Текст книги "The Star Dwellers"

Автор книги: David Estes

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“I was brought here—to the Star Realm. Locked up in the Max; the key thrown away. Dead to the world, at least in Nailin’s mind.”

“Why’d they take Dad to a different prison?” I ask.

“They knew who we were, how dangerous we were together. So they weren’t taking any chances. Perhaps they thought two of us in one place would increase the chances of a rescue attempt.”

“But why not just execute you?” I ask, swallowing hard.

My mom cocks her head to the side. “Good question, one I’ve pondered myself. The best I can come up with is that under the law all traitor executions must be well-documented and publicized. Maybe Nailin didn’t want anyone to know, because he had been so adamant that the Resistance was snuffed out years earlier.” Anticipating my next question, she rushes on. “They could have arranged a secret execution—with Nailin’s power he can do almost anything—but it’s almost like he wanted to add us to his collection, like trophies.”

I realize I don’t care why he didn’t execute them—just that he didn’t. “I’m just glad you’re alive. Then what happened?”

“When the star dwellers rebelled a few weeks ago, they opened up the prison gates and I was free. I reconnected with some members of the Resistance, joined the star dweller rebellion, and they made me a general because of my past experience.”

I’ve never heard my mother talk like this. So methodical, so soldier-like, as if she’s conveying tactical attack plans to her subordinates. I cringe when a thought pops into my head.

“All those people,” I say, unable to hide the contempt in my voice. “So many moon dwellers died from the bombings.” My mother, the compassionate one. The selfless one. The murderer?

“No, Adele, it wasn’t like that at all. Please let me explain.”

My breaths are coming rapidly, and I inhale a deep gulp of air to try to get control, to give her a chance to explain. I owe her at least that much.

“Okay,” I manage to say.

“There are seven generals. Seven, Adele. I am only one voice. Two are Resistance members, including me, and I trust my friend implicitly.”

“But what if your friend is the mole?” I ask.

“She’s not,” she says without further explanation. “The other five generals are star dweller leaders, and they maintain control of all major military decisions. I can try to sway them, but I can’t force them to do anything. I tried—tried desperately to get them to reconsider bombing the Moon Realm, but they wouldn’t listen. God, Adele, do you really think I would willingly attack our people, kill innocent men, women, and children, put your and Elsey’s lives in danger?”

A moment ago I had thought that was possible. The woman sitting next to me seems like a stranger, capable of anything. But the tone in her voice sounds like my mom, the woman I grew up with. She’s still herself, just a little different.

“I guess not,” I say.

Her eyes flick to Tawni, but then right back to me. “The best I was able to do was influence where and when we attacked. I tried to ensure the bombs hit areas that would be sparsely populated, at times when people would be closer to the protective shells of their cellars and storerooms. I made sure that when the bombing started, I was close to home.”

My head jerks up. Trevor’s words flash in my mind. 14 and 26. He wasn’t lying. “You mean…?”

“Yes. I was in subchapter 14 on the first night of bombing,” she says. Tawni looks at me, her face awash with surprise, reflecting my own shock back at me. “As commanding officer, I steered the bombing away from the residential areas, knowing full well that very few people remained in the city after dark. One of the pre-determined targets was the Pen, as the rest of the generals wanted to create as much chaos in the subchapter as possible—and they thought a pack of escaped adolescent criminals would do just the trick.”

“But that’s when we were escaping,” I say.

My mom laughs, and once again I get a glimpse of my old mom, the one who tried to make light of even the direst of situations. “Yeah, I didn’t expect that. I’d positioned the bombers such that they would only destroy the electric fence and the outer walls. I was overseeing each and every minute detail, as I didn’t want some rogue bomb technician dropping incendiaries in the center of the Pen where you might get hurt. I was hoping I might see you, might even be able to rescue you.” At that, she squeezes my hand, instantly sending warmth through my palm. My mom is touching my hand. It still hasn’t truly hit me.

“Anyway,” she continues, “we were about to begin phase one of the attacks, when one of my guys spotted movement in the Pen yard.”

“That was us,” I say.

My mom nods. “I didn’t know it was you at the time, but I wasn’t taking any chances, so I ordered one of my soldiers to zoom in using the infrared binoculars.” A vaporous thought swirls through my mind and I try to grab hold of it, but it dissipates before I can snatch it. “I’d recognize my beautiful baby any day, anywhere,” she says.

Mom! I want to object, what with her embarrassing me in front of my friend, but I don’t because her words feel so good after all this time. I smile sheepishly. “Sooo,” I say, prodding her to move it along.

“So we watched as the guards chased you, cornered you, and then I ordered my team to bomb the other side of the fence, helping you escape.”

I raise my eyebrows. “So it wasn’t just luck?”

“More like fate, really.” I’ve never heard Mom talk about fate before, but it sounds right coming off of her pink lips.

I can’t hold back a sudden frown as a thought pops into my head. “Why didn’t you rescue us then?”

“I was too far away. The rockets were shot from hundreds of feet away, on the tops of buildings. When the smoke cleared you were already gone, and we had no choice but to retreat from the subchapter.”

I manage a smile. “My mind has officially been blown,” I say.

“Ditto,” Tawni says, laughing.

My mom smiles, the twinkle back in her eyes. “Well…I’m not quite done yet.” I gawk at her like she’s an alien. “Remember the bomb that took out the Nailin boy and his men in subchapter 26?”

“Tristan?” I ask, sitting up straight.

“The other one.”

“Oh, Killen,” I say, feeling silly.

“Yeah, that one. Well, once I knew you had escaped, I tracked your progress across the Moon Realm. I knew exactly where you were headed and I managed to gain responsibility for the bombing of subchapter 26. The waiting was the worst, wondering if and when you would show up, whether you’d escape that sicko Rivet long enough for me to help you. But you did, Adele, you did, and I chipped in where I could, by using a well-aimed rocket to help you escape again. But again, I couldn’t get close enough to get you out of there. I just had to trust that once you were with your father that he would know what to do.”

I am surprised, but not as much as the last time, especially because Trevor gave us the heads-up. “I knew it wasn’t a coincidence!” I exclaim. “I wasn’t sure, but when we found the freshly singed, gaping hole in the wall of Camp Blood and Stone, I knew something was weird about it all. One time, maybe. Twice, unlikely. Three times, impossible.” My mom had been protecting me all along. My guardian angel.

Mom smiles. “That’s my girl,” she says. “You always had good instincts. You’re so much like your father.”

“He always says I’m so much like you.”

She laughs. “You’ve got both of us in you.” And for that, I’m glad. “It was hard to resist charging in with the cavalry to rescue your father, but it wasn’t part of the plan and would have been too suspicious. I had to trust you’d do what I could not.”

“We need to go meet up with Dad,” I say.

Her laugh quickly turns serious again. “Thank you for coming here,” she says, “for finding me, but I need you and your friend”—she motions to Tawni, pausing as if trying to remember her name—“Tawni, to stay here in the Star Realm with some of my guards. The Moon Realm is too dangerous right now, and you need to stay safe.”

What? No! Heat floods my face. I don’t want to sound like a child, but we’ve come too far, been through too much, to just be left at home, safe in our beds. We are a part of this, for better or worse. I can’t speak for Tawni, but I will for myself. “I’m coming with you,” I say firmly.

“And me,” Tawni echoes, her eyes shining with determination. Glancing at her, I consider trying to talk her out of it, but who am I to tell her what to do after everything she’s done for me?

I wait for the rebuttal, but it never comes. Instead my mom laughs. “How did I guess you would say that? Well, I thought I’d give it a try anyway, can’t fault me for that, can you?”

I cock my head to the side, smirking. Who is this woman?

“You can both be listed on the star dweller army rolls as my personal aides,” she says. I’m still smirking.

“Nice try, Mom. I want to fight.”

“Aide sounds pretty good to me,” Tawni says, her face flushed.

My mom nods at Tawni absently, accepting her as her personal aide. Looking back at me, she says, “One problem. If you want to fight against the Sun Realm, you’ll have to join the star dweller army for now.”

“Never!” I blurt out, anger rising within me. “Not after what they did to the moon dwellers. They took it too far. Much too far.”

“Hear me out. A lot has happened since you showed up on our doorstep. As of yesterday, the generals have agreed to a cease-fire, pending talks with the moon dweller leaders. They may be able to reach an agreement and join forces, and then it will be us against the Sun Realm.”

“And if they don’t reach an agreement?” I say.

“We have to trust that Ben…that your dad, and Tristan, can convince the moon dwellers to join us.”

Tristan.Dad. Elsey. My desire to see them again springs up so quickly it takes my breath away. I swallow it back down. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I say. “But I won’t fight the moon dwellers.”

“I know. If it comes to that, we’ll figure something out together.”

The tension leaves my body and I manage a crooked smile. “Sounds good. Is there any way we can contact Dad now? He doesn’t even know that I’ve found you.”

My mom’s expression turns grim. “I’ve been thinking about that too. I can’t come up with anything. All the comms from this place are being monitored by the star dweller army. The generals get reports on any suspicious contact with the other realms. Everyone’s worried about spies. We’ll just have to wait for Ben to get in touch with us.”

“I can wait a little longer,” I say.

Mom’s head jerks up suddenly, as if she’s just remembered something, or had an idea. “If you’re going to join the rebels, you’ll need this,” she says, reaching behind her and pulling out something L-shaped and black.

My mom gives me a gun. I stare at it like I don’t know what it is. I ready myself, knowing I am about to wake up from a dream. Soon I’ll wake up in my cell back in the Pen. No, farther back than that. At home, with my mom cooking stew, my father cleaning the dirt off his hands and face from another hard day in the mines. A time and place when my father taught me to fight just for fun and my mom didn’t have a gun.

Chapter Ten

Tristan

We’re all back in our little room. Roc and Elsey and me. Resting and recovering. Both from subchapter 26 and from Ram’s less-than-warm welcome.

Ben loaned me Anna’s diary and I’m flipping through it randomly, feeling the emotions of Year Zero through her. It was a hard time for everyone, but especially for the kids who were adopted by the survivors. Her new family didn’t care about her the way her biological family had. She was a chore, a responsibility, someone they had to feed and clothe. That’s all.

There was chaos that first year. Everyone was reliant on the government to provide their meals, their housing, their clothing. People worked hard, but they were only allowed to do the things that the government told them they could do. Maybe that level of structure was necessary back then, but things haven’t changed that much. Things need to change and if I can help people to realize that, then who am I to fight it?

“Oh my word, Roc! Is that Tawni?” Elsey exclaims, pulling my concentration away from the diary.

Roc’s blushing, his brown skin darkening under Elsey’s scrutiny. “What? Uh, no. It’s just a drawing.”

“What kind of drawing?” I say, leaning at the edge of my bed, craning my neck to see what they’re looking at. Roc tilts the paper away from me, so all I can see are his hands against the white back of the page.

“It’s nothing.” The way he says it, I know it’s not nothing.

“It’s beautiful, Roc,” Elsey disagrees, nodding encouragingly. Huh? Roc drew something beautiful. I’ve never seen him draw anything at all. I’ve got to see this.

Hopping off my bed, I grab for the drawing, but Roc pulls away, bumping Elsey, who’s sitting next to him on his bed. “Go, Elsey, go!” he says, handing off the paper to her like a baton, urging her forward.

She leaps from the bed. Traitor. I charge after her, corner her on the other side of her own bed. I fake like I’m going to go around one side and she squeals, moving to the other side. I go the other way and she spins and heads back the way she came. By the time I reach the other side, she’s moved to where I was originally and is giggling uncontrollably.

I grin at her. “Okay, okay, let’s make a deal,” I say.

“No deals!” Roc cries from the bed, where he’s watching from his hands and knees.

“No deals!” Elsey echoes. Roc’s got her wrapped around his little finger. I never knew he was so good with kids. Then again, I never knew he could draw either. Although until I get my hands on that drawing I won’t be able to confirm his drawing ability.

I leap across the bed.

As I soar through the air I see El’s eyes widen—she’s frozen, too surprised to run. I grab her around the waist with one arm and lift her in the air, using the other arm to tickle her. Her laugh is melodious and carefree and beautiful. As I planned, the tickling not only makes her laugh, but forces her hands open as she clutches her stomach, where I’m tickling her. The drawing flutters to the floor and I plop her onto the bed and grab it. “Aha!” I cry, making her laugh even more. “Teaches you to join his side,” I say.

Roc’s leaning back on his bed, his expression unreadable. It’s almost like he wants me to see his drawing, but is embarrassed about it at the same time. Using the palm of my hand, I smooth the paper, which has become marginally wrinkled, curling up around the edges. When I look at it, my eyes widen like sauce plates, and I glance at Roc, who scrunches up his nose slightly.

It’s the face of an angel, sketched with charcoal. Long, white hair. Full, pretty lips and a small graceful chin line. High cheekbones. She’s smiling the most natural smile, like it comes easily to her. The drawing is magnificent, an artist’s painting, not just a quick sketch by an amateur. The likeness is so well done that I can tell without a doubt that it’s Tawni.

The only strange thing: the face has no eyes. Not holes or dots or ovals or anything. Her eyebrows are there, thin and white, but it’s just blank paper beneath them.

I look at Roc, then back at the drawing, then to Roc once more. “You drew this?” I say, already knowing the answer to my question.

Roc nods lightly, his lips curling up at one end. “I’ve always liked drawing,” he says, by way of explanation.

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

“It’s magnificent,” I say, using the same word I thought in my head when I first saw it.

“Thanks…” Roc says slowly, as if waiting for the but.

“But…” I say, pausing.

Roc laughs. “Here it comes.”

“But it’s Tawni…and she has no eyes.”

Roc just shrugs. Seems I’m going to have to push a bit more if I want to get anything out of him.

“Why’d you draw Tawni?”

The blush is back, so I don’t need him to actually answer me.

“You’ve got a crush on her?” I say, my eyes lighting up.

“No—nothing like that!” Roc protests. “I just thought she’d make a good subject.”

“Yeah, right.” Payback time. Ever since I opened up to Roc about my desire to get to know Adele, he’s given me a hard time about how I have a crush on her. My turn. “What’s next, a drawing with you and her holding hands, sitting on the edge of a cave, making out?”

“Roc and Tawni, in the cave next to meee! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Elsey sings helpfully, cracking me up and making Roc tuck his head into his hands.

“I knew I shouldn’t have drawn her,” Roc mumbles. “I’ll never live it down.”

“No, no, it’s cool, Roc. Really cool, actually. Both that you are an amazing artist, and that you have a thing for Tawni.” I say it earnestly, because I really mean it. I certainly enjoy giving him a hard time occasionally, but more than anything I want him to find happiness in our unhappy world. “Question, though: Why doesn’t she have any eyes?”

“Because she doesn’t see me,” Roc says evenly.

Right away I feel bad that I made fun of him. Darn him for doing that. The beauty of his sketch prevents me from even enjoying the satisfaction of paying him back for all his jokes.

“I’ll bet she noticed you,” Elsey says. “It was just a hard time for everyone.”

“You are so wise sometimes, pipsqueak,” Roc says, smiling at El. “Get over here.”

Elsey charges over and gives Roc a big hug. My eyes are watery but I hide it well. I can’t trust Roc to cut me any slack just because I did the same for him. “Group hug!” I yell, barreling over and jumping on them, smashing them like the pancakes Roc used to serve me for breakfast in the morning.

Elsey shrieks and Roc groans and I laugh. When I release them I say, “You got any other talents I don’t know about, man?”

“I think that’s about it,” Roc says, grinning.

“Can you show us how you do it?” I ask. I can still hardly believe how talented he is. I never actually saw his servant’s room back in the Sun Realm—we usually hung out in my vast apartment—but now I picture it with walls covered in Roc’s artwork. Pictures of the Sun Realm, the Moon Realm, the Star Realm. All the places we visited—the people we saw. A history of our lives, perhaps.

Roc shrugs and turns the paper over, leans on a sturdy rectangle of slate he got from somewhere. I sit on the bed next to him and Elsey leans in from the other side.

Roc deftly handles the charcoal pencil with ease, like he’s been doing it his whole life, probably because he has. At first his drawing is just lines and random bits of shading, brought together in a way that seems abstract, almost pointless. After ten minutes I’m thinking he’s a fraud.

But then with just a couple of effortless strokes the drawing starts to take shape. A person—a woman—sitting under a tree, holding a book. Tucked under her arms are two children, boys. One has brown skin and dark hair, the other white skin and light hair. The tree is majestic, with a huge trunk and sturdy, rising branches full of leaves. The woman is smiling as she reads to the boys, and I can almost hear her voice. A voice from my childhood—from our childhood. A memory is unleashed in my mind and I’m transported to a better time, a better place. A happy place:

Bright light from the artificial sun shines through my stained-glass window, sending brilliant red and blues and greens dancing across the white-painted stone walls. I should be up already, but I’m still groggy from yesterday’s late-night festivities. It was my eighth birthday, and my mom let me stay up till midnight. Last night I was happy, but today I’m sad. Because today is Roc’s eighth birthday. The day he becomes a man. My father calls it the age of accountability, which for me is awesome, because I get to stay up later, start real sword training, and brag to my brother about how I’m a man now.

But for a kid born into a servant family, like Roc, turning eight means no more fun, no more playing, time to work. Today he’s my best friend, my playmate, like a brother to me; and tomorrow he’ll be my servant, charged with cleaning my armor after training, serving me my meals, answering my every beck and call. Father sat me down and explained everything. Roc has to call me sir, and he can’t laugh around me. We can’t joke around, or play tricks on my brother, Killen, or do anything fun together. No more friendship, no more brotherhood. So I’m sad.

I slip out of bed and pad down the white, stone hallway. The lights are on in the presidential house, making the place feel bright and cheery. In the Sun Realm, things always seem bright and cheery. Roc said he hears his dad talking about the other Realms sometimes. That they aren’t bright…or cheery. That he and Roc are lucky to be living up here, even if only as servants. That the Moon and Star Realms are dreary and not a place you’d want to visit—not even for a day. All that just makes Roc and me want to visit the other Realms even more. But I’m not even sure I believe him. Roc can be a bit of a fibber sometimes, but I don’t mind.

The long dining table is empty when I arrive. Everyone else had to stick to the schedule, and they have long since finished their breakfast. But not me, not today. Because of my birthday, and because of Roc’s. My mom’s orders.

I even take a risk and sit down at one end of the table, instead of in the middle like I’m supposed to. I sit impatiently, sliding the bottoms of my socked feet against the floor as I swing my legs. A minute later I feel a tap on my right shoulder and I swing my head around to catch the culprit. No one’s there. Someone snorts to my left, a clear attempt to disguise a laugh. Roc.

I turn sharply to the left, wrenching my elbow to the side and behind me. “Oomf!” Roc hollers, as my bony elbow cracks him in the shoulder. Now it’s my turn to laugh. Roc may be a better prankster, but I’ll beat him in a fight any day.

Roc is rubbing his bruised shoulder, but his brown-skinned face isn’t angry—he knows he had it coming. He’s even sort of grinning, but wincing too, like he wants to laugh but is in too much pain to do it properly. What a dork.

He sits down next to me, still massaging his shoulder. “You should have seen your face,” he says. “You were like, ‘what the heck!’”

“Like you can talk,” I say, pointing at his pained expression.

We are interrupted when one of the servant girls brings us our breakfasts. She’s one of my father’s personal servants, blond-haired and blue-eyed, with legs that are longer than my whole body, and big bumps on her chest. Roc calls them her pillows and they’re way bigger than my mom’s. She looks like what I think an elf would look like, except a whole lot taller, if there even are elves anymore. I’m not sure what she helps my father with, but it must be important.

We devour our breakfasts without speaking, occasionally flicking bits of food at each other with our forks and laughing. Good old Roc. My best friend. At least for one more day.

We hurry off to find my mom. It isn’t hard because she’s always in the palace gardens, and we find her at her favorite spot, sitting with her back against the biggest tree in all the Tri-Realms, with a thick trunk and gnarled branches that are perfect for climbing. She tells me she loves the gardens because they’re peaceful, away from all the politics and hubbub of the government buildings. I like that word, hubbub—it sounds funny when you say it.

When my mom speaks of the gardens it’s all about the beauty of nature and the serenity—which I think means peaceful—of wasting away the day dreaming on the lawn. When my father speaks of the gardens all he cares about is how smart his engineers are who figured out how to make artificial sun powerful enough to grow plants underground. My parents are so different.

My mom looks sad when I first see her, her eyes wrinkled and tired, and her mouth thin and drooped. But as soon as she spots us, her eyes come alive and sparkle—prettier than the flowers that dot the gardens, prettier than Father’s servant girls, prettier than anything—erasing the weary lines underneath them. Her mouth sprouts wings and curls into a smile that warms my heart and soul. “Tristan, Roc—I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid I’d have to tell myself stories all day. And that can get pretty boring. Plus they’d probably lock me up for insanity.” My mom’s smile somehow manages to get bigger as she talks.

I crack up and Roc giggles next to me. The thought of Mom sitting there talking to herself seems funny for some reason. “You can tell us the stories,” I say, right away taking control of things.

My mom ignores me and looks at Roc. “It’s your birthday, kiddo, so it’s up to you.”

That’s just the way my mom is. She treats both Roc and me like sons, which is probably why I think of him as a brother. I wonder what will happen tomorrow, when he’s not my brother anymore.

Roc’s brown eyes light up in a way they only do when my mom’s around, and he says, “I’d love a story. For my birthday.”

Mom gestures with her arms and we sit next to her, one on each side. She pulls us in close to her shoulders, kisses us each on the forehead, and says, “Once upon a time, when humans lived aboveground…”

We dream the rest of the day away in the gardens, me, Roc, and my mom. It is a perfect day and I know it’s probably the last one I’ll ever have.

The daydream fades away and I blink twice, trying to come back to the real world. I glance sheepishly at Roc, who’s still drawing, and Elsey, who’s still entranced in the elegance of Roc’s pencil-strokes. They didn’t even notice I was gone for a few minutes.

The woman looks different now, like my mom, but not. Well, half of her is the spitting image of my mom—I’d know her anywhere—and the other half is like a different person. It is a different person, I realize.

“Who…?” I murmur absently.

“My mom,” Roc replies, finishing off the second half of her nose. She’s brown-skinned, like Roc, but darker, with firm, toned muscles and full lips. She’s every bit as beautiful as my mom, and they look right together, even when combined to make one person.

My heart does a backflip. Because she died giving birth to him, Roc’s never met his mother. My dad didn’t believe in taking photos of servants, so Roc didn’t have the luxury of a photo to guide his hand, but somehow I know that the picture of his mom in his head is the right one, perfect in every way.

Like when Ben showed me Anna’s diary, I feel so selfish again. Since my mom’s disappearance, I’ve felt like my whole world is falling apart, and yet Roc has lived without a mom for his entire life. And as a servant, while I didn’t want for anything.

Now in this simple drawing, I feel the breadth of his emotions pouring from the page. His love for my mom, his living mother. And his love for his real mom, the one he never met but wants to know.

His pencil is down and we’re all just staring at his drawing, as if it might come to life and start talking to us. “It’s perfect,” Elsey says.

“Yes,” I agree. “Simply perfect.” Roc’s smile is worth every word.