Page 172 of The Last Hope

“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 softwords, 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 thegrandestdeath 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.