Page 91 of The Last Hope

“Wait.” Kinden holds up a hand. “We’re traveling across planets… in a trash can?”

I make a disgruntled noise. Wondering how this is safe for anyone.

Stork tries not to smile. “You’ll have a full body suit and mask to protect yourself from the atmosphere.”

“Mayday,” Franny mutters.

Gem clears her throat. “What if an asteroid or projectile hits the trash bins? Debris driftseverywherein space.”

Stork gestures to the door. “Nia did the calculations. There’s only a fifty-one percent chance one of us could be hit, but see, half of us can’t die.” He flashes a smile. “And the ones who can will be protected by the body suit.”

“We’re just floating around in space,” Padgett says while she pulls her silky hair back with a ribbon. “Sounds like a stellar plan.”

“There’s no other opening into Saltare-1. This is it.” He shrugs. “Honest, you shouldn’t worry about reaching the planet. Being caught as a bludrader or a humanonSaltare-1 is a capital punishment, and you’ll meet a fate worse than death.”

He goes on to explain how all the Saltare planets workcongruently with identical governments and laws and caste systems: Babes, Fast-Trackers, and Influentials. Which will make pretending to be Saltarian on a new planet a bit easier on us.

Instead of Vorkter, their prison is called Onakar, and capital punishments are the same: serving life inside a cell.

A chill snakes down Court.

I’m trying not to shiver, but more than anything, I’d like to hug him and whisper coarsely that he’ll never be seeing the inside of a prison. He needn’t fear.

I’d promise him until I’m blue in the face.

“If the social structure is the same as Saltare-3,” Court says to Stork, “then who are we pretending to be? We can’t be Babes. We’d already be dead.”

No Babe is older than thirteen years, and since Fast-Trackers live to be twenty-nine, we all could pass as an FT or an Influential.

Stork explains, “While we search for the baby in Montbay, we need to be able to walk around without suspicion.”

I already know where he’s heading. Influentials are nosy. While we were pretending to be them at StarDust, too many ladies and men asked about my knowledge and dealings.

They pay no notice to Fast-Trackers. Ask them nothing about their past or present. Really, most steer clear, and that’s exactly what we’ll be needing.

“You want us to be Fast-Trackers,” Court realizes too.

Stork nods. “Fast-Trackers are basically invisible to most Influentials.”

Zimmer lifts one shoulder. “We’re wallpaper to their world.”

“Cogs in a wheel,” Franny says easily. No bitterness. Just stating facts, it seems.

Gem balks. “We’reallpretending to be Fast-Trackers?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan,” Stork says.

Zimmer bursts out laughing and points at Kinden on his left. “You really wanthimto be a Fast-Tracker?” He snickers again.

Kinden looks unaffected. “It’s not that fykking hard, Zimmer. I just talk like a chump and say the wordfykeevery second while drinking ale and popping Hibiscus.”

“Good one,” Zimmer says, “you drink and take Hibiscus, and we won’t be seeing your egotistical ass for three months because you’ll be passed out facedown.”

Padgett flips her hair off her shoulder. “I’d flip him over on his back.”

“Pardon,” Zimmer says. “I meant passed out faceup.”

Kinden faces him, not appearing offended. “You’re just hurt because you know being a common Fast-Tracker means we act in foolish excess.”