Page 57 of The Last Hope
He just says, “Follow me.”
Stork brings us inside a stuffy storage pantry. Boxed and canned foods teeter on tall, uneven metallic shelves, hundreds of provisions enclosing us. I skim the labels:marshmallow cereal, honey beans, peaches, coconut milk—and once the door is locked, Court and Stork are in a standoff. Glares puncturing glares.
“You shouldn’t have done that trade,” Court says coldly.
Stork rests an elbow on the shelf. “There is a much bigger picture here.”
“Yourbigger picture,” Court corrects. “I’m not indebted to anyone. We want no part in whatever you and your dead admirals have orchestrated—”
“They diedfor you.” Stork sneers, stepping forward. Blond tendrils slip out of his hair tie and fall in his infuriated face.
“Heya!” Mykal wedges between their fuming stances and extends an arm toward Stork to protect Court.
Stork never backs down.
Neither does Court.
I stay near the canned fruits. Mulling over what this all means.Someone died for me.Three lives for ours. Court says we’re not indebted, but I owe them something, don’t I? My journal and all my scribbledowed to’s are on Saltare-3.
Left behind and unfulfilled. So many debts I never paid, and that remorse haunts me in mindful moments like these.
How do I even repay three deaths? What’s the equivalent value to life lost too early?
“They didn’t die for us,” Court says in a smooth, biting tone. “They died for their cause. For their people—”
“You are their people!” Stork yells, and then inhales a deep, plentiful breath. Tucking loose blond strands behind his ears, he tries to say more calmly, “You. More than even me.Youare who they want to protect and grow old and create new generations.You.”
Court is painfully still. “And I should feel guilty. Remorseful?” His arched shoulders are full of authority that lifts my bones as high as his. As powerfully. “These are humans I’ve never met. Apeoplethat I’ve never seen until now. Why don’t you go fight for Saltarians? Go fight foryourpeople that you know nothing about.”
Sighing into a weakened laugh, Stork shakes his head a few times. “You’re a blast, mate.” He reties his hair at his neck. “You lived on Saltare-3, a planet that remained out of war and conflict for centuries. Which means you have no clue what the majority of Saltarians think of humans.Of you.”
It’s true.
“Let me tell you.” He unstraps the sword on his back.
Uneasiness ripples through us threefold. “What are you doing?” I ask, my spine pressed to the shelves. Pulse jumping irregularly.
Stork unsheathes the glinting blade, metal shining but scratched from use. He circles the room until he blocks the door.
Too near.I scoot over to where Mykal and Court stand side by side.
Court clasps my hand and draws me closer to Mykal, who tucks me in the middle, and I hear Court whisper to us, “He’s drunk.”
But Stork hardly wobbles or slurs. He twirls the sword effortlessly. If he really is sloshed, he’s unlike any drunkard back home.
“Scared?” Stork asks. “I can murder you right here, and you will never be able to murder me.” And then he tosses the blade. Sword clattering at our feet.
I don’t understand him one bit.
“You are pathetic.” Stork nearly seethes, iciness chilling his eyes. “Weak.So bloody fragile, why shouldn’t I wipe you from existence? Let the superior species reign and the inferior die.”
Cold snakes down my body, too nippy to speak.
Mykal crouches and grasps the leather hilt of the sword, heavier than I thought. I sense the weight pulling at his muscle.
Stork makes acome hithermotion. “Fight me. Like I said, you’ll lose. Always. Every time.”
Mykal snatches the leather holster and strap, and then he sheathes the weapon.
