.”

  I choke on a laugh. “That’d be some surprise.” I chuck a rock into a pond. “Seeing as how I’ve only felt that way with Court.”

  Her brows furrow, and she whips her head to Court for explanation.

  He pushes aside moss that shields his view of Franny. “Last night, you had affections for—”

  “Irritations,” she corrects too quickly. “And I felt you both.” She springs to her feet. “You were angry every time I was flustered or my breath was shallow. You didn’t want to feel me touching anyone else any more than I wanted you two to experience that—”

  “No,” Court cuts in sharply. “No. You are so wrong.”

  I rise, just as upset that she drew that sort of conclusion last night. “We felt you smothering your desires, and we grew cross.”

  With a faraway gaze, Franny slowly sits back down. “I have a hard time believing … that you wouldn’t care if I bedded someone.”

  I look to Court. Hoping he can do better at speaking than I.

  “We care if you’re hurt,” Court says smoothly. “We care if you’re unsatisfied.”

  “I’m fine,” she snaps. “I don’t need to go to bed with anyone. I don’t need another person to keep me warm. I’m fine.” Maddened tears surface.

  I rub my eye before any water drips. “You’re lying to yourself, you realize?”

  “My life has changed.” She breathes hotly, pointing at the grass. “I used to love Juggernaut and now that I’m linked, I don’t want to take a fykking pill.”

  Court steps forward. “This is not the equivalent of giving up Juggernaut for us.”

  “Yes, it is!”

  “No, it’s not!” he yells, pained. All of us, breathing in knives. “You can’t push aside passion and love for the rest of your life when Mykal and I are allowed to feel those emotions.” He fights a tremor in his voice. We’ve just barred ourselves from our affections a bit, but that’ll be changing in time. I keep hope for us both. Court finishes, “It’s not fair to you, Franny.”

  “It’s not fair to you that you feel another person in bed.” Her voice shakes too, and she rubs her eyes quickly.

  “We’ll concentrate elsewhere as you’ve done with us,” Court nods, assured.

  That works better than my words yesterday.

  Franny pants like she’s being chased around the garden. She stands still, wide-eyed. “I don’t … I don’t love anyone like you’re saying…” She trails off, mist steaming overhead from invisible spigots.

  I whip from side to side, toe to head, searching for the damned source. A swelter suddenly brews, fake sunlight brightening. And then the door whooshes open and in struts Stork.

  Kinden, Zimmer, and the Soarcastle sisters aren’t far behind, none adopting the human wardrobe. All stay in slacks and shirts found on their starcraft.

  Franny flushes and drags her gaze along the grass. While Court is a stone statue, unmoving and unbending, I hike over to the wall and uncover the sword I left underneath a bed of ivy.

  Stork ties longish pieces of his hair back, and his gaze darts between us like he can sense something is off. I’m not looking at Court one bit.

  He’s doing his best to keep wide distance between our stances.

  Making no noise about it, Stork tells everyone, “For training, I’ve set the atmospheric conditions in the garden to Saltare-1’s climate.”

  I buckle the leather strap across my chest. Listening in.

  Gem stretches her arms toward the moss and mist. “How peculiar, moisture is in the air.”

  “Humidity,” Stork defines with a dry smile. “Learn to love it or hate it. I really don’t care, as long as no one is awkward on Saltare-1. Because once we get there, we all need to pretend like we haven’t spent one bloody day off that planet.” He waves to the pond. “Everyone, line up.”

  Franny slips past Zimmer, and hurriedly, she steps to the end next to Gem Soarcastle.

  He skims his foot in the pond and kicks water at Franny.

  She hugs her arms around her body, confused about what she feels. Mostly.

  Zimmer frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Franny shrugs.

  “The three of them had a fight,” Padgett says as she sidles next to her sister. “It’s obvious in their body language.”

  I grunt. My body isn’t speaking any language other than I hate humidity and let’s hope this training doesn’t involve exams.

  “Was it a bad fight?” Gem wonders.
r />   Kinden narrows a glare onto my head, as though I wronged Court three ways to three hells, and he makes space for his brother at the other end of the line.

  I open my mouth to defend my honor.

  Court beats me to it. “I pulled apart from Mykal.” He goes to stand next to Kinden, and I don’t much like how he’s taken the fall here.

  “We both pulled apart,” I say strongly but not too proudly.

  Court rolls his eyes, frustrated. “It was my choice first.”

  I expel a rough breath, and I’m the only one who hangs back. Nowhere near the deep pond.

  Stork is plucking some of the lettuce out of the water. “You want to talk about their breakup, or should we get on with it?” He wipes his dripping hands on his skirt. “Your choice. I can wait.” Stork glances at Franny, but she’s staring at her feet.

  His humor seems to fade.

  “Let’s start,” Kinden declares, his hand lowering to Court’s shoulder. Not a heavy grip, I feel the comfort, but Court isn’t easing. He aches to turn his neck. Wanting badly to catch a glimpse of my face. He almost does, strain in his muscle, but his head falls forward.

  I run my tongue over my sharp molars.

  Gods bless, this is hard.

  Stork notices me standing back and trying to dig an impossible hole with my heel. I hate this dirt-less ground. “Scared of the water,” he states more than asks.

  “I just like staring at the backs of heads.” I adjust the sword.

  He eyes the weapon with a slight grimace. My baby brother can either fight me for the blade or quit drinking himself numb. I gave him that choice, and he said nothing. Just walked off.

  Thumbing his jeweled earring, he turns back to the pond. “Here’s how this works—”

  “I’d like to know something first,” Court cuts in. “Before we even find the child, we have to make it onto Saltare-1. How do we do that without being seen? I’m assuming the planet has cameras and motion detectors and that they don’t appreciate humans.”

  Stork rests his sandaled foot on a wet boulder. “Saltare-1 has that and more. Every entrance to the planet has ID and Helix Reader checks, and no humans or bludraders are allowed through. Look, you don’t need to be concerned about the finer details. The fleet has already mapped out the hows.”