Page 30 of The Last Hope

The Earthen Fleet is planning a retrieval operation on Saltare-1.

Which they need us for.

Storkwillinglyserves the Republic of Gaia.

Mykal and Stork were swapped as babies.

And we fly toward theLucretzia,a starcraft of the Earthen Fleet.

I want to stay ten steps ahead of Stork, but I’m at a great disadvantage. Earth and humanity couldn’t be more foreign to me. The best I can do is remain alert and steadfast. So if he ever tries to pull wool over our eyes, I’ll notice the ruse before he even starts.

Mykal and Franny try to stay awake, both weary-eyed from the hours-long voyage. They shove each other’s arms every time slumber sweeps them.

My brain won’t sleep.

I can’t sleep.

Stork is sharp—I see how he observes Mykal and Franny and me every chance he can. He takes notice of how I’m unblinkingly studying him and our journey while Mykal and Franny grow comfortable enough to shut their eyes.

“You’re an Icecastle,” Stork says to me while he reaches up into a compartment above his pilot seat, “a Saltare-3 criminal.” He’s showing me how much he knows. “What’d you do, mate?” He tethers a headset to an outlet. “Steal a snow cone?”

I can touch the memories of Vorkter more than I used to, but I’m not diving deep and retrieving them for Stork.

I simply reply, “Snow cones don’t exist on Saltare-3.”Whatever those are.“You want us for a Saltare-1 retrieval operation, but do you even know that the five Saltare planets are very different from one another?”

“I studied all five from the moment I could read,” Stork says, his brows lifting in challenge at me. “I’m aware.”

I can’t say I’ve read the same. Very few books mentioned our sister planets. We had a map of our galaxy and vague atmospheric conditions, enough to cause resentment. Our frozen planet could never thaw after the Great Freeze, and Saltare-1 was always said to have the “perfect” temperate climate.

Holding my tongue, I say nothing in reply.

So Stork faces the bridge window and fits on his headset, the comms comparable to Saltare starcrafts. I’ve noticedmanysimilarities between this vessel and theRomulusandSaga,which only makes me believe that the technology between Earth and Saltare can’t be too different.

I raise my voice. “Is Earth’s technology comparable to Saltare?”

“Yes and no,” Stork says. “It depends on which Saltare planet you’re referencing.” He grips a joystick and talks into a microphone at his lips. Speaking a foreign language.

I stop asking questions as we approach the massive hull and gray shell of theLucretzia.Shaped like a dart with wings, the durable body stretches infinitely. In comparison, what we’re currently flying is the size of a transport vessel.

I start to lean forward, but the leather buckle digs into myhip. My inflamed wound, cleaned and bandaged, wails in protest.

“We’re here?” Franny asks, rubbing her eyes and pushing Mykal awake, both having dozed off for a minute.

“We’re here,” I confirm. Nerves flip my stomach. Tripled senses, all three of us feeling the onslaught of anxiety as theLucretziaopens its hull for us to enter.

Scratches, divots, and dings mar theLucretzia’s exterior shell, and more than just robust engines sit beneath the wings.

Weaponry.

Cylindrical artillery is mounted to the starcraft. “Is theLucretziaa battlecraft?”

Stork pulls his headset to his neck. “What did you ask?”

I repeat my question.

“Not exactly.” He flicks a switch and releases the joystick. Our transport starcraft begins insertion into the larger vessel. On autopilot. “TheLucretziais a carrier ship,” he explains, unbuckling. “It houses the fleet’s combat jets. You’ll notice that most of the crew onboard are C-Jays.” He stands. “Also known as combat pilots.”

Franny smooths her lips together. I can only assume she’s trying not to proudly state she’s a driver and a pilot. I’m certain she would if our circumstances were different. But her skill set behind any wheel could benefit us more if it’s kept secret.