The Last Hope

by Krista Ritchie

  I’ve never kissed anyone like I kiss Stork. With this unbridled feeling swimming around in me: nerves and giddiness and affectionate thrill.

  Going to bed with no-names and somewhat friends, I only had the heat and the pleasure. I loved both of those—I still love both, but this is new.

  So new.

  His hands tangle up in my dyed hair, and I dig my fingers into his shoulders. Lip-locked, I grind my hips against his waist. He keeps pace with my needy aggression and nips my lip.

  I expect Court or Mykal to come out any minute and interrupt us.

  But they never do.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Court

  It takes three days to travel into the city. We wade through knee-deep marsh and ride abandoned canoes through the canals. All the while bailing water from the leaks. When night falls, we catch rest in the tunnels. I attempt to sleep, for Mykal’s and Franny’s sake. But it’s difficult to close my eyes when I know what awaits the closer we get to the city center.

  People.

  More and more people.

  On the fringes, we can blend in better. In the city, we’ll be surrounded by Saltarians who could see underneath our disguises and turn us in. It’s a greater risk. But I also yearn to be in the middle of Montbay because once we’re there, we’re closer to finding this baby and being off the planet.

  Being safe.

  It’s all I want.

  When we finally approach shops, Stork won’t allow me to steal anything. The risks are too high on Saltare-1 with their advanced tech. If I’m caught, this whole mission could be exposed. But I know my skills. I spent years being taught how to steal in Vorkter by the best criminal in the world. Thieving feels natural to me.

  Still, I’m shot down, even when Mykal vouches for my talents.

  The farther we venture into Montbay, the more Stork treats Mykal, Franny, and me like little porcelain figurines. Franny getting hurt—it shook him in some way. And after the night they kissed, his affections and protectiveness toward her has only grown. Both Mykal and I tried our best to ignore them, and we were both given a taste of what she’s been doing for us all these months.

  It’s not easy.

  But I’m glad that she’s beginning to open herself up to passion again and not letting the link interfere with her desires.

  On the fourth night, we finally make it into the heart of the city. Hugging the walls, we walk along the slick stone path near the canals.

  I hear the music first.

  Large drums bang and people sing at the tops of their lungs. They celebrate Victory’s Sacred Eve by hanging streamers outside windows and on their small wooden boats. Some have sails. Others are no bigger than a canoe.

  A Fast-Tracker paddles atop a floating wooden door and screams, “Happy Victory Week!”

  Mykal grins and I can feel his eagerness to join in the party. They’re celebrating his gods, and for a second, I do try to relish in that happiness.

  We turn a corner.

  Up ahead, glittering buildings tower in the clouds. Algae and barnacles crawl up the base of the structures, but the glass still glistens from sunlight. Holograms blink in and out in the sky like advertisements. Without even knowing for certain, I’m aware that’s where the Influentials live.

  Around us, shadows darken the shorter buildings. Some nailed haphazardly together with wood, others made of the same metal as the skyscrapers.

  This decrepit area stinks of mold, and the metal structures have rusted. The wood is decaying, more worn and neglected.

  But the people still sing. An orange-haired FT bangs on a drum and another plays a flute. Their friends throw their arms over each other’s shoulders, pints of ale in hand, and they belt out an unfamiliar tune.

  Have you gone and fought today?!

  Don’t be a chump. Don’t run away!

  Throw up your fists and take a swing!

  This week, the God of Victory is king!

  They all stomp and cheer and laugh. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a drunken FT dancing without care, edging toward our group. Swiftly, I grab onto Gem’s elbow before she bumps into him. He wobbles as he slurs the words to the song and passes us without a care.

  Gem gives me a grateful smile that’s half-tensed. A blue scarf covers her eye socket. The gash is closed and healing nicely. Though she’s not concerned or troubled by the injury. Her upbeat energy turns a little anxious the more die-hard Fast-Trackers surround us.

  She’s out of her element.

  I’d say I’m the same, but I’m confident I can blend in well.

  Franny and Zimmer cup their hands around their mouths and cheer with the Saltare-1 Fast-Trackers. We catch on and make a show of raising our fists in the air. My muscles feel like they need oil to loosen, but I manage to force a smile and a halfhearted yell.

  “The God of Victory is king!” Kinden screams the loudest. A bright-orange-haired FT raises her pint to him.

  My patience for the festivities wears thin, but we finally find a Fast-Tracker hostel around the corner. On the east end among the shadowed, dank structures.

  This is our only choice. But for some reason neither Franny nor Zimmer is thrilled about spending time in the hostel.

  It costs a couple bills per person to enter. Stork had to go into a vault on the Lucretzia to grab a small stack of Saltarian money. He acquired the bills through auctions and deals on other planets. I learned that Saltarian currency is rare. Most Saltarians only live on Saltare planets and never venture elsewhere.

  Even though we have bills, we don’t have enough. Not nearly as much as we should have for eight people. The price of the hostel cuts our stack in half.

  We’re ushered inside the dark and musty building. Humidity clings to my skin, my clothes, and the smell of mildew is more potent.

  A rusted sliding door creaks open and cigarette smoke wafts out. Hundreds of scarves and suit ties hang from the ceiling in different colors, separating the mattresses and areas where Fast-Trackers sleep. Limbs twined together. Some groups appear to be as large as ten.

  Young men and women chat loudly as we meander slowly through the hostel, careful not to bump into anyone. Crowded and raucous.

  A bar in the back of the room is filled to the brim, and more than a few dazed girls and boys sway to the soft background music. Eyes glazed from drugs.

  I watch as people pass small containers back and forth. Some with powder. Others with pills.

  Even back on Saltare-3, I never entered a place that was solely dominated by Fast-Trackers. I was raised like an Influential. School. The hospital, work. Being here, it reminds me of the life I might have had, had I not been adopted. Had I not been a Wonder.

  Then again, I’m human. I shouldn’t have even been on a Saltare planet. All I know for certain is that my history is mine, and nothing that happened—no answer that Stork breathes from his lips—will change the fact that I was a Wonder. I was adopted. I grew up on Saltare-3 like a Saltarian.

  Nothing changes that.

  Gem hugs her arms close to her chest like she’s scared to touch anything. “Was Bartholo’s hostel like this?” she whispers to our group. We keep walking through the large space.

  “Yes,” Franny and Zimmer say together.

  “I never liked it,” Zimmer adds, stepping over a passed-out boy. “They had too many rules.”

  “No music after dark,” Franny says.

  Zimmer smiles. “No hard drugs.”

  “No guns,” Franny says.

  “That rule, I did like,” Zimmer replies and then nods to the left of the room behind draping purple scarves. “That mattress is empty.”

  We make our way there.

  Stork says, “We should relax here and wait for another spot to open up.” Gem crinkles her nose at the stained mattress. There are no better accommodations.

  In my heart of hearts, I don’t even want to stay here.

  I don’t want to sleep.

  We don’t have time to waste, and this feels frivolo
us. All of us could so easily spend our time out there. Looking for the baby.

  It twists my stomach, choosing this option. Even though I understand the sensibility in it. Franny’s muscles are sore, and Mykal’s empty stomach knots painfully. Padgett gratefully sinks onto the mattress with a soft sigh. And Stork has been going through withdrawal since we arrived on Saltare-1. Color has only recently returned to his face, but I still catch him trembling when he thinks no one is looking.

  “Court,” Franny breathes, feeling my nerves ratchet up. I don’t want to be this way. I want to let them relax and offer compassion in the wake of a four-day trek to the mainwater.

  But it’s like pulling at the bottom of a well for those emotions. Trying to trudge up something that doesn’t exist.

  I catch Mykal staring at me on the other side of the mattress with a knowing look. Like he understands the battle inside me. A purple scarf brushes against his cheek, and then his stomach lets out a low groan. I feel it, but everyone else hears it.

  None of us have eaten since yesterday.

  Thus far, we’ve survived on fish that the Soarcastle sisters were able to catch. Their youth was spent in Maranil, where they learned some basics in fishery, despite loving and yearning for engineering. While Montbay doesn’t have the iced waters they’re accustomed to, they still managed to catch some small trout. When their luck worsened, Mykal hunted for snakes and frogs, and tonight I sense he’ll go out and search for more.

  Franny yawns, and her exhaustion pummels me, weighing down my bones. This is what they need. Rest.

  I want to be at peace with that.

  With stiff muscles, I lie down and close my eyes. But my mind is reeling, unable to stop. Tomorrow we look for the baby, and I remember the line from the Myths book by heart. Tucked away in Montbay in the year 3525, she’s the only newborn to arrive at the orphanage on the first day of Victory’s Sacred Eve.

  The author never mentioned the baby’s name in the book. She’s the only newborn to arrive in a Montbay orphanage this week. That’s the only concrete fact we have.

  But after studying Saltare-1 for two months, I’m aware that there are five orphanages in the city. Each a possibility. And there’s only one way to search all of them in enough time.

  We have to split up.

  THIRTY

  Franny

  “Your brother was not happy,” I tell Court. We hike along the dark sewage tunnels, the rancid smell something I’ve unfortunately grown accustomed to.

  “Kinden will survive not spending a day with me,” Court says. It’s just him and me in the tunnels. To save time investigating the five orphanages, we paired off. Mykal immediately slapped a hand onto Stork’s shoulder. He mentioned this morning about wanting quality bonding time with his baby brother. But I know that Mykal and Court’s uncoupling has played a hand in their decisions.

  Court chose me, much to Kinden’s disgruntlement.

  I think it’s easier to be around someone who knows everything—like being lifebloods. No secrets between each other. No need to hide. It’s simpler. Freer.

  I imagine Stork doesn’t have a clue what that feels like, and parts of me ache with pity. The day I dodged my deathday, I’d have been a chump to leave Court and Mykal. But I almost did. The greatest motivation to stay with them was the knowledge that I wouldn’t be alone with my secrets.

  We stop in the middle of the empty tunnel, and Court unfolds the crumpled piece of paper. I click open a lighter to see.

  Ink blots the page with directions to the Lulencrest Orphanage. Zimmer’s handwriting is legible for an FT, and he drew a little knight in the corner. When we trained on the Lucretzia, the Montbay orphanages weren’t marked on the maps of Saltare-1. So Zimmer spent most of today drinking in the hostel and pretending to party with the Fast-Trackers to gain information. Locations.

  Whatever Fast-Tracker told him about Lulencrest, they specifically mentioned the fastest route is through the sewers.

  “The tunnel should branch up ahead,” Court says, refolding the paper. I pocket the lighter, and my boots splash in the puddles. Don’t think about what’s in the puddles, Franny.

  I focus on Mykal. The warm sun bathes him … me. I can feel the cool breeze brushing against my cheeks and the smell of salt water in the air. He’s taking the pedestrian bridges to the Gandwich Orphanage, and I know he much prefers to be outside.

  But I’m not used to Court and Mykal being so separated all the time. It’s weighing on them … and me.

  “We should talk,” I tell Court. My lips already lift into a smile.

  He eyes me. “You’re always so pleased when you say those three words.”

  “Because I know you’ll actually talk to me,” I reply. “It’s a good feeling.” It’s been a long time since Court refused to truly open himself up to me, and I don’t take any day with him for granted.

  Rushing sewage invades my nostrils again, but I don’t much care. I skip over a wide puddle and my peeking smile fades as I say what I mean to say. “I hate that you’ve uncoupled.”

  Pain stabs and wrenches my insides just at the word uncoupled. Emotional distress belonging to him.

  He tries to be stoic. Eyes cast ahead, marching without misstep. Both of us are already adjusting to the darkness of the tunnel, only light streaming through crumbled holes and cracks in the ceiling.

  “Court?” I say. “You may look all right, but I know the truth.”

  He blinks, his defenses crashing down as he inhales a tormented breath. “I hate it too,” he whispers.

  “Then stop,” I say. “We can take the risk—”

  “I can’t … we can’t,” Court retorts, and more sternly, he adds, “Franny, Saltarians will use it against us.”

  It being the link … being lifebloods.

  My eyes sting, too dry to cry. “Then we need to get this all over with, and fast.” I’m adamant, more determination in my steps.

  I don’t want to waste another second on Saltare-1. I want to be where Court and Mykal are in each other’s arms and happy. So deeply happy.

  There is no other choice: we need to find the myth baby and make it to Earth. Done and done.

  Sewage slushes as we slog along, and I’m surprised when Court breaks the quiet to ask, “Have you pictured life after this?” He speaks so faintly, like these are newborn words. “Have you imagined what our lives will look like if we reach some sort of peace?”

  I think he means once we’re on Earth, but he can’t mention the planet here.

  “Sometimes.” I nod. “We’re all happy, firstly.”

  Court stares far away, our pace slowing.

  “Can you see our happiness?” I wonder. He always focuses on survival. For Court, there is no when we reach peace. It is always if and not now.

  “Almost,” he says tightly. “I’m afraid to picture it and then lose it.” His eyes redden, and he snuffs out the hurt that pricks his gaze. Blinking a few times.

  The longer they’re uncoupled, the more restrained Court has become. He used to find solace in Mykal’s arms, and I can feel him aching for that embrace again.

  Even being Court’s lifeblood, I’m not equivalent to Mykal.

  But as his friend, I do what I can, and I reach out and cup his palm.

  He takes a breath, clasping firmer.

  We pick up our pace, and to distract him from Mykal, I end up asking, “Do you prefer Zimmer or Stork?” One is my friend. The other is something else. I don’t have a word for Stork yet, even if we have kissed.

  Softly, Court tells me, “If you ask Mykal, I’m certain he’ll go on and on about which one he prefers more.” He nearly smiles thinking about this, but his mouth forms a line.

  Botched it. So much for a Mykal Kickfall distraction.

  I already know that Mykal prefers Stork since they share the same pa.

  “You prefer Zimmer?” I wonder.

  Court stuffs his other hand in his frayed shorts pocket. “Are you asking who I like with you or in general?”


  Now I’m curious, even though Zimmer and I both agreed we’re best as non-bedding friends. “With me.”

  “I prefer your happiness,” he says smoothly. “But I worry about one of them.”

  “Stork?” I’m guessing since he’s still keeping secrets for the admirals.

  “No, not Stork.”

  Zimmer?

  My brows pull together. “Why Zimmer?”

  Court gives me a strict look. “You care deeply about him. And he’s going to die young.”

  I try to shrug. “Everyone dies. It’s normative.” It used to be. And then I remember the way the humans sobbed for the dead admirals. I remember the pain in Stork’s eyes the night he couldn’t drink his hurt away.

  One day Zimmer will just be gone. And that thought crushes my chest.

  Court swallows. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Guilt sinks low, but I shake my head.

  “I should prepare. You’re right—” I cut myself off as our hands break apart. Court has come to a complete halt.

  His head whips left to right along the dank tunnel. “We should have come upon the branch by now.”

  I flick my lighter, but the flame only illuminates a portion of the passageway. Unable to peer down its dark depths.

  I hear the splash of sewage and the pitter-patter of lively footsteps. Maniacal laughter echoes closer and closer.

  Fyke.

  “Court, run,” I say, not trusting whoever has decided to creep down here.

  He spins around swiftly. We’re both a breath from sprinting back the way we came. And then a second shadowed figure approaches. Obstructing our exit, he stomps a metal pole into puddles. The boom reverberates off the walls.

  My pulse speeds.

  We’re being boxed in.

  I step backward and bump into Court’s firm chest. His back is pin-straight. Carriage poised, confidence emblazons every muscle in his body.

  I pull back my shoulders. I’m used to warts, and they can’t be too different than the ones I’ve met on Saltare-3.

  “I’m glad you’re here!” Court shouts to the approaching shadows on both sides. “We’re lost in this fykking tunnel. We’re trying to meet some friends at Lulencrest.” He hunches his weight onto his right foot like he’s an unconcerned FT.