Page 33 of The Last Hope
Whatever the truth, I still moved toward danger. I could wield a sword better than they could aim their firearms, but humans have an archaic joke that I had read in too many books.
Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.
And yet, blades are a better defense against Saltarians.
Guns jam.
So I ran straight for them.
“Follow protocol!” the drill sergeant shouted in my ear.
“I have them,” I assured, more than confident.
Triggers were pulled, and guns blasted with a violent pop of bullets. The hot metal whizzed past me; some struck my armor with a powerfulthunk.
I rocked back twice and then plowed ahead. Two more purposeful strides and I came upon them, gracefully swinging my blade. I slashed the arms off four Saltarians.
Limbs and weapons greeted the floor with a sickening noise. My nose flared, and I reminded myself,this is the only way.
I had an overarching purpose to protect the human race.
And no matter if I cut a hand off or took a leg, these people that I fought would still survive. In training for war, we’re taught there’d be casualties.
But the death toll only rises on one side.
Humans die.
Saltarians live.
I bent low and sliced two calves, and as I rose, a bullet pierced the pale flesh of my neck. Suddenly every enemy and gun flickered out like a technological glitch.
I breathed hard, the holograms gone. I cursed beneath my breath, sweat dripping down my temples inside the stuffy helmet.
The drill shouldn’t have ended that abruptly. I slid my sword into its sheath on my back.
As the drill sergeant neared, I removed my helmet and said with hot, panting breath, “I could’ve gone on longer. I had them overrun—”
“The task was to follow the abandonment protocol.”
I let out a short laugh and wiped sweat off my face. “I know the protocol. Never aim for their heads.” It’d be a waste to try to slit a Saltarian’s throat. It would, at best, cause a paper cut. It would, at worst, break a blade in half.
Aim for their vulnerabilities: spots that can cause injury but not death. Saltarians can’t die unless it’s their deathday, which renders them nearly invincible to attacks.
“And when you find yourself outnumbered?” she rebutted. “What is the protocol then, knave?”
Radio for help.
Or surrender.
Communications were disabled, so the only answer had been to surrender myself for capture.
“I’m no one’s prisoner,” I said plainly. “I’ll take my chances. They’re bound to be light-years better than yours.”
She grunted, “Arrogant bastard,” and made me retake the drill the next month and then the next month after. Every time, I refused to surrender. I only graduated the academy because the admirals signed off my paperwork, despite the fact that I never completed Drill 508.
Admiral Moura sat me down after graduation and she said, “Your training will never quite end, Stork. Every so often, you’ll find yourself in situations you aren’t ready for, and you’ll feel like you’ve returned to the beginning again.”
Four years have passed since that day, and now I feel like I’m at the beginning again.
