[Hope]

"Really, I can do this on my own. You may let go." Hope ambled down a sunlit corridor toward the food hall with a cane in one hand for stability. Stephen had an arm partially around her, grasping the mesh belt around her waist, a safety precaution that Lissa insisted upon. Not that Hope minded. His closeness became a pleasant intoxication, but there were much more important stakes. Regaining a degree of independent mobility was but the first step.

"Well, as long as you don't run away," he said with a grin, raising his hand and releasing her. "And don't fall either, or I will never hear the last of it from Lissa."

"Your concern is noted." Hope immediately regretted the unintended bite of the words. "I mean, we wouldn't want to disappoint her."

As Hope continued, hiking a hip with each step of her false leg, a dull throbbing soreness rose in the stump. But she reached into a reservoir of resolve and firmed her jaw, continuing on. Gabriel, Celeste, Eshe, Dad... I don't know what happened to them. They might need me.

Despite all that weighed on her mind, Hope allowed herself a feeling of accomplishment for having made it all the way through the long corridor. With a half-smile, she turned her head toward the watchful Stephen. At that moment, a young boy burst through the door, nearly colliding with her. By reflex, Hope shifted away, but stumbled back, losing balance while flinging out an arm. Stephen caught her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her heart fluttered, but not from the near fall.

"Gotcha!" he said, hazel eyes taking in hers. "That was close. We almost had to call Lissa."

"Yes," Hope replied with an airy voice. "That was... close."

The food hall bustled with activity. Truly a hall, rows of wooden tables and benches filled the center, while along the walls, workers in white aprons scooped food into gray plas-steel trays for the waiting diners. The tables and serving lines were segregated into sections with signs mounted on small stands: the smallest area for clinic patients and staff, the next for the children center, and the largest for the general public. A worker moved from one large window to another, lowering shades to block glaring sunbeams that had become uncomfortably bright.

Stephen helped Hope down sit down at a table in the clinic section. "I'll get us some food."

Hope took a moment to survey the murmuring crowd, including people from all ages. Most carried the look of poverty, whether tattered clothing, worn shoes, unwashed appearance, but most heartbreaking were the somber downward-cast expressions. Nonetheless, the servers put on pleasant faces and made it a point to greet each person. An older man in a white coat holding a tablet viewer stood on a small platform near the entrance, pointing and motioning while people came in as if directing a symphony. They do work together like a practiced orchestra.

Hunger was evident here, and not just for sustenance, but also for significance. Meager as they were, the shelter provided measures of both. A resolve came to Hope. Places like this should never suffer for resources.

A row of children, each holding a tray, stood in an orderly line under the watchful eyes of caregivers, waiting their turn in a separate serving line. Others in their group crowded a designated table, giggling and carrying on, blissfully oblivious to the surrounding poverty. Another caregiver narrowed her eyes while warning the children not to waste their food.

One child caught Hope's gaze. A young boy, perhaps five or six Earth-standard years old, sat alone at the end of the table, poking at his food. He had the olive-colored skin and bushy dark hair like most of the other children, but one thing set him apart from the others and made him particularly sympathetic to Hope — he wore a prosthetic leg. As she continued to study him, he looked up and caught her eye. The depth of despair in his wide brown eyes twined around her heart and squeezed, becoming so uncomfortable that she looked away.

Perhaps we can help each other.

Stephen returned with two trays of food — a basic fare of corn cakes, beans, bread, and some kind of roasted starchy tuber. Hope accepted it with thanks. "That sad boy over there by himself," she said, tilting her head. "What can you tell me of him?"

"Little Amil," he replied. "An orphan drop-off, coming here several seasons ago after his mother was taken by the Khan. He suffers from a rare degenerative bone disease, and already had it taken a leg."

"We are kindred spirits, in a way. Would you carry my tray for me?" With Stephen's help, Hope rose from the table and hobbled her way to the boy.

"Do you mind if I join you?" She said. Expressionless, the boy looked up, scanning her, his eyes pausing at her prosthetic lower leg. "You see," Hope continued, sitting down across from the boy, "I could really use your help. My name is Hope. What is yours?"

"Amil," the boy said with a faint voice.

Bringing the food trays, Stephen sat down next to Hope. "Hi, Amil." He said, waving at the boy and bringing forth a small smile.

Hope smiled in return. "I have a leg like yours, but I'm not very good with it yet. Does your leg work okay?"

Amil's face brightened. "Yeah, I can run now and everything."

"Really?" Hope widened her eyes and dropped her jaw. "I would like to see that!"

"Okay." Amil jumped up from the bench and positioned himself at the end of an aisle between tables, bending forward as if race ready. He sprinted, although with a wobbly amble, swinging a hip up with every step of his prosthetic leg. The race covered the length of six tables, up and back again. With a smile, he plopped down on the bench.

"That was awesome!" Hope exclaimed. "I wish I could do that."

"I help you!" the boy beamed, bidding her to stand.

Hope raised up, but on seeing Stephen shake his head, sat back down. "Maybe another day when I am better. My doctor says not yet, and you know we should do what our doctor says." She winked at Stephen. "Would you show me your leg?"

Jumping up again, Amil pulled up the loose leg of his dark pants, exposing the prosthetic. It had a similar plas-steel framework design as Hope's, but extended above his knee. A worn shoe covered the foot shaped end. Amil took time to explain the function of every part, particularly the hinges at the knee and ankle. The discussions extended past lunchtime after the other children filed out of the food hall. Pointing to himself, Stephen informed the caretaker that he would bring back Amil later.

Hope peeked into the classroom through a small door window. About twenty children of various ages sat in the middle of the room on a bright multi-colored rug. They formed a rough circle around the teacher, a tall spindly woman with short silver-white hair. She read something from a tattered book that Hope recognized from her childhood, titled Writings of the Sol Empress for Children. So, they learn the Writings.

"There you are, Amil," the teacher said, noticing them after the squealing door hinges announced their entry. "Would you like to introduce your friend?"

"This is Hope," he said, holding her hand. "She has a leg like mine!" They both held up their prosthetics. Hope bit back a grimace from the pain.

"Tell us a story!" a voice called out from the circle.

"Oh no," the teacher replied. "We don't impose on our guests like that." A chorus of moans and grumbles erupted from the children.

"Actually, I don't mind at all," Hope replied. "I see you study the Writings of the Empress, but do you know the story of the first Sol Empress?" The children shook their heads. "Well, let me tell you."

To Hope's relief, the teacher provided a chair. Amil sat down on the floor beside her. Stephen watched, leaning against the classroom doorway.

"A long time ago, when most people still lived in the Sol system, there was a terrible war and many people died. The history books say the war was about the minerals in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. But as the Writings say, the cause of all war is ultimately fear. When we are afraid that we will lose something, or afraid someone else will take something from us, sometimes we do bad things.

"During that time, there was a very brave woman named Althea, who was a leader at a small mining outpost. She saw that the war was very bad and was saddened by it. Althea tried to talk to the leaders of other nations to get them to stop, but they would not listen to her.

"Finally, during the Battle of Psyche, she flew her ship between the two sides during the battle and told them to stop. People everywhere saw her bravery, and the leaders listened to her. The battle ended, and they talked rather than fought. Eventually, everyone agreed to end the war. We call this the Treaty of Worlds.

"But they also wanted to prevent future wars, so they made Althea the first Sol Empress. When worlds disagree about something important, they would come before her and she would decide, instead of fighting a war. Thus began the rule of the Sol Empress."

"But the Empress is gone now," a young voice said, laced with gloom.

Hope looked to Stephen, who drew his lips tight as if to ask, how do you answer that? She replied to the children, leaning forward as if sharing a secret, "Well, I think a true Empress will come again. And if I was this Empress, I would want to be right here with you."