Текст книги "The Star Dwellers"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

It all suddenly makes sense. Mep gives the children in this place a chance to escape from the horrors of the real world, to places where there are happy endings, where heroes really do exist, where parents are alive and take care of their kids. My vision blurs and I blink furiously before I return my gaze to Mep.

I change the subject. “How’d you know I was a moon dweller?” I ask, choosing a safer question.

He laughs. “It was obvious the moment you chased after my gang of misfits,” he says. When I raise an eyebrow, he explains. “The people here are broken, their bodies, their spirits. They don’t even think we’re worth the energy. One of my kids grabs a loaf of bread off a passing cart and they barely react. You, on the other hand, it was like I’d stolen your baby.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. Remembering the items in my pack, I realize I probably did look a little crazy chasing after a bunch of kids for our meager possessions, particularly when the star dweller army evidently has significant resources at their disposal.

Mep’s face is still lit up, as if it makes him happy to have put a smile on my face. “I’ve got to get back,” I remember, letting my thoughts flow freely. “My friend…”

“You haven’t even heard my proposal.”

Oh, yes, this great offer he has for me. “Make it quick.”

“Be my bodyguard,” he says, his eyes twinkling under the candlelight.

I sigh, pretend to consider. “And what’ll I get in return?”

“Food, shelter, information.”

“What kind of information?” The food and the shelter are covered by the army, but information is something I haven’t been getting a lot of lately.

He grins, like he knows he’s got me now. “I know most everything that happens in this town. Anything in particular you’re after?”

“How’s the army getting so many supplies?” I blurt out.

“Nothing’s free,” he says.

“I’m not going to work for you,” I say.

“I didn’t think so, but a couple of Nailins might do the trick.” He’s rubbing his hands together, like he can’t wait to feel the smooth weight of the gold against his skin.

I reach in one of the packs and flip him two Nailins. I see the face of the president flashing in and out of view. Tristan’s father. But not like Tristan, I remind myself.

Mep snaps them out of the air with unexpectedly competent hand/eye coordination. He bites down on the gold coins like he doesn’t believe they’re real. “I haven’t seen one of these in a long time,” he muses, his eyes greedy.

“The information,” I say.

“Right. I’m not sure if this helps, but there’s a supply truck that comes in every week, on Mondays. They back it up right against the loading dock so no one can see what it’s carrying. If you find out where the truck comes from, you might be able to solve your mystery.”

“Thanks,” I say, moving for the door. “And Mep…”

“Yeah.”

“Hang in there. Change might be coming faster than you think.” Before leaving, I grab the bag containing the last of our wafers and toss it to Mep. These kids need it more than I do.

Mep grins as he catches it, like he knew I’d see things his way in the end. “Farewell, my fair maiden,” he calls to me as I exit.

I’m no fair maiden. And this is not one of the hero– and adventure-filled worlds from the pages of the books that Mep reads to the kids. No, it’s nothing like that at all.

As I navigate my way to find the stairs, kids duck into doorways, hide in the shadows, watch me the whole way. My heart is sick. It shouldn’t be this way. Kids running wild, forced into a life of crime. We have to do something for them. And it all starts now.

The only problem: when I exit the crumbling building, Tawni is gone.

Chapter Sixteen

Tristan

Ram finds Roc before we do so I’m glad to see he hasn’t been pulverized. Maybe Ram’s decided to take it easy on us because it’s obvious something really bad has happened.

Or maybe not. “If you get lost again, sun boy, I’ll destroy you,” he says to Roc before handing him over to us.

Roc just stares at him, and I can tell he’s thinking getting destroyed by Ram might be a good thing. It might take his mind off of what he’s just found out.

“What the hell do you think you’re looking at?” Ram says, and I think for a second Roc might lash out at him, but to my relief he breaks the stare, and moves past me with his head down.

As I move to follow him, I hear Ben ask, “Where’d you find him?”

Ram laughs condescendingly. “He was near the edge of the eastern border. If he’d managed to get out into the broader Moon Realm, he’d have been a sitting duck for some star dweller soldier with a chip on his shoulder.”

I’m too far away to hear Ben’s response, as I jog to catch up with Roc. “Roc,” I say, “wait up!”

He ignores me and keeps walking. “Roc!” I try again.

“Leave me alone,” he says, bringing me up short. I watch as he disappears around a bend in the tunnel. I want to chase him, to force him to talk about things—I desperately need to talk to him about all this—but I let him go. He’s never asked me to leave him alone before, and it scares me. But I have to respect his wishes—have to give him time to come to terms with what my father told us.

Ben catches up with me and I’m glad to see Ram’s not with him. “Why’s that guy hate us so much?” I ask.

Ben shrugs. “He doesn’t trust people easily, especially sun dwellers. But believe me, he’s a guy you want on your side.” I believe him. Ram’s the last guy I’d want to face in combat.

Nodding, I say, “Roc won’t talk to me.”

“Give him time.”

“How much time?”

“A few hours.”

“He’s already had a few hours.”

“A few more.”

“Okay.” I don’t want to wait a few hours, but I’m glad he didn’t say a few days. I don’t think I could go that long without talking to my best friend, my half-brother. Especially with all this crap on my mind. “What do we do next?”

“Vice President Morgan has arranged a meeting with the other Vice Presidents who she believes will support us in a motion to join the star dweller rebellion. I need you there to help us convince them.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Then we’re screwed,” Ben says honestly, and I raise my eyebrows.

“Great.”

We both continue in silence, the only sound coming from our boots as they scuff and scrape along the rough tunnel floor, broken up only by the tap of Ben’s walking stick. He says his wounded leg is okay, but he’s limping heavily and seems to be relying on the staff. We come to a crossroads, and where we’d normally veer right past our sleeping quarters or toward the common area, we slip left down a broad corridor.

“Shortcut,” Ben says when I glance at him.

The gray rock walls continue to widen as the pathway heads uphill. Moisture trickles down the walls from the ceiling. As we move further along, the tunnel levels out, and the walls are fully slick from the rivers of water sheeting down them, pooling along the sides. Thirty feet later the puddles cross the breadth of the tunnel floor and meet in the middle. Our boots slap and slosh through them but still we don’t turn back.

When the water level nears the tops of my boots, I fear I may be getting wet feet very soon. “Uh, Ben? Are you sure this is the right way?”

He laughs, in a way that my father never could. “You scared of something?”

I turn away sheepishly and keep plodding through the water. I can handle wet feet if I have to. Just when I think my feet are doomed, the tunnel curves sharply to the left, spilling out into an underground pond. The water at our feet is pouring down a natural step, emptying into the tiny lake. The water is crystal clear, and I can easily see to the bottom, which glitters like diamonds. Beyond the lake is a beautiful fall of water, coming down in a mist of tiny droplets, creating a cloud of moisture. Every now and then I see the sparkle of something shiny drop from above, as the glow from the lamps along the sides reflects off of something.

“Wow,” I murmur. “Are those—”

“Yes,” Ben says. “This is the Diamond Lake. The water falls from hundreds of feet above, just a small waterfall. By the time the droplets get down here they’ve split apart multiple times creating the spray you see in front of you. Every once in a while a diamond comes down with it. We have no idea how far the gemstones travel before reaching us, but it could be miles, or even hundreds of miles.”

“What do you do with them?” Immediately my mind grabs hold of everything I know about the gemstone trade. This many diamonds would surely be suspicious if they started popping up on the commerce reports hitting my father’s desk.

“We haul them out, hide most of them away, and use a small number to fund our operations. We’ve been dormant for so long that we don’t need much to get by.”

It makes sense and explains a lot. How they’re able to keep the electricity on. How they can feed the Resistance members. Some of the technology, like teleboxes and videoconferencing. Not typical luxuries for the Moon Realm. All paid for by untaxed diamonds. “Awesome,” I say. Anything that helps the Resistance and withholds a few Nailins in tax money from my father is cool by me.

“Yeah, we were lucky to stumble upon it when we were constructing our command center.”

Ben skirts around one of the edges and I follow him. The edges are dry and so are my feet. As we move around the mist, I feel a cooling sensation when the edge of the falls glosses over my face, my arms. It feels wonderful and I wonder if it’s what rain feels like.

Behind the mist the tunnel continues on, leading us away from the Diamond Lake, and presumably toward the Vice Presidents. Well, not all of the Vice Presidents, just the nice ones—or at least I hope.

We reach a staircase, which cuts back on itself every dozen steps or so. It’s man-made and in good condition, evidently having not been used as much as some of the other steps around the place, which are crumbling and in need of repair. By the time we reach the top, my thighs and calves are burning; I haven’t done a good stair workout lately.

There’s a heavy metal door blocking our path, and Ben has to use a key to open it. It’s the first door I’ve seen that requires a key—it must be guarding something important.

Before Ben pulls the door open, he looks at me. His eyes are black in the dim lighting and seem to have a deepness to them, as if they are fathomless, filled with wisdom and experience. Despite the fact that he’s staring at me, I don’t feel uncomfortable. “Tristan, this is your time to shine. I believe in you, and I know Adele does too.”

At that, I smirk. “She barely knows me.”

“And yet she seems to trust you. She has always had good judgment. Speak from your heart, and everything else will work itself out.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.”

With that, he pulls open the heavy door, which groans in protest. Inside, there’s a flurry of activity, in utter contrast to the nervous silence when I met with the Resistance leaders. Men and women move around a massive stone table, chatting and drinking cups of coffee and tea. I recognize all the faces, but I can’t necessarily put names to them from the one or two times I’d meet each of them in a year. The Vice Presidents. The nice ones, I remind myself. Maia and Jonas are there, too. Oh, and Ram, which makes me think that Ben’s so-called shortcut wasn’t so short after all.

The only one missing: Roc. Although I didn’t expect him to be here, my heart turns over when I realize it.

With a wave of his arm, Ben invites me in first. I hesitate only for a moment, and then step inside, look around, trying to take it all in. One by one, the Vice Presidents notice me and a hushed silence falls over the room. Although I’m used to being in the spotlight a lot, it’s never been in this context. I’m no longer a diplomat from the ruling body. No longer a contract negotiator. I have zero power. I’m an unproven potential enemy combatant, and I know it, which makes my face warm with embarrassment under the scrutiny of their stares.

Then the whispers start, some behind hands, but others from visible lips, which I unsuccessfully try to read.

Ben steps past me and I follow him numbly to a seat near the head of the table. The rest of the attendees silently take their seats. I preferred the buzz of conversation from before to this awkward quiet. Vice President Morgan gives me a comforting smile as she sits down at the head of the table, which helps calm my rare nerves.

Evidently she’s in charge of this meeting, because she says, “Thank you all for attending on such short notice. Many of you have traveled far and wide to be here, and I appreciate it.”

“Not all of us!” a man halfway down the line growls jovially, breaking the weird feeling in the room like glass. He wears a thick, gray beard, a bowler’s hat, and a smile. He’s one of the few Vice President’s names I actually remember, because he was always funny and made me laugh when I’d visit. Byron Gray.

“Thank you, Mr. Gray. It’s always been a pleasure having you just next door, in subchapter 2.” Morgan keeps talking, exchanging niceties with the other VPs, but I don’t hear her words, as I’m thinking furiously about something. We’re in the command center for the Resistance and all these VPs are here with us. Which means they support the Resistance, or have in the past. Which means they really are the good guys and perhaps I don’t need to be so intimidated speaking to them. They’ll want to hear what I have to say.

I do some quick math. There are forty-two subchapters in the Moon Realm, and therefore, forty-two Vice Presidents. I quickly tick off the people around the table, not counting the non-VPs like Maia and Jonas. Thirteen. Not a lucky number, but a good number. Thirteen out of forty-two isn’t bad for a start. If these are the ones who already support the Resistance, and will agree to unite with the star dwellers, the rebellion may have some legs under it. And that’s not including any other subchapters who might be convinced. For just a minute, my heart soars, before being crushed by a slew of harsh words around the table.

“This boy has screwed over subchapter 39 more times than I care to remember, and you expect me to trust him?” a woman with a flash of red hair in a bun exclaims incredulously.

“The star dwellers are throwing grenades in the street, and you want me to join with them, and with the son of the Sun Realm President? Have you lost your mind?” shouts a short bald man whom I can barely remember from my travels.

A huge man with no neck, who looks more like a miner than a vice president, stands up and slams both fists down on the table, causing me to jerk my head back. “Blasphemy. I won’t listen to a word that Nailin says.” Right on the word Nailin, he slams both fists on the table again.

My eyes are wide and I realize I’m holding my breath. I let it out in a slow stream. Looking around the table I see mostly angry faces. The huge dude’s face is all red and I’m glad he’s all the way at the other end of the table, or I feel he might lunge across to hit me, or head butt me. Byron Gray is the only one who doesn’t look angry, but he’s not smiling anymore under his beard. As usual, Ram’s in the corner, and he is smiling, but not because he likes me, but because he likes watching me get ripped to shreds, whether by words or by fists. In this case, I think I’d rather it be fists.

Because I was thinking at the time—about how we might actually have a chance—I didn’t hear how the chaos all started, but I know I’m losing support fast, and even Morgan and Ben might abandon me soon.

Speak from your heart. In my heart, there is only darkness.

I’ll try Ben, I’ll try.

I stand up. Look around the room. “I just spoke with my father,” I say, and I hear gasps around the table.

“I knew it,” the red-haired lady mumbles.

“Not like that,” I say, my voice hard. Her eyes widen in surprise at the harshness of my tone. I hate that I’m relying on anger to get me through another hard time, but it seems the only way I can handle things lately.

“He told me he raped and murdered my best friend’s mother, that my best friend is actually my half-brother. His name is Roc, and he’s not here because he’s all alone, grieving. He won’t speak to me. I hate myself for not knowing. I hate my father for who he is, and what he’s done, not only to my friend and to me”—I glance at Ben and he nods, as if he knows exactly what I’m going to say—“but to the Moon Realm and the Star Realm. He’s raped and murdered you, too. Not actively, but passively, through his taxes and his laws, all under the guise of a government that is really a dictatorship. It ends now. Whether you let me help unite the Tri-Realms or not, I will fight to the bitter end. I will kill my father! I will kill him!”

I stop when I realize spit’s flying from my mouth and my hands are clenched at my sides so hard that they ache. Morgan’s mouth is open slightly, as if in disgust. Ben’s face is expressionless, and I know that I’ve failed him.

I shove my chair under the table and walk out.

* * *

My hands are shaking as I stride down the steps. Shaking with anger, shaking with frustration, shaking with pain at what my father did to Roc’s mom. I can’t wait any longer—I have to talk to Roc. Try to make things right, somehow.

I’m down the stairs in half the time it took to climb them. The glittering diamonds and misty falls are just a blur as I race past them, my legs churning into the water-filled tunnel. Each step is quicker than the one before it, and by the time I reach the dry part of the tunnel I’m sprinting, as if the entire sun dweller army is chasing me. But they’re not chasing me; and if they were, I wouldn’t be running. I would be standing, fighting, killing as many of them as I could before they killed me.

I’m stunned at my thoughts, numb with the pain. Who is this murderous shell of a person I’ve become?

Because I’m running, the Resistance center of operations is far smaller than I initially thought. I reach our sleeping quarters in just a couple of minutes. Sweat is dripping from my nose, my chin. My breaths are heavy and ragged. My fists are still clenched and shaking.

I open the door.

All fight goes out of me when I see Roc. He’s on his bed, just sitting there staring at his hands. His dark hair is like midnight in the gloom. As he looks up at me, his cheeks are tearstained, but not with dried salt rivers like before, but wet with new flows.

I approach him, massaging my sore hands.

He closes his eyes, angles his head down once more. Defeated. He looks defeated.

Sitting next to him, I say, “Roc, please. Talk to me.”

His eyes blaze open and he turns toward me. I was wrong. There’s no defeat in his eyes. I only see…anger. Fierce anger and pride with a hint of sadness borne by his tears. “Your father is sick,” he snarls between clenched teeth.

“I know,” I say.

“No, you don’t know! You pretend to, but you can’t. Can’t actually know how sick he is. You’ve been sheltered your entire life, protected, behind walls of marble and gourmet food and piles of Nailins! Nailins!” he scoffs. “Named after your family. Your sick, sick family.”

“Roc, you don’t mean that,” I say, the sting of his words visible all over my face.

“I do mean it. Your father stole my childhood, stole my happiness, and now he’s stolen my father from me? The man who raised me. And my mother? My poor, sweet mother who I thought I killed when I came into this world. I’ve harbored the guilt of her death my entire life and now I find out that my pain shouldn’t have been directed inward, but at the very man who hates me because I’m the one who serves him. And you tell me I don’t mean it?”

I feel like I’ve been slapped. Not because of what he’s saying about my father, but because he’s lumping me in with him, like I’m guilty by association. “I never had a choice, Roc. I never wanted to be a Nailin, never wanted a life of privilege. I left, remember? I left it all behind, and you helped me to do it. We’re supposed to be friends—no matter what. Isn’t that the way friendship is?”

And then Roc’s breaking down, his angry shoulders slumping, his head dropping into his hands, the jerk of desperate sobs wracking his body. My arm is around him in a second and he lets me pull his head into my chest. We’re two guys, two friends, but it doesn’t feel weird or awkward. I’ve loved him like a brother, and now he really is one—and I’m there for him. Will always be there for him. I can’t change the past, but I can be a part of his present, his future.

“My poor, sweet mother,” Roc sobs.

“I know, Roc. I know,” I say soothingly. I realize the anger is gone from me. I’m just Tristan again. Not the raging shell of a person I’ve been lately. Roc’s sorrow has brought me back, which makes me feel ashamed. “Roc, I hate my father for what he’s done—believe me, I want to kill him—but I can’t hate the fact that you’re my half-brother. You mean too much to me for that. I’m so sorry,” I say.

Roc’s head bobs back up, and through blurry eyes he says, “I know, Tristan. And I know you’re not like him, not like them.” I know he means my younger brother, who is becoming a clone of my father. “Your mom was the best mom I could have ever asked for,” he sniffs. “And you were—are—the best friend I could ever want.”

“Thanks, Roc,” I say, and we hug, tenderly and firmly all at the same time, which should be embarrassing, but it’s not and never could be.

When Roc pulls away there’s a question in his eyes. “Do you really want to kill your—our—father?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Roc, I think I’ve really screwed things up.”

He wipes the tears from his cheeks and waits for me to continue.

I tell him about the meeting with the “supportive” VPs. “I can’t control this anger inside me, man. It’s like the rage takes over my brain and controls what I do, what I say. I feel like if I don’t get control of it soon, it’ll destroy me, and destroy everything the Resistance is planning. It’s just…I have the urge to kill. To kill my father. To kill the sun dweller soldiers. To kill anyone who supports them. I’m afraid I’m becoming my father. Does that make sense?”

“No,” Roc says, shaking his head. “You are nothing like your father. He’s angry, but it’s cold, calculating evil. Your anger is righteous, Tristan.”

I believe him. Because he’s my brother.