Page 151 of The Last Hope
The drawer meets the wooden floor.
Stork and I glance down at the space between our chairs, the baby cooing softly and slowly smacking her lips.
And I whisper to her, “Stork Kickfall doesn’t want us to steal you away.”
He smiles in real amusement, looking at me as he tells the baby, “Franny Bluecastle wants to steal you out of your drawer.”
I voted to save Earth. Court is here for me, and I’ll be here for him. With my vote, there was a four-to-four tie. We have no time to convince anyone to switch sides, and so when Stork tossed a coin, we agreed that we would be all-in on whatever the gods, or luck, chose.
The baby wiggles her toes.
“Don’t fret,” I whisper to her, “we’re going to find your parents.”
To find the baby’s parents, our only clue is Riktor. The Fast-Tracker who stole a pouch from her blanket. We hope the pouch has some information about her origins.
I remember that Riktor’s name tag said THEPREMIEREHOTEL.We depart quickly for the hotel at 5 o’morning before the sun crests the mainwater.
We’re unsure how long we have before Commander Theronpostsclearimages of our faces, and when that happens, we need to be off this planet. Hopefully the baby will be with her parents by then.
Right now, she’s strapped to Court in a makeshift sling. Gem had taken several purple scarves from the hostel, just to carry some broken gadgets she found lying on the docks—and Mykal used the fabric to secure the baby to Court’s chest.
He isn’t complaining about being in charge of the newborn. I think he’s grown attached, more than he lets on. Court rubs her little back often. Sometimes I sense her tiny hand grabbing on to his finger. And then his lips gradually tic upward.
None of us dawdle. Together, all eight of us locate the Premiere Hotel, a glass building lost in fluffy clouds. The main entrance is twenty stories high, and we can’t take an elevator up and traipse inside like we’re Influentials.
We have no bills, and we all look like FTs.
“There should be a backdoor entrance on the first floor,” Zimmer tells us. He’d know better since he worked in hotel hospitality on Saltare-3.
Algae and barnacles shroud the first few floors of the hotel, and a dock wraps around the base of the building. Sailboats and canoes tied up. We walk along the slick pathway, water sloshing on the wooden planks—just do, don’t think.
I breathe in.
Breathe out.
Listening to the here and now.
And we find anEMPLOYEES ONLYdoor.
Once inside, I realize the Premiere Hotel is startlingly beautiful. No gold finery or oil paintings, but glittering sea glass in wondrous shades of green and blue dangle from the ceiling. Chiming melodically as they clink together.
And this is just their hallway.
“There should be a locker room for staff,” Zimmer whispers. We file down the hall and find the locker room easily.
Slipping inside, wooden cubbies with electronic passcodesline the room in long rows. Some Fast-Trackers hurry like they’re late for work, and others leisurely chat and take their time dressing.
No one recoils at our sight. I wouldn’t either if new people sprung up at Purple Coach. I’d keep my head up and worry about my day. Not anyone else’s.
Zimmer picks a row where a short girl of thirteen or fourteen years buttons a teal uniform: short-sleeved formal shirt and thigh-cut shorts.
Her eyes ping to each of us, and she brushes a curl off her tan cheek. “New hires?”
“Yeah. We start today.” Zimmer peers around. “Which chump wants to give us the tour?”
She chuckles. “No tour. Baxley likes to throw the FTs in cold. You’ll just pick things up along the way. If you’re a bellhop, take the elevator to the lobby. Sweepers, grab a cleaning cart in the supply closet and ride up to the guest rooms. Only go in ones withVACANTsigns.” She points to a dresser. The surface is an electronic screen. “Master keys are in the second drawer, uniforms in the third. If you’re new hires, your handprints will open up the dresser to get them.”
Mykal mumbles behind me, something about hating technology.
