Page 31 of The Last Hope
She knows this.
I don’t need to remind her.
Mykal mutters something about senseless technology, and then Franny stares bright-eyed at the sheer enormity of theLucretzia.Which swallows our transport starcraft.
Wheels retract, and we land on what Stork says is atarmac.Rows and rows of various-sized vessels line the docking bay. As far as the eye can reach, and some are only outfitted for two seats.
The hull shuts, enclosing us inside theLucretzia.
Stork is turned toward our jump seats, and with the cock ofhis head and carefree wave of his hand, he tells us, “Welcome home.”
And I recognize that I am human on a human starcraft.
So many times I’ve felt out of place and wrong and I’ve begged for a world where people can be saved and not left to die. And I know this is the world I never thought possible. Never believed could exist.
You belong here, Court.
Yet everything feels foreign to me.
EIGHT
Stork
Eighteen years alive, and not a single one went by without being reminded that I’m Saltarian living among humans. Raised by humans. Raisedlikea human.
I should be bitter, maybe. Or resentful.
But I’m not a prisoner. I’m not chained here or coerced. I serve the Republic of Gaia, Earth’s government, by my own free will. It hasn’t been all sunshine and kittens. I’m the only Saltarian to ever step foot on theLucretzia.My presence on this ship is a grisly reminder of why humans fight. Why they’re sitting in a different galaxy light-years away from their home.
It tookyearsto gain the respect of some of the crew. Admiral Moura says I would have earned it faster if it weren’t for my lack of charisma. On the contrary, I am very charismatic.
At seven years old, I played with children my age in the galley of a first-class starcraft. Pots and metal bowls on our heads, we pretended we were C-Jays. Chasing one another like we flew combat jets, I grinned and laughed.
“Have at me!” I roared. “If you think you can catch me!”
I was a boastful kid.
Still am. Though now I’m more of a man.
We’d aim our cooking utensils at the enemy starcraft: an enormous icebox that stored the fleet’s poultry.
“On the count of three!” a child shouted. “One!”
I raced ahead. Unafraid.
Thrill inside of me burst vividly. And I thought:nothing in this universe could truly hurt me.
The people who raised me from infancy—they often said that I have a choice, and the choices I make will ultimately define who I’ll come to be.
So when a pair of harsh hands shoved my shoulders—not for the first time, not for the last time—I had a choice to make. I tripped from the force, soup ladle spilling out of my palms, and I landed on my knees.
Right then, I chose to turn my head, knowing what I’d meet.
A hateful fist slammed in my soft cheek, and the boy screamed, “Go back to where you came from, knave!”
Blood pooled in my mouth, and I smiled with a soft laugh, ignoring the pang of hurt. Honest to the grave, I didn’tneedto be admired or revered or liked by anyone, but I was seven. I didn’t exactly love the wads of spit in my hair and on my face.
Years would pass, and I’d be pushed down again and again.
