FH01

Fragmented Hope

Author's Note: I have to give credit where credit is due here—most of it goes to my little sister and to Matthew Stover, the author of Traitor. While reading portions of Traitor out loud to my sister, I came upon the part that mentions all the survivors of Coruscant. The pure numbers were staggering, and when she asked, "Where did they all go?" I instantly wanted to explore that idea. This is the story of one of those nine hundred billion survivors.

Part One

I don't know when I began my period of exile. I don't know when it's likely to end. I don't even know the likelihood that I'll be alive when the whole war is over. All I know is that I hate it. I hate being a refugee, I hate fleeing and resting and fleeing again. I hate the Yuuzhan Vong for what they've done to my family and my life. I hate myself for my hate.

It was a year ago when I woke up to find myself aboard the Delivery, a huge multilevel starcruiser with enough resources to support, if the necessity arose, five hundred million people. Onboard the ship lived at least one billion humans and nonhumans, the numbers growing every day as more were born. At the time, I knew nothing of what had happened to me; I knew only that I was in the company of strangers who looked at me with a kind of pitying contempt before turning back to their groups and families. I had no group. I had no family. Amid millions upon millions of sentient beings, I was completely and utterly alone.

I could remember only my name, and that I read off a bracelet I wore on my left wrist. The chrono beside the bracelet was chipped and worn, but functional, and had been manufactured on Coruscant, and it was no secret I had lived on the huge city-world. But the quadrant I had lived in, the people I had known, what family I might have left…I know nothing of my personal information. At first, I walked from sector to sector of the Delivery, looking for someone whose face or mannerisms would trigger my memory, but after millions of strangers and odd customs, I was no closer to re-uniting with some part of my past. An outcast and unwelcome in most places I had been before, I wandered aimlessly, sleeping where I could find a sheltered area or a bare patch of decking. No one cared about my well-being—they all looked after their own children and loved ones, not able or willing to spare me a bite or a blanket.

That first week, I ate twice, both meals won through quick thinking and quicker sprinting. I stole food indiscriminately—the mother who fed her baby had no more right to eat than I—and I took bites of anything I could snatch before being beaten or threatened off. My stomach governed my every thought, my every move, even causing me to dream of great feasts as I slept. I know I must have looked a fright—uncombed hair, unwashed body, gaunt and hollow features—but I spared no energy to improve my appearance. Each waking moment was spent in watching others, waiting for the moment of inattention that would allow me an opening to grab at an unattended scrap of greyweave or spoonful of synthstew. More often than not, my efforts failed. It was just over three weeks into my new existence when a large businessman caught me with my hands reaching for a corner of a nutrient block he had left sitting on a nearby packaging crate.

"What are you doing?" he asked me, his voice calm and unruffled. When I didn't answer, he repeated his demand more forcefully. "What are you doing?" He rose, his bulk casting harsh shadows when it came between me and the stark artificial lighting. The sounds of talk and interaction hushed.

I shrank back from him, still silent, but he reached out and grabbed my right arm and I could not free myself, despite a fierce struggle on my part. He twisted my arm and I cried out in pain. "Were you trying to steal my food? Answer me!"

I do not think I could have spoken then even if I had wanted to. My starved brain worked too slowly for me to do anything but hold back tears and shield my face with me free arm. I shook my head and twisted my body, trying frantically to get away, anywhere away from this man with his durasteel grip and callous eyes. "Listen, girl," he said. "If I catch you around here ever again, you will live to regret it. Or you might not live at all. I'd advise you not to come back."

Nodding, I pulled back, heard the cloth of my sleeve rip as I tore myself from his hand. Unexpectedly released from the retraining grasp, I lost my balance and slipped on the smooth metal floor. I flung my arms out in front of me to break my fall and suddenly found myself on top of something large and soft and warm. I scrambled to my feet, but the man who had broken my fall, the man who had threatened me and manhandled me and bruised my arm was faster. Grabbing my hair, he snarled, "That was a bad idea, kid."

The first punch sent me to the floor, where I curled up in the hopes he would not hit me again. My hopes were in vain. He kicked me in the ribs, and I felt something give way inside me as he hauled me up by the collar of my shirt. His open palm impacted the side of my head hard enough to cause spots to dance before my eyes, and he threw me down to the hard floor even as I fought the urge to lose consciousness. The warm taste of blood, sweet and metallic, pervaded my mouth. Although I heard screams and pleading tones, no one moved to separate us and I abruptly found myself facing the very real prospect of death. I don't think I'd ever been that frightened before. I know I'd never been that frightened before. Clutching my knees to my chest, I tucked my head in and rode out the waves of pain, clinging to the hope that he would give up and go away and leave me to die in peace.

Then there were voices, and running steps, and blaster shots. When I forced my eyes open, all I could see was a pair of boots, a shoulder's breadth apart and ten centimeters from the tip of my nose. I tried to look up farther, to see who the boots belonged to, but I found I could not move my body. "Are you all right?" The voice echoed down to me and bounced through my head.

My answer was there on the tip of my tongue, but I could not move my mouth to tell the man that I would live, for the simple reason that I would not die. And then a black wave crashed over me and I knew no more.

Part Two

"Ani? Ani, where are you?"

"Coming, mom. I'm just watching the sun go down and then I'll be in."

"All right. Dinner's ready and your father said he'd be home for the meal today."

"I thought he had to work late."

"No, he wanted to be home for your lifeday. He said, 'That Miliani, she's growing so fast we'll have to put her in a box to keep her small. What happened to our little Ani?'"

"I'm eighteen, mom. I'm hardly growing anymore."

"But he was right about one thing."

"What?"

"You're not our little Ani any longer. You'll be going to the university next year, and we'll have to send you holos every day so you don't forget us."

"You know I'd never forget you, mom. That would be like forgetting my name."

"Well, I'll send you holos anyway. Who knows, you may find some nice young man and decide to elope and leave us all wondering if you've joined a smuggling ring."

"Mom! That's the last thing I'd ever do."

"The last thing I thought I'd ever do was settle down in a little house with a speeder mechanic and have children as beautiful as you three."

"You're exaggerating."

"No, I'm not. I'll always love you, Ani, my big girl. You've been so wonderful with your little brothers… Now come in. It's getting dark and your father will be home any minute."

"I'll be in the front waiting for him, mom."

"All right, Ani. Tell me when he gets home."

"I will."

"I love you."

"I love you, too, mom."

"Will she be all right?" The words swam through the haze that was my mind and landed gently on the edges of my consciousness. "That guy back there messed her up pretty good."

"She'll live, and I don't think she suffered any brain damage, but it's a good thing you got there when you did or she'd be in a lot worse shape."

The surface I lay on moved slightly and the blast of pain caused an involuntary gasp to escape me. My ribs throbbed and my head felt as if it were split down the center like a ripe sunfruit, but neither injury seemed life-threatening. My right forearm ached and one of my eyes seemed to be swollen shut. I experimented with opening the other one.

The test was partially successful—I managed to open my right eye, but was forced to close it again as artificial light burned a hole through my skull. I groaned, and immediately heard the voice I had tagged as belonging to a medic call my name. "Miliani, can you hear me?"

I tried to say, Yes, I can hear you, but the words came out as a strangled wheeze. He seemed to understand that I could not speak, because he took my right hand in one of his and told me to squeeze once for yes, twice for no.

"Are you Miliani Cariera?" I tightened my grip on his hand once and he paused for a moment. I heard the tapping of a stylus on a datapad before he went on with his questioning. "You've been in the sick ward for about ten hours. Samien here stopped whoever was beating you, but not before he had a chance to do a good job. Do you remember when the blows stopped?" A squeeze. "I know this seems to be the same question, but did you pass out before he stopped hitting you?" Two squeezes. The medic heaved a sigh and let go of my hand. "You'll be fine, and you're a truly lucky young lady." I found myself missing his warm grip and cried out in a halfhearted protest. He must have taken my pitiful moan for an expression of pain, because he ordered an unseen attendant to inject me with a pain medication. There was a prick, and I spiraled back into darkness, leaving questions and demands to wait until I deemed myself ready to face them.

I woke up again several days later, in a small but clean medical ward of the Delivery. This time, both my eyes opened without any serious protest, and the rest of my aches seemed dulled, perhaps by the medicine being pumped into my bloodstream. The white of the walls reflected the harsh overhead light, and I took a quick glance around the featureless room before closing my eyes again. I dozed on and off, waking every time the medic came to check my ribs or arm. From the conversations between medical personnel, I gathered that I was being left to mend more or less on my own—the bacta tanks were all in use and I would live without complete immersion in bacta. The medical staff had decided that I, as a relatively urgent but not critical case of physical trauma, merited only a bacta cast on my right arm and a quick check of my ribs to ensure that they set properly.

It was during the sleep rotation that he came again. The shifting of my bed as someone sat on it woke me and my eyes flew open when I realized that the person was not reading my monitors or changing my cast, as was normal for the medics who attended me. Perched on my bed was a young man—he seemed no older than me. His light brown eyes sparkled and his matching hair had a tendency toward unruliness. "Miliani," he said, careful not to touch me.

"What?" My voice rasped from disuse.

He smiled. "I'm Samien. I found you after…" At a loss for what to call my beating, he hastened past the necessity to call it anything and said, "I just wanted to make sure you'd be all right."

"Thanks for caring," I said. "I'll be fine. I'm only sore, thanks to you and your timing."

Smiling again, he rose and looked toward the door as if preparing himself to leave. I reached for and caught his hand. "Wait."

He glanced down at me, his eyes surprisingly intense in their scrutiny of my face. "Yes?"

Suppressing a blush, I dropped his hand and said, "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" Puzzlement spread across his face.

"You know…"

"Oh, why did I protect you?"

I nodded. "You didn't have to."

Samien indicated a patch on the shoulder of his shirt. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I'm Security in the sector you were in. That's my job."

"Oh." An awkward silence stretched between us. "You didn't…you know…"

"Kill him? No, just stunned him. He's in the detention facility now." He paused, then continued with an uncertain waver to his voice and a little frown between his eyebrows. "If it's not too personal, why was he beating you?" I understood his confusion; fights were common between men and women of close or equal size and ability, but despite the close quarters, beatings such as the one I had endured were rare.

My bitter laugh caught in my throat and turned into a cough which I smothered in my sleeve. "I guess I picked the wrong food to steal."

His frown deepened. "Why were you stealing food?"

I fought down the urge to answer, Because I wanted to get beaten up by a huge man in a business suit, and instead said, "I was hungry."

"Isn't there enough food to go around?"

My mouth gaped and my eyes opened in barely controlled incredulity. "No, there's not enough to go around. Where do you live, in an airlock?"

He ignored my sarcasm and asked, "Where do you get your food?"

"Technically, there's supposed to be a mess open to all of us three times a day. We're lucky if it's open once and if half of us get served. The other half, which usually includes me because I'm small, depends on stealing and buying food. I don't remember the last time I had a real meal."

"Would you like something to eat?" he queried, a sudden note of determination in his voice. Then, "Do you think you could walk somewhere?"

"Walk somewhere to eat? I cold run thirty kilometers to eat a decent meal."

He quirked an amused half-smile in my direction. "Do you have to ask someone before you leave?"

"Probably." I shrugged, toying with the silky edge of my blanket. "But I'm not going to. Food is too good a deal for me to be told I can't leave." Rather unsteadily, I swung my legs over the edge of the hospital bed and waited for a minute as the blood drained from my head, making me dizzy. When I was confident that I would not become disoriented once I stood, I tried my legs, keeping one hand on the bed to balance myself. Slowly, I straightened and removed my hand from the form-molding foot of the mattress. "Let's go."

His face turned red. "Um…what you're wearing…it's not really…"

I glanced down at the thin hospital gown that dropped to the middle of my thighs and grimaced before looking back at him, grinning sheepishly. "I don't suppose you would know of somewhere I could find some decent clothes?"

Shaking his head helplessly, he voiced a negative. Samien seemed to consider the situation for a moment before he suddenly brightened and moved toward the exit, saying, "Wait right here; I'll be right back."

I sat on the bed and swung my legs back and forth impatiently as he left the room, the door closing with a near-silent swish behind him.

Part Three

When Samien returned, he gripped a small carrisack in his left hand. He looked about the room in an almost furtive manner, then thrust the bag into my arms and told me to find somewhere to dress. "I think the doctors are changing shifts; now would be a good time for us to break you out," he said. "Is there a 'fresher or something around here?"

I nodded my head toward the exit. "Out there. I can probably get there if you act like you're accompanying me somewhere I'm supposed to be."

His grin was at once reckless and youthful. "I'm in security. I'm trained for this sort of thing." Striking a heroic pose, he said, "Leave it to me, milady." I rolled my eyes as he offered me his elbow. "If you would kindly follow me?" With a show of grace as he bowed slightly at the waist, Samien led me from my room to the 'freshers down the hall and to the right. To my everlasting relief, none of the on-call medics gave us a second glance as we proceeded to the common 'freshers at the end of the hall. When we arrived, Samien bowed again and released my arm, sweeping his free hand out in a generous gesture that indicated an unremarkable grey door on the otherwise unblemished matte wall. "Milady, your dressing room."

"Why thank you, sir. I shall return presently."

"I impatiently await your reentrance." He bowed a third time. "Pray, make haste."

I blushed slightly as I hurried into the 'fresher—the looks several medical personnel had given us were nothing if not incredulous. Once in one of the stalls, I opened the carrisack and lifted out the neatly folded clothing Samien had provided. The outfit consisted of a shapeless brown coverall and a simple white shirt for underneath; after a period of deliberation, I put the coveralls on and cinched the belt as tightly as it would go. The effect was not even vaguely flattering, and I found myself wondering exactly how big a person would have to be to fit in the clothing I currently wore.

When I finished dressing, I stuffed my hospital gown into the carrisack and exited the stall, pausing for a moment to examine my reflection in a small mirror. My hair fell in unkempt waves around my pale face, and my eyes looked hollow and pale. I've always loved having brown hair and blue eyes, but at that moment the combination seemed utterly unenviable. I pulled my hair back into a quick braid and rummaged through the sack for something with which to tie the end, finally retrieving the string that had served as a belt for my hospital gown.

Satisfied that I had neither the means nor the patience to make myself more presentable, I walked out of the 'fresher with the carrisack slung over one shoulder, trying to act the part of someone who belonged in this sector of the Delivery.

"You look great," Samien said as we strolled from the medical ward. "That flightsuit looks wonderful on you."

I looked up at him, shocked that he would compliment the ugliest clothing I have ever worn, and saw the twinkle in his eyes. "Oh yes, I think the nondescript brown just does wonders for my complexion. I don't know why I didn't get an outfit like this ages ago," I said, mocking every single self-centered female I've ever met.

We walked down the rest of the hall in silence, enjoying one another's mute company. I can't say what Samien thought, but I rejoiced at each step, at each painless and happy step toward a hot meal and a conversation between equals. How long had it been since I had talked with someone? A week? A month? How long had it been since I had been carefree?

Samien directed me to the officers' mess through a long series of hallways and turbolifts, and we arrived there almost a half hour later, talking with each other as though we had been friends since childhood. And I suppose, in a way, Samien was a friend I had known nearly all my life. My recollection of my life began onboard the Delivery; there was nothing before that but a blur of shapes and voices.

I spent the rest of the wake cycle in a daze, following Samien to the mess where we were served a meal of hot meat and some sort of tuber, to his sector where he kept a watchful eye on proceedings, to his quarters where I stayed when he was called to a briefing. It was while I sat there, alone in the friendly quarters Samien had not shared since his previous bunkmate had met a hushed demise somewhere onboard, that I began to question what I was doing. What would I do the next day, when I had to go back to stealing my food? Where would I sleep? I did not wish to return to my sector; too many there knew of my beating and would keep their food safe from my searching fingers. I did not know what I would do. But I did know what I would not do. I would not stay with Samien. I could not become dependent on him. The risk was too great.

My brain told me to leave, to stand and punch the door panel and leave and never return. My brain told me that the chance Samien would get transferred or killed was high. My brain panicked and told me to flee before I could become too comfortable.

My heart told me to stay.

Part Four

"No, Drek. You can't come with me today. I have too much to do, and besides, Mom told you to stay here."

"But Ani…"

"Don't do that. I'm taking the speeder and I'll be back before you know it."

"Ani, I'm scared."

"Scared of what, Drek?"

"On the Holonet, they're talking about an invasion. You don't think that'll come here, do you?"

"To Coruscant? They'd have to be crazy to attack Coruscant."

"But they're really strong. And I don't think we're winning."

"Drek, listen to me. I'll keep you safe if I have to steal and X-wing and blast out of here."

"You promise?"

"I can't make that kind of promise, Drek. But I will promise you one thing: I'll always love you."

"I love you, too. You know, you're my favorite big sister, Ani."

"I'm your only big sister, squirt."

"Well you're still my favorite. I wouldn't want another one."

"Good thing, because it'd be hard for you to get a big sister unless Mom and Dad adopt one…"

"Come on, Ani, you know they won't."

"You never know. But come to think of it, Mom and Dad told me they swore off having kids after you, something about noise and messes…"

"Ani!"

"Hey, no hitting allowed! I'm your favorite big sister, remember?"

"Yeah."

"Don't you ever forget that, kid."

I don't know whether it was the hand on my shoulder or the voice calling my name that truly brought me out of my sleep, but I jerked awake with a graceless start and a tiny cry of surprise. Dimly, I made out a male shape before me, and I called out for the lights in sudden alarm. In the sudden harsh glare of the overhead illumination, I perceived Samien standing an arm's length from me, one of his hands on my shoulder and the other one shielding his eyes from the unexpected brightness.

"Lights low," I said as soon as the situation resolved itself into a comprehensible number of separate parts. "Sorry about that. I forgot I was in your quarters for a minute."

He waved me off. "Don't worry about it. I was just wondering where you were going to sleep—the night cycle will begin in about half an hour."

"I hadn't really thought about it," I lied, "but I'll go and find somewhere unoccupied. Thank you for warning me so I have enough time to stake out my spot." I stood, stretching, and made for the door, with every intention of bolting and spending the rest of the near future avoiding Samien. He stopped me, catching one of my hands and tugging me to a halt.

"You could stay here," he said, his voice negating any of my suspicions that his intents were less than honorable. "I have an extra bunk, and now that I know what kind of situation everyone else is in, I feel terrible about having a room with two beds to myself."

I shook my hand free of his, and still had every intention of leaving then, but I made one critical mistake. I looked into his eyes.

The brandy-brown depths of his eyes pulled me in until I could barely think, and all thought of exiting the room fled unceremoniously from my head. I was lost in an endless pool of undiscovered emotions and feelings, and I could not tear myself away. "Don't go," said Samien, his voice nearly a whisper.

"Why not?" I asked, my tone mirroring his.

"I don't want you to." His eyes searched mine, and I could almost feel that he touched my innermost soul. Any fight still left in me died with a swiftness that left me gasping for air.

"Just tonight," I managed.

He smiled at me. "Whatever you want." When he looked down at our joined hands the moment expired and he loosened his grasp with a self-conscious blush. Clearing his throat, he said, "I looked up your last name on the ship's databases, but I didn't come up with any results. I don't think any of your family is onboard." He appeared confused for a moment, then continued, "But you probably know that. Do you remember anything about where you lived or who was in your family?"

I shook my head. "I don't remember anything except…I think I had two younger brothers, and I know I had a mother and father." My helplessness ate at me until I could hardly speak. "I just don't know."

Samien flopped onto his bunk and heaved a deep sigh. "You don't have any idea what happened? Were you injured when they took Coruscant?"

"I don't know."

"How did you get onboard?"

"I don't know."

"Do you remember anything?"

"Yes! I mean, no, I don't really remember anything but my name, and there are these little dreams with voices and colors and I can't even see my mother's face." Tears rolled unhindered down my face, and I reached a quick and rational decision. "Thank you for everything," I said as I rose to leave. "I need to sort this out by myself."

"Wait." When I turned to look at Samien, he was propped up on one elbow, watching me. "You have to stay until you can talk with the commanding officer onboard the Delivery. I told him about the situation during our briefing today, and he says if I can get one of you to tell him what it's really like in the passenger section, he'll report it to the New Republic and try to get aid."

"Do you honestly believe that?" I whirled, suddenly angry, and paced toward Samien's bunk, speaking in a thick voice unlike my own. "You honestly think that he doesn't know what's going on here? Oh, he knows perfectly well. I don't know what he wants with me, and I don't know what will happen to your career now that you've told him, but I guarantee you, he knows what's going on."

"He might not!"

"He does. The New Republic knew the Yuuzhan Vong were going to win, but at least they kept fighting. They gave us false hope and crazy little dreams to hang on to, but they kept fighting. Here, I'm stuck on an enormous ship with nowhere to go and no one I can call family, and I can't fight it! I can't get out!" My voice rang shrilly, and I brought it down in pitch. "So don't tell me that captain of yours doesn't know what's going on."

I turned to leave once again and this time I made it all the way out the door. I did not look back, even when I heard Samien call my name. His cry of "Miliani, wait!" echoed through my dreams that night.

Part Five

"That's not fair!"

"Hey, just because I beat you at every strategy game you can think up…"

"But you must have cheated somehow! I invented that game, and you're not allowed to beat me at the game I made up!"

"You're not invincible, Rey."

"You're still not supposed to beat me at my own game."

"But who's the best at strategy games?"

"You, Ani."

"And who's the worst?"

"Drek."

"He's not! He won against me once!"

"Yeah, because Mom paid you to let him win. That was the day he got beaten up at school."

"I didn't take the money, Rey."

"I heard you and Mom talking later. You did take that money."

"Stop sticking your tongue out at me—you're ugly enough as it is."

"Ani, you're supposed to be a nice big sister and set a good example for your poor little brothers."

"Rey, you're supposed to be a nice big brother and set a good example for your poor little brother."

"I suppose I am."

"You're great, you know that? Even though that long-suffering sigh did nothing to soften my heart. If we play again, I'm still going to win."

"Very well. I resign myself to my fate: a sound beating at the hands of my cruel and horrible—"

"—but much loved—"

"—older sister."

"Why thank you, Rey."

"Anytime, Ani, anytime."

I stirred just before the start of the wake cycle and lay still for a moment, trying to remember everything that had happened in the past twenty-four standard hours. Somewhere during the night, my hair had become loose again and it tumbled over my shoulders, scratching the back of my neck. My argument with Samien had taxed my nerves and I had the sudden ridiculous impulse to cry. I was weighing my choices: go back and apologize or stay and live the rest of the near future on the Delivery when the ship shuddered and groaned. The engines stopped. In the eerie dark silence, I could hear a baby begin to cry.

The tramp of feet on the deckplates caught my attention and I turned to see a group of security personnel moving toward the airlock a block starboard of my position. Too hungry to be curious, I curled up and was about to go back to sleep when the lights came on, making sleep impossible. I blinked my eyes open and sat up, stretching.

"Miliani?" A male voice called me from where I had last seen the security personnel disappear.

"Samien." I didn't look at him, but I knew he was the one who had just uttered my name.

"Miliani, I…"

For the first time, I turned to regard him and noticed that he carried a large sack and a small suitcase. My mind refused to think. For once in my life, my mind completely failed and my decision surfaced.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He dropped his luggage and opened his arms to me as I reached out to him, holding me tightly, letting me lean against him. His breath sighed against my hair. "Don't be sorry. It was my fault that—"

"—don't." I pulled back from him until I could see his eyes. "Don't," I repeated, not quite sure what I meant. Our eyes met and the moment stretched into infinity, swirling me into a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. And then one or both of us moved and we stood there in the midst of hundreds of awakening sentients, kissing, wrapped around each other like we would never again have an opportunity such as this.

My lungs begged for air before I broke the kiss and turned my face against him. Samien's hands moved against my back, gently massaging the tension from my aching muscles. He moved one hand to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing my cheekbone and wiping away inexplicable tears. "I have to go," he said, his voice heavy with regret, his eyes shining with a profound emotion I could not name. "I've been transferred to another refugee ship."

Numbly, I reached up to brush his hair back from his face. "Go, then." I was afraid I would start begging him to stay, and that would not do.

"Don't ever give up, Miliani," he said, running his hands through my hair. "Don't ever give up. There's always hope." He bent down to brush my lips with his own one more time and then he was gone, the sound of his boots quickly fading along the hall. I found an unoccupied spot on the floor and sat there, stunned, for hours before my stomach made me aware of the fact that I had not eaten in a long time.

Someone had left a small nutrient block unattended on a crate only two meters away. I snatched it, stuffed it into my mouth, and chewed.

I don't know when I began my period of exile. I don't know when it's likely to end. I don't remember my family, but I know I'll always be able to hear them in my dreams. And somehow, I know I'll make it because I'm a fighter. I refuse to give up. Samien's words will ring true throughout the future: there is always hope.

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