Padgett’s brows arch in surprise. “You’re actually asking us, Saga 1?”
He almost grins. “I’m not about to take this risk without all of you.”
Court stands and approaches the captain’s chair. “What’s your plan?”
Kinden quickly explains his idea, and it’s riskier than even flying to the trash moon. Riskier than stealing the Saga starcraft and flying off Saltare-3.
He wants to blow up the tarmac. Along with all the battlecrafts sitting around us. It will give us a way to escape without Saltarians following, but there are a thousand and one risks.
“What if we blow up in the process?” I ask. It seems like a probable outcome.
“We’ll already be in the air, and hopefully far enough away from the explosion,” Kinden says.
“You just said hope isn’t a strategy,” Stork argues.
“It’s not,” Kinden agrees. “But hope happens to be a small, minuscule factor in every single plan I could think of.”
My nerves increase tenfold, but it’s Mykal who blows out rough breaths, pressure mounting on his chest. He’s not fond of this plan. I pace toward the cockpit to try and rid his feelings.
Court glances out the large window. “Gem, can you calculate how far up we’d need to be to avoid the blast?”
Gem shakes her head. “Not without knowing the exact amount and type of ammunition in the other battlecrafts.”
Padgett adds, “Trying to implode all of them is incredibly dangerous. We’d be better off brainstorming a better idea.”
Zimmer backs up from one of the monitors, eyes wide. “Looks like we’re not going to have a choice.”
We all follow his gaze to the screen. It’s a prime view of the area behind the Nebulus, and currently hundreds of Romulus cadets are sprinting toward the tarmac, like they mean to gear up for battle.
Either they’ve found us or they’re about to. Zimmer is right …
We don’t have a choice.
“Stork,” Court says, urgency deepening his voice. “Can you command the artillery?” We all scrutinize Stork’s sickly complexion and the blood-soaked bandage on his bicep. Hand and arm gone.
“With one hand, I’m all yours.” Stork nods, his confidence verging on cockiness. But in all honesty, it feels good to have someone so sure of something on this ship. He’s already settling into the third chair in the cockpit.
We all take our positions like we’re in another simulation from StarDust. Padgett and I strap into the pilot chairs, mine right next to Stork.
“Prepare for liftoff,” Court commands. “Quickly.”
Zimmer and Mykal strap into jumpchairs near the bridge door.
Gem switches on the engine from the MEU station, and the battlecraft rumbles to life.
“Heya! They’re getting fykking close!” Zimmer yells, eyes still on the screen.
“Engaging the thrusters,” Padgett calls out and then looks to me. We don’t even count down. Both of us maneuver our joysticks and the triple-barreled engines let out a more aggressive roar.
The ship doesn’t take off.
It doesn’t even move.
Fire blasts out of the engines and does nothing but rumble our ship and create a giant target on us. We might as well have hung out a sign that reads WE’RE RIGHT HERE!
I start to perspire underneath my armpits.
“Gem, what’s going on?!” Court yells.
She’s typing hurriedly. “It looks like a safety lock is on for this starcraft. It’s been in a maintenance mode that these newer models seem to have.”
“Can you disable it?” Court asks.
“It’ll take me some time—”
The radio on the comms dash blinks and a voice fills the Nebulus. “Nebulus, this is Arclight 4. Your thrusters have been engaged. Is that an error, over?”
“Reply to him,” Court tells Kinden. “Lie.”
Kinden adjusts the microphone on his headset. “Arclight 4, this is the Nebulus. It seems like we have a malfunction onboard. We’re trying to take care of it. Over.”
We all wait to see if they bought the lie. The only sound in the ship comes from Gem, who types quickly.
Static from the radio seeps in our vessel, signaling incoming communications.
“Nebulus crew, please kindly exit your battlecraft. Over.”
“No fykking way,” Zimmer curses. “They can please kindly shove that directive up—”
“Got it!” Gem says.
“Engaging thrusters,” Padgett and I say in unison. We maneuver our joysticks and this time, the roar of the engines is accompanied by liftoff.
The pressure on the straps of my chair intensifies as we shoot up.
Gem shouts over the noise. “You’ll need to be at least twenty kilometers away before you can unleash artillery! It’s my best guess.”
Mykal pales at the word guess.
“We’re currently ten kilometers.” I read the panels.
Stork can see them clearly from his vantage point as well. His eyes are trained down below at the tarmac, and his hand squeezes the joystick. He controls the interstellar artillery, and the heavy weaponry groans as he moves it into position.
Court continues to shout commands.
We fly higher and higher.
“Seventeen,” I call out so the others know. “Eighteen.”
As soon as we drop the explosives, we’re either going to be charred alive with the Romulus cadets or we’ll make it out unscathed.
There is only one certainty in all of this: Mykal, Court, and I are the only ones who can die today.
“Nineteen.” My pulse hammers. “Twenty.” I hold my breath.
Stork clicks a button on his joystick in fast succession. Click. Click. Click. Click. And the battlecraft shakes violently. Seconds pass before a glaring light breaches our windshield. Heat.
Gods, the heat nearly chokes me.
Explosives detonate on the tarmac, and I can only hear the blistering, all-consuming thunder. My senses are overpowered. Suffocating warmth cocoons me like I’m brewing from the inside out, and the battlecraft keeps pushing off from the blasts below. Flying away from Saltare-1.
Shooting faster and harder with explosions at our rear—at any second the fire and flames could engulf our vessel and send us backward.
I just keep focused on my job.
Forward. Up.
Don’t stop.
The water world falls behind us as we rise and rise.
And then, we breach the darkness of space. We speed away from the largest Saltare planet. It almost feels unreal. The sudden quiet outside.
Spots of light dance in my vision, and my ears ring shrilly.
Kinden flips a few switches on the comms panels. “I’m going to try and send a signal to the Lucretzia.”
Stork calls out a radio frequency for the Knave Squadron. Nia, Barrett, and Arden are the ones meant to help us with the return passage.
We all work in silence. Holding our breaths, waiting to be chased by enemy starcrafts that survived the explosion, on the chance that we botched the plan. But the universe is dark and still, and Saltare-1 fades into the background, a speck in the distance.
Thank the gods.
I exhale, my hand sweating on the joystick between my legs.
“I can’t believe that worked,” I say, stunned, my gaze planted on the windshield.
“Of course it did,” Kinden says. “It was my idea. I’d call it a success.”
“And we also just subjected hundreds of Romulus cadets to third-degree burns and years of pain and suffering,” Padgett says, eyeing Kinden. “What would you call that?”
“An unfortunate casualty.”
Stork spins around in his weaponry chair. “Look, we need to hyperdrive to Earth’s galaxy, but Kinden has to radio the Lucretzia and let the current admirals know. Or else the Earthen Fleet will blow us up upon arrival.”
“What?” half of us shout.
Court is the one to answer, “We’re flying a Saltaria
n starcraft.”
“Bingo,” Stork says, confusing us all again, but we have no time to ask about his choice of word.
The starcraft rumbles violently.
“Gem?” Court asks.
She hurriedly presses buttons on the MEU station. “We have a problem.”
Mykal curses under his breath. My shoulders jostle in my straps. Pain blooms from Mykal’s aching limbs that are tossed around in the jumpchair.
Court grips the armrests of the captain’s chair. “Are we losing engine power?” We all tense.
“We will.” Gem unstraps herself to reach up to another button and switch. “The hyperdrive fuel pump is leaking, and to compensate, the starcraft is using the engine’s reserves.”
We can’t hyperdrive, but what’s worse: if we lose engine fuel, we’ll sputter out and drift uncontrollably in space. We could collide with debris, craters, asteroids, or even a moon—we’ll all fykking explode.
Court inhales strongly. “What’s the best solution?”
“The only solution is to fix the fuel pump.” Gem slows, a dread weighing her movements. “It’s on the outside.”
“The outside?” Mykal frowns.
I fly the starcraft around a jagged asteroid, and Padgett decelerates to a crawl. Conserving fuel.
“The fuel pump is on the outer shell,” Gem says, sinking back in her chair. “These starcrafts were built to fix fuel pumps on the ground. Not in space. In emergencies, the starcraft uses the main fuel supply so we can immediately land and refuel.”
I wipe my palm on my leg and grab the joystick. “Can we refuel anywhere?”
Gem reads out all the energy gauges, and Stork and Court leave their chairs and study the coordinates to the nearest Saltare planet. We’re not out of the Saltarian galaxy because we can’t hyperdrive.
We’re supposed to be going to Earth, and my stomach lurches at the idea of rerouting our course. We’re so close.
We’re so close.
We’re so close.
Stork mentions Saltare-4.
Zimmer unclips himself from the jumpchair. “I’ll do it.”
“What?” My voice spikes above the rest.
“You can’t fix the leak in space, Zimmer,” Kinden tells him. “Gem just said it’s impossible.”
“I never said it’s impossible.” Gem frowns. “I said the starcrafts weren’t built for it. He could, theoretically, fix the fuel pump in space. But once he connects the valve, the force will blast him away from the starcraft.”
My pulse is in my throat. “And then we’ll pick him up,” I say hopefully and look right at him, convincing myself more than him, I think. “I’ll fly the starcraft and pick you up.”
Shaggy hair in his eyes, Zimmer smiles fondly at me. “It’s time to see the stars, Franny.”
And I know.
Today is his deathday.
“This soon…?” I ask.
Zimmer nods, and everyone starts moving into action for this midspace repair. We either lose Zimmer Creecastle and go to Earth or take the biggest risk and land on Saltare-4.
His mind is already made up. Zimmer slams a fist at the wall, opening a paneled compartment where a bodysuit and helmet hang. Gem rattles off instructions.
I lock my joystick to keep the starcraft stationary, and I unclip myself from the cockpit. My stomach is in knots, and my mouth is chalky and dry. I don’t know if I’m ready.
Maybe I’ll never be ready.
Once he has the skintight spacesuit halfway up and understands the instructions, Zimmer starts saying his quick good-byes to everyone. He hugs Stork and they whisper a few soft words, and then he turns to the next person. Each one bids him farewell. Even Court surprisingly wraps a stiff arm around Zimmer. They pull into a warm hug that floods my body.
I watch them break apart, and then Zimmer places a soft kiss on the top of the baby’s head. Zima coos and wiggles her toes.
I’m the last person Zimmer nears.
He stretches his gangly arms above his head, as though feeling what it’s like to move them. One last time. “Today is the day, Franny.” He smiles like a wiseass chump, but it fades to something softer. He holds my cheeks and brings my face closer to his. “And I’ve lived hard and fast … and full.”
Tears burn my eyes. My mom used to say those words to me. He knows that. I’ve told Zimmer once or twice or more during our long nights together.
He tugs me in a tight hug. For a goodbye.
I’m not sure how to say it anymore.
“Clap for me.” His breath warms my neck. “Laugh for me.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m not scared. It’ll be the grandest death that any Fast-Tracker has ever had. I’m going to die among the stars.”
I’m happiest, truly happy, knowing Zimmer will have the greatest death. Tears streak my cheeks, and my ribs shrink around my lungs in a stifling emotion.
I whisper that I love him. I whisper how I’m honored to have met him and shared my time with him. And the last words I manage to say are words he’ll want to hear. Something familiar. Something to remind him of the home he left.
“May the gods be in your spirit,” I breathe.
“And I in your heart.” Zimmer rubs away my tears and his tears. Hurrying, he sticks his arms through the fabric of the jumpsuit and zips it up to his neck. He grabs his helmet. “I’m going to tell my moms about you when I see them,” he says. “They’re going to love you.”
I breathe stronger.
I try to, at least.
Everything happens fast. Zimmer fits on his helmet and disappears through the bridge. He has to take another exit.
Ringing fills my ears, and my head dizzies. Once he reaches the shell, I watch through one of the portholes. Zimmer waves and gives a signal that he found the hyperdrive fuel pump.
After a few minutes, he speaks through his headset. “Live and love, you chumps.” He connects the valve, and his audio cuts out, a silent blast pushing his body back into the starry-canvassed universe.
I smile for him. I clap for him. We all do.
And I do, also, cry for him. Wiping my eyes, I realize almost everyone is sniffling and wet-cheeked.
Gem clears her throat. “The hyperdrive fuel pump is activated.”
“He did it,” Stork says.
I return to my pilot’s chair, just as Kinden shouts, “I have a signal!”
Stork reaches the comms station. Kinden is fluent in four human languages already, but Stork has the clearance level to speak to the admirals after Nia patches him through.
He talks loudly, and I recognize the words Lucretzia and baby. Without an EI behind my ear, I can’t comprehend much else.
Kinden lowers a headset. “We’re clear, little brother.”
Court straps into the captain’s chair. “Prepare for hyperdrive to the Milky Way.”
“Preparing for hyperdrive,” Padgett says, initiating the thrusters.
“Preparing hyperdrive,” I chime in and reach up for a switch. Thrill thumping in the wake of my sorrow. The joystick rumbles, asking me to clutch it and hold tight.
“Three,” Court counts, “two … one.”
FORTY-FOUR
Franny
A planet is outside our windshield. One with swirling white clouds, deep oceanic blues, and one single green landmass.
Earth.
Last time we let ourselves be happy when we thought we found peace, we were pulled into the Romulus starcraft. Court, Mykal, and I seem to cage our breath just a little longer. Though smiles peek, and a powerful excitement trembles in our core.
We should reach Earth in twenty-four minutes.
I lock my joystick in the right direction, and I unclip my straps. Before I stand, Stork walks over and places his knee on my armrest. Towering above.
“Excuse you,” I snap.
I expect a mocking lift of his brows, but he takes a sharp breath. “We have to take care of his Final Will.”
Breathing takes more energy than usual. Like rocks are in my lungs. “You
’ve been carrying his Final Will around all this time?” I watch him unfold a stack of papers that could’ve fit in his pocket.
“I knew he’d die today,” Stork confesses. “He told me a while ago. So yeah, I carried it here.”
I try to inhale deeply but it cuts short.
He notices. “You loved him. So it hurts worse.”
I understand now. What he means. Grief.
And mourning. All along, this is what Stork has been feeling.
He hands the papers to me. “His only possession. He wanted you to have them. He said you’d ‘get it.’” Stork does the two-finger wag, air quotes that Zimmer made fun of him for. It seems fitting right now.
I wipe at my face with a rough hand and inspect the papers.
My mouth drops.
Pages and pages of torn scraps. All along them are doodles, little drawings of knights and princes and princesses. Of adventures and dreams. Spaceships and rockets.
I flip more—there are so many. Scrawled over every spare inch. Boats and pirates. Fairies and goblins. Fantasies he read from books. Castles dot the edge of a page.
I peer closer, noticing a partial word.
And my handwriting. It reads, owed to. These are the drawings that he used to ink onto pages from my journal. Back at StarDust. I never even knew Zimmer kept them.
I rub harder at my face, and I tell Stork, “Thank you.” He will never know how much this means to me. For him to carry it here.
I hug the papers.
We were the same. Zimmer and me. Fast-Trackers from Bartholo, and even when we were pretending in StarDust, even when we left Saltare-3, being with him felt like being home. The only difference between him and me was that I was human all along.
He couldn’t escape his deathday.
“Franny,” Stork says, wrangling my attention again. “Can I ask something from you?”
“Anything.” And I mean those words.
“When we land on Earth, I’m not going to have a mission. I reckon the admirals won’t give me another one for a while after this.” He touches the blue jay that swings from his earlobe. “And without a mission, I can’t find any reason not to drink again.” He takes a tight breath. “Would you help me?”
The Last Hope Page 33