The Last Hope

by Krista Ritchie

  For all three of us.

  I start to smile.

  A crooked one crosses Mykal’s face. He messes Court’s hair and says, “Looks like we have our Court back.”

  Court nods stiffly, and just as he begins to lean his weight on Mykal, we hear new noises outside our brig. We freeze and listen to the slap of soles on metal floor and muffled chatter and gruffer curses.

  “Someone’s coming,” Court says. A surge of panic collectively storms us.

  THREE

  Franny

  Standing a few feet away, we watch the open hatch and wait. A friend could be arriving, but most likely, it’s a foe. And we’re too cautious to stick our noses out and yell.

  Tightening my grip around the rod, I stay one step in front of Court and Mykal. I’m not surprised when Mykal tries to change that. Barreling forward, he aims to block Court and me from harm.

  Court captures his shoulder. “She has the weapon.”

  “My fists are stronger than a stick,” Mykal counters.

  Court goes to speak and then coughs in his fist. My throat tickles, followed by stabbing pain in my hip.

  Mykal changes course. Returning to Court’s side, he rubs his back in comfort. Mykal pats too hard at times, but Court doesn’t seem to mind.

  The brig rumbles. We tense, apprehension passed between us like a bad offering of spoiled milk. Mykal breathes harder as Court cages his own breath, and I aim a flat end of the rod at the padlocked door.

  An unseen force lifts the low ceilings higher and higher. Granting us more room to stretch and stand. My eyes sweep our surroundings that haven’t altered until now.

  Court rises fully for the first time in thirty-one days. He rotates his aching shoulders, the relief as pleasant as lying on the softest bed underneath the wooliest blankets.

  Mykal stares openmouthed at the ceiling. “Why would they do that?”

  “I’m uncertain,” Court whispers, his lips becoming a hard line.

  “Maybe they want to talk,” I theorize.

  Court frowns more. “They had their chance many times before. It makes no sense.”

  We go quiet and watch the front wall and door change color from opaque pink to transparent glass. Gods, I can clearly see what lies outside the brig.

  My gaze widens at the motionless body of the spiky-haired cadet. Lying on the starcraft’s metal floor.

  Behind the unconscious cadet, a sleet-gray empty corridor seems to travel endlessly. Blue-green lights line and illuminate the walkway. But I can’t even dream of an escape. Not when two young and unfamiliar men stand on the other side of the wall.

  The footsteps and chatter we heard—they must belong to them.

  One looks more like me than like Court or Mykal. Same black hair, shape of our eyes, and beige skin, but I’d never go as far as to say we’re related. The burgundy Saltare-1 cloak that I’ve come to hate hangs off his wiry shoulders, and a triangular StarDust brooch is pinned at the hollow of his long neck. He’s a Romulus cadet.

  He nudges the limp body with his boot.

  I study the second young man, who cares nothing for the unconscious cadet. Longish snowy-blond hair is tucked behind his ears, a vibrant jeweled earring dangling on his right lobe. An odd piece of bronze armor covers his chest—armor that I’ve only ever heard of in tales—and a leather skirt ends just above his knees.

  The symbol on his breast is nothing I’ve seen before.

  “What’s on that strange one’s feet?” Mykal whispers. “I can see his damned toes.”

  None of us know the name of his footwear.

  “It’s not important,” Court says, but his curiosity joins ours like we’re feverishly catching stars in a bottle. Before each one vanishes and we’re left in the dark once again.

  I direct the rod at his face. With the Romulus cadet, I at least know his malicious intentions. This one is an unnerving mystery.

  His frosty blue eyes drift across the brig and our bodies. My breathing deepens when his gaze lands on me, and his jaw locks.

  With haste, he turns to the Romulus cadet. “You stripped her?”

  “I stripped myself!” I shout and steal their gazes in a single heartbeat.

  The Romulus cadet ogles me crudely from toe to head, but that says more about him, less about me.

  I don’t falter.

  The strange one blinks away the heat in his eyes. Holding my gaze, he cocks his head like I’m a sad little chump.

  “I have a tongue,” I retort. “If you wish to ask questions about me, speak to me.”

  “Oh trust me, dove, I’ll speak to you in no time, but see, there’s a wall separating you and me and you’re more than indisposed at the moment.”

  I scowl, my guards still high. I can’t tell if he truly cares whether I’m sick or well. Whether I’m satiated or starved. Why would he care at all? No one does.

  Barely anyone ever has. He’s not linked to us. He has no reason to help us.

  These facts arch my shoulders.

  Court raises his voice. “What do you two want?”

  “Don’t speak, human,” the Romulus cadet chides, and he taps on a handheld device.

  Mykal points a threatening finger. “You’ll both be letting us out of here. Or we’ll be putting you on the ground like your friend.”

  “By all means,” the blond-haired one says and jerks his head toward the Romulus cadet. “Have at him. Aim for the kidney.”

  The cadet whips around and glares at the blond. “Bludrader.” He spits a wad on the blond’s exposed toes. What a strange name …

  Bludrader hardly blinks at the spit or the caustic look being slung his way. “Open the door.”

  The cadet grumbles and spits again, but for some reason, he obeys. Punching another button on his device, the door lets out a heavy groan and a click.

  Unlocking.

  And in one swift movement, Bludrader pinches the back of the cadet’s neck and slams his forehead into the wall. Oh gods …

  The Romulus cadet falls backward like a stiff board.

  Bludrader yanks open the translucent door and marches into our brig. We could run, but Court is too weak and this person could restrain us too easily.

  We’ll need to tie him up somehow.

  Knock him out. And then we can go.

  He steps near, his fingers to his nose, and he squints like his eyes sting from the putrid smell.

  “Stop!” I shout and raise the tip of the rod to his throat. Not letting him get far. Not without answers. My pulse thumps in my ears, and I bark, “Show us your identification.”

  His mouth quirks with a short laugh. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  I cringe at that gross-sounding phrase. “What?”

  Mykal glowers and pushes forward like a hunter on attack. “What’d you just say to her?”

  Court clasps his shoulder to calm him.

  “Take it back,” Mykal warns. “Take it back right now.”

  Bludrader stands still but searches the brig with his eyes alone. “It’s a harmless expression—where are your clothes?”

  In a heap near the cot.

  I wave the rod at his gaze. Capturing his attention. What feels like eons ago, I held an iron poker at a stranger’s throat.

  That stranger turned out to be Court Icecastle.

  That stranger became one of my greatest friends.

  But I can’t sense Bludrader’s lies from truths and truths from lies. Right now I can’t take a chance on someone who could trick us.

  “You’re not touching any of our belongings,” I say. “We don’t know who you are. You could be a thief, a stalker, someone who wants us dead—”

  “A murderer,” he adds. The word is completely foreign.

  Mykal frowns.

  Court shivers behind me, and I try not to tremble. “Say that again,” I demand. “With the definition.”

  Bludrader tilts his head, his earring swaying. “Murderer. A person who kills another person. Also known as a killer. Saltarians cann
ot be murdered, but you three can be.”

  His speech leaves me feeling defenseless and bare. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be human. I’d know my deathday and remind him that I won’t die for another so-and-so years.

  I lift my chin. “You could be a murderer, come here to murder us,” I retort, trying to appear as indestructible as I once did, and I push the tip of the rod at his throat.

  He doesn’t stiffen. Doesn’t balk or recoil. “I’m the guy who’s going to get you off this bloody ship.”

  What?

  Our confusion escalates at his odd words. Court keeps shaking his head, not understanding.

  “What’s a ship?” I ask.

  Bludrader stares more keenly at the rod. “It’s what you call a starcraft.”

  “What’s the meaning of a guy?” Court questions.

  “A man…” He almost rolls his eyes in thought. “A boy.”

  “All right man-boy,” Mykal says gruffly, not fond of this person. “Step aside and we’ll be on our way without you accompanying us.”

  Court and Mykal don’t trust anyone easily, and their distrust of Bludrader burrows inside my heart, resurrecting caution and barriers. Adding to my own suspicions.

  I take note that Bludrader never showed us identification. He just said what he planned to do. Maybe he said what he knew we wanted to hear.

  It could be a trap.

  “No, you won’t,” Bludrader says matter-of-factly. “The three of you aren’t going anywhere without me.”

  I bristle. “We’re making the demands here. We’re the ones with the weapon.”

  Court swallows a cough, doing his best to hide his sickness.

  I speak more urgently. “You’re going to show us to an escape pod—”

  “You’re holding it backward.” Bludrader nods to my hands. “Your weapon. It’s backward, dove. The electric end is pointed at your breast.”

  I go cold. “No, it’s not,” I combat, afraid to take my eyes off him and inspect the rod.

  He nearly laughs into a groan like he’s found himself in the worst situation. He’s not the one who’s been imprisoned and starved. “Lord have mercy,” he says. “Do you even know where the trigger is?”

  “She does,” Mykal says with certainty.

  I’m not so sure. “Sure I do,” I lie, feeling more exposed than ever. My stomach curdles. Confidence wanes with the rise of insecurities. I’m not holding the weapon right.

  I’m not clothed right.

  I’m not right at all.

  Court bends carefully to our pile of clothes, and I feel the damp fabric of shirts, slacks, and cloaks as he digs through our belongings. Returning with Mykal’s shirt, he stands poised behind me and wraps the black baggy cloth around my flat chest and knots the fabric at my spine. Court cements a warning glare on Bludrader.

  All the while, I never drop the weapon.

  Bludrader studies my friend’s commanding presence.

  But as Court’s fingers brush my bare shoulder, a stormy wave of uncertainty and unease crashes against me. And so I know, his self-assurance is just a well-worn costume shrouding his scars and wounds.

  “Tell us your full name,” Court says with sharp intensity, “your place of origin, and who or what you’re loyal to.”

  Bludrader looks him over with interest. “That’s a lot of requests for a guy in a brig.”

  “An unlocked brig,” Court corrects. “You have one minute to answer.”

  “Or what?” Bludrader wonders. “Your only weapon is useless in her hands.”

  A bad taste drips in my throat. “I said I know how to use it,” I retort.

  “It is an electrowand—”

  His words halt as I swiftly adjust my grip like I clutch a bat. And I swing the rod at the back of his head.

  I strike him just as he ducks, and a grunt expels from his lips. He holds the spot, and as he checks his palm for blood, only a little dot of red on his skin, Mykal barrels forward and slams a hard fist at his jaw.

  Bludrader shoves him, and Mykal seizes his wrist while he stumbles backward. They both topple to the floor. Wrestling.

  Throwing punches.

  Blood spews from mouths and noses.

  I shake out my hand again as the sores reopen on Mykal’s knuckles. Stinging. He’s not winning easily like he usually would. I’ve heard so many grand and beautiful tales of Mykal fighting wolves and bears with nothing but his hands.

  He should be able to overpower this wart.

  But he’s spent thirty-one days confined, starved, and weakened.

  I’ve come to know that Mykal hates when he lets bigger men make him feel small, and he growls curses from his homeland. Clawing and beating at a person in armor. He can’t seem to grab hold of Bludrader for long.

  He loses his grip.

  Court looks grave at the scene, and he turns to me with urgency. “Give it to me, please.”

  I hand him the rod.

  He searches the weapon for the trigger, and then Bludrader pins Mykal to the floor. His metal armor crushes against Mykal’s bare chest, the weight unbearable.

  Court chokes next to me, his eyes flaring, the link between him and Mykal too heightened. He pushes the rod to me about the same time I steal it back.

  Feverishly, I hunt for the trigger.

  Mykal elbows Bludrader in the jaw, the impact throbbing my bone. And then the weight releases off Mykal’s chest.

  I look up and see Bludrader straddling him.

  Mykal breathes in a lungful of air and launches another fist—Bludrader socks him back in the face. I hear and feel and see the crack. Blood gushes out of his nostrils. Pain stabs our noses.

  Mykal groans.

  “Stop!” Court yells between his teeth, his distress spiking his pulse. He runs to Mykal, wincing through both of their pain, and I whack Bludrader on the back of the head with the rod. Over and over and—

  He blocks my attack with his forearm, sheathed in the same bronze metal as his broad chest. The rod breaks cleanly in half.

  “Mayday,” I mutter and watch Bludrader stand.

  Mykal rolls out underneath him, and Court helps Mykal to his feet and tries to quickly set the bone straight on his nose. His hands move with such familiarity that I guess they’ve done this before.

  Bludrader spins around on me. “Franny.”

  He knows my name.

  Sickness rises and burns my throat. Wordless, though I crave to question why and how. As Court would say, there’s no time.

  I aim half a rod at him.

  No fear wells in his icy blues, despite redness blooming around his eye, blood drizzling out of his lip, and his blond hair knotted and stained crimson.

  He’s not afraid of us.

  As though he already knows that he can’t die today.

  “You’re Saltarian,” I say.

  He presses his thumb to his cut lip, wincing slightly, and then he stalks forward. “And what would you do if I said that I am what you think I am?”

  I walk backward. “Saltarians are natural-born enemies to humans.” It’s what I’ve learned, and he has to know I’m human. “So I’d have no choice…” I let my voice die out, not about to tell our foe the plan.

  We’ll have to fight him until he passes out, and then we’ll run.

  We’ll run.

  We’ll run.

  Gods, let us run.

  And we’ll find an escape pod on our own, and be free.

  He keeps edging forward. “What if I told you that I’m human?”

  “Are you?” I ask and my spine suddenly hits the wall. Trapped here, I toss the half-a-rod at his face.

  He blocks the attack but gives me time to run. I sprint toward the door.

  “Wait!” he shouts. “Bloody hell.” He chases after me, gains speed, and as he surpasses my stride, he pushes me into the corner.

  Breath ejects from my lips, and in one blink, he reaches over his shoulder and clasps a handle attached to his back. He draws a long glinting blade to the front of
his body. Holding the sharp side perilously at my throat, his armor pushes up against my bony build.

  My eyes grow big. He has a weapon. This whole time, a sword was strapped on his back.

  Maybe he truly doesn’t wish to hurt us.

  Court tries to come near me.

  Bludrader glances over his shoulder. “You move, I cut her neck.”

  Maybe he does.

  Court goes rigid, and he battles another incoming cough. He loses this time and hacks into his fist. Doubling over.

  Mykal puts a hand on Court’s back and roars something at our enemy, but his words are muffled with blood.

  “Everyone, just calm down,” Bludrader says with heavy breath, looking between our raging eyes. “You don’t need to fight me to the death.”

  Fight to the death. I’ve never heard that saying before.

  “Why won’t you show us your identification?” I ask heatedly. “Why won’t you tell us who you are?” I need answers. I need answers to everything. Anything.

  I need them so badly, I could scream and scream and scream.

  He smiles weakly. “Because, dove, I have no ID on me, and saying my full name isn’t as simple as I wish it were. I will tell you. Just not here. Not now.”

  Patience, is that it?

  It’s what I’ve been. It’s what I’ve been continuously instructed to be.

  Patient little Franny. Don’t ask questions.

  I rumble inside, but I know that now is truly, truly not the time. Court isn’t well.

  Court.

  I suddenly remember what he once did as I held an iron poker to his throat. In a snap-second, I decide to take the biggest risk.

  And I step into the blade.

  Fear, for the first time, flickers in Bludrader’s gaze. He instantly retracts the blade, not drawing any blood from my neck. He doesn’t want to hurt me.

  He spins the sword in his hand, looking miffed.

  Court shakes his head. “You don’t want to hurt her, yet you threaten to slit her throat and you hurt my…” His voice catches, hesitating to tell Bludrader what Mykal is to him. He simply nods to Mykal.

  I don’t want anyone to use their coupling against them either. It’d be worse than cruel.

  With a staunched nose, Mykal tells Bludrader, “Court is mine.”

  “Mykal,” Court hisses, his face burning.