Текст книги "The Moon Dwellers"
Автор книги: David Estes
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
“I knew you would come!” Elsey exclaims. “Big John kept telling me I was crazy, that you were stuck in the Pen forever, but I always said he was wrong, even when he called me names. I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Of course, but there’ll be time to talk about all that later. We’ve got to go.”
“But I’ve got to say bye to Ranna!”
“There’s not time, El, I’m sor—”
I am cut off when Ranna tears around the corner, hissing, “Miss Death is coming!”
Elsey seems to understand the urgency of the situation. With a conviction that has been her trademark for all ten years of her short life, she hugs Ranna, pulling her friend’s head into her heart. “I’ll never forget you, Ranna,” she says. “Our hearts are one.” If you don’t know Elsey you’d think she was crazy. But that is just Elsey. Everything is dramatic, although in this case it is probably warranted.
“I’ll never forget you either,” Ranna parrots, like a miniature version of El.
I grab El’s hand and we run back down the alley. Tawni is already over the wall and Cole is waiting to give Elsey a boost. We follow closely, hearing a cry from behind just as we slip over to the other side. Miss Doom, or Death, or whatever, I think.
“Quick, I know a shortcut,” Elsey says, running in the opposite direction we’re planning on going, simply assuming that we’ll follow her. We do.
And it is a good thing, because at that moment I hear a yell from far back, out on the street where we’d been heading. I half-turn, curious as to who is pursuing us.
I’d recognize that demented face anywhere: Rivet.
Chapter Twelve
Tristan
They say the meteor was the size of Texas. Any life left on the surface of the earth when it hit was wiped out by either the shockwave caused by the collision, or the resulting tsunamis unleashed across the world’s oceans. Humans were forced to move underground.
Secretly, government scientists expected it for years, using covert teams of miners to dig the world’s largest caverns in preparation for the inevitable. But still: There wasn’t room for everyone. It would’ve been terrible: the Lottery. Families ripped apart; friends lost; blossoming relationships cut off at the knees. Of course, key individuals, like politicians, doctors, scientists, and farmers received a free pass, but all others just got a number. The number gave them a one in a hundred chance of getting selected to move into the underground facilities.
All the rest were destroyed.
And that was just the United States. No one knows for sure what happened to the rest of the world. Perhaps they weren’t so prepared. Perhaps they were all dead.
Year Zero would have been difficult for everyone. Losing relatives who didn’t make the cut; eating from the rations of rice and beans and hoping it wouldn’t run out before the leaders and their teams of advisors could come up with a way to grow food underground; most people becoming miners; living in darkness.
Now all of that is just a part of everyday life.
These days, time is measured from the day the meteor hit. It is 499 PM (Post-Meteor). Time before Armageddon is referred to as Before-Meteor, or BM. The funny thing about Armageddon: we survived. Well, some of us anyway.
Year Zero’s first president was Stafford Hughes. Things were run much like before Armageddon, albeit in a slightly more haphazard manner. The U.S. Constitution was upheld, laws were revised as required for our new living situation, new laws were created.
But it didn’t last. It couldn’t last.
Things were too different. People were too scared. There was too much chaos.
More structure was required.
The first Nailin was elected to president in 126 PM. His name was Wilfred Nailin. He was my great-great (and a lot more greats) grandfather. At that point elections were still held regularly. Congress decided that given the state of America, elections should be held every five years instead of four, with the opportunity for reelection after the first term. But Wilfred wasn’t satisfied with ten years in power, so after his first reelection he pushed a law through Congress that allowed for a third presidential term, but only if supported by the people, of course. There were rumors of ballot-rigging. After his second reelection, he passed a law that allowed him to remain in power indefinitely, assuming he obtained approval from Congress every five years. At the same time he passed a law that allowed Senators and Representatives to maintain their elected positions indefinitely, unless the President released them from service. It was a circular system, one where bribery and deep pockets ruled. Who you knew meant much more than what you knew.
The people had lost their voice.
That wasn’t the end of it.
Wilfred’s next move was to secure his family’s future. He had one son, Edward Nailin. With the full support of Congress, Wilfred managed to pass a law that allowed positions to be handed down from generation to generation within each family, so long as Congress and the President unanimously approved it. Public elections continued to be held, but they were fixed so that no new contenders could infiltrate the inner circle of the government, which was holding all the cards.
It worked for a while. In fact, people seemed to like the more rigid and consistent structure. Soon, however, the gap started to widen between the classes. The wealthy began to take more and more liberties, much to the middle and lower classes’ frustration. The complaints started pouring in from those who were being disadvantaged, but they were largely ignored. It got to the point where fights were breaking out in the streets. “Elected” officials couldn’t walk down the street without being accosted by the poor and depressed. Something had to be done!
The Tri-Realms were created from 215 PM to 255 PM. First the Moon Realm was excavated, using the advancements in mining technology to create massive caverns deep beneath the original caverns, to build more cities in. Natural caves were used as a starting point, widened and heightened to the extensive size required to house thousands of people. Heavy beams of rock were used to support the caverns’ roofs, which were prone to cave-ins. Middle and lower class citizens were used to do the work, having been convinced by large salaries and the opportunity to “advance our civilization for the good of humankind.”
Once the caverns were complete, the workers were forced to take their families to live in them. Then the work on the Star Realm began, digging even deeper below the earth’s surface. Fewer resources were allocated to excavating the Star Realm, and therefore, the caverns were smaller, more confined, more densely populated. The poorest citizens were sent to live in the deepest caverns.
Each of the Tri-Realms was split up into eight chapters, and each chapter into between two and six subchapters depending on its size, each of which was populated by between ten and a hundred thousand people.
Over time, taxes were increased annually for the moon and star dwellers, as those living in the Moon and Star Realms were called, until the Sun Realm was receiving significant resources to improve their own caverns. Life was good for the sun dwellers. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for anyone else.
The U.S. Constitution was legally abolished in 302 PM.
A Nailin has been in power for more than 350 years.
My father told my brother and me the whole story when we turned twelve. I still remember the smug smile on his face when he finished. He is proud of what Wilfred accomplished.
I am disgusted by it. Sometimes I think about it, and it makes me sick. Like now.
Roc and I have been walking for over an hour, making our way to a spot on the map. We hope it will give us a shot at finding her.
It is the middle of the night. We are tired. Neither of us speaks as we force ourselves to put one foot in front of the other, time and time again, trudging onwards.
Through the first part of the suburbs, people are out of their houses, wearing sleeping tunics or just boxer shorts, watching the fireworks in the distance, speaking in hushed voices. They are so transfixed by the scene before them that they barely pay us any attention. We are just a couple of wandering nomads.
After a while we see fewer and fewer people, as the explosions dull to a distant rumble, not loud enough to wake the sleeping. We march on, passing through a ritzy neighborhood—at least by moon dweller standards—with bigger houses and well-kept streets. Whoever lives in this neighborhood has done something to please my father, that’s for sure.
We transition into a lonely slum, littered with garbage in the streets and cracked sidewalks. It is a bit scary, to be honest. Even when I visit the Star Realm, I stay in the finest they have to offer, not really seeing the true living conditions. Without speaking, Roc and I pick up the pace, moving swiftly through the slums.
We pass a lonely orphanage, named The Forgotten Kids. True, but a bit pessimistic, especially for the kids. It is weird to think how different my own childhood was. In a way, I was forgotten, too. Growing up, I was always the last of my father’s priorities. He always had something very important to attend to. I guess no matter what conditions you live in, you always have complaints—your bar is just set at a different height.
We make it through the slums without event. The map shows at least twenty miles of sparsely populated terrain. Within it is a network of caves called the Lonely Caverns. But we are far too tired to attempt it tonight. We find a couple of large boulders and seek shelter behind them, rolling out our bedrolls and hoping for sleep.
I doze fitfully, having alternating nightmares of explosions rocking the night, and sweet dreams of the girl’s face, her hand reaching out to me, her lips seeking mine.
I awake to find Roc sitting up, studying the map.
“Morning,” he says, noticing my movement in his peripheral vision.
I notice that he doesn’t add good to the beginning of his greeting. I guess compared to our normal breakfast routine—Roc bringing me fine meats and fruits in bed, and then me sharing it all with him—there isn’t much good about this morning. All we have to eat are dried fruits and nuts, and a few blocks of thick wafers, which we managed to steal from the army storehouse before we left. And the change from our soft palace beds—ugh. Splinters of pain shoot through my back, the consequence of the dozens of sharp rocks beneath my bedroll. I shrug it off and focus on the positive.
“Good morning,” I reply cheerfully. For, despite our modest breakfast and sleeping situation, I am ecstatic. In fact, I have never been happier. For the first time in my life I’ve woken up without the weight of my father on my shoulders. And I am doing something I want to do. I know it is selfish, but my whole life I’ve been doing whatever my father asks of me, and I desperately need a chance to live my own life. Even if it is only for…well, only for…
“A girl?” Roc says into his map.
My head snaps up from our pack, where I’m rummaging for food. How does he do that? I think. How does he always seem to know exactly what I’m thinking? “Huh?” I say, trying to hide my amazement.
“Are we seriously risking our lives all for a girl? One who you’ve never met?”
Roc’s tone sounds angry. “I’m sorry, Roc. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but—”
“No, it’s fine, Tristan,” Roc says, finally making eye contact with me. “I volunteered, remember? I’m just a little tense, that’s all—not used to all this dangerous stuff. If you feel something for her, then she’s worth it. I just wish she’d stop and let us catch her.” He grins and the tension melts away, but I’m not sure if the discussion is really resolved.
“Thanks,” I say. “Think of it as part of your training. A very real part of your training. How about we practice with the real swords for a while? It might make you more confident.”
“Sure.”
For the next hour I show him the subtleties of using a real sword. By the end, he seems more confident, performing the various maneuvers with ease. It’s just the basics, but it’s a start.
“What time is it?” I ask suddenly when there is a break in the action.
I don’t bother to look at my watch. Usually Roc is responsible for dragging me to anywhere I need to be.
Roc says, “Early afternoon. Why?”
“We should get moving,” I say, worried that we have tarried in our hideaway for too long.
“First we need to find out more about our quarry,” Roc says. “Remember Chip’s and Anna’s advice?”
“Who’s Anna?” I ask.
“The lady who led us down to that cellar. Well, I don’t really know her name—she never told us—but I thought she was deserving of a name anyway, so we don’t forget her.”
Funny Roc. But he is right, of course. We have no idea where she might be headed—we are just guessing at this point.
“Okay, let’s move along the edge of the caverns. Maybe there will be a shop or something where we can find a telebox.”
We travel for more than two hours before we come to a large cave mouth, near the southern entrance to the Lonely Caverns. Sure enough, there is a small stone shack with a stand, set up just outside the caves. A middle-aged man with a long, salt-and-pepper beard dozes in a hammock, an unlit pipe dangling from his chapped lips.
All around him are piles of goods, some used, some new. All for sale. It seems a bit out of the way for a shop, but he has plenty of inventory, so I assume he gets some business. There is also a decent selection of preserved food, like dried meats and fruits.
As we slalom through the piles of stuff, I hear the low murmur of a voice. I head toward the sound. At the very back of the yard, sitting on a table, is a small telebox. It is hard to believe the man has sufficient electricity to operate a telebox, and yet, there it is, broadcasting the news.
I move closer, tilting my ear to pick up the low volume, when I hear a booming voice from behind. “What can I do for ya!?”
I spin around to find the man standing close to us, much smaller than his voice suggests. He eyes us warily, as if he thinks we’re thieves looking to capitalize on his midday slumber.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” I say. “We didn’t want to wake you. We were hoping to watch your telebox for a few minutes, if that’s okay? We’ve heard lots of rumors about the bombings, but we wanted to hear it for ourselves.”
“Customers only,” he says, pointing to a sign above the telebox that I hadn’t noticed.
“Of course, of course,” I say. “We have Nailins.” I motion to Roc, who promptly unzips the pack and extracts a handful of gold coins.
The man’s eyes widen. “Who the hell are you?” he asks.
“Customers,” I say simply. “Now, we’ll take ten packs of those dried meats and twenty of the fruit. What will that cost?”
“Usually my customers just barter,” the man says, almost to himself, “but I guess that would be about five Nailins.”
“Give him ten,” I instruct Roc. “For the exemplary service and use of the telebox.”
I turn my attention back to the screen. I massage a knob to raise the volume, not worried about the man’s reaction. He will probably let me to do anything I want after the tip he just received.
We’ve already missed the latest report on the bombing, which, not surprisingly, is the lead story. But a close second is the report on the guests who escaped from the Pen. First they show a guy, Cole something, large and dark-skinned. In his mug shot he appears angry, which isn’t that surprising considering he was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison. The thought of the moon dweller girl traveling with him scares me. The report notes that the Cole character has no family left and therefore, he’ll probably try to get out of the subchapter.
Next they show a girl named Tawni, with stark white hair and long, thin features. I recognize her immediately as the girl who was sitting next to the green-eyed girl the first time I saw her. Tawni is painted by the media as a good kid who made some bad choices, the latest being her choice of companions in the escape from the Pen. Her parents are prominent, wealthy figures in the subchapter 14 community. They show a photo of her house.
“Oh my gosh,” Roc says, watching over my shoulder, “we passed right by her house last night!”
I glance at him. “You think they might’ve been hiding out with her parents?”
“Possibly,” Roc says.
“We’ll check it out before we go into the caves.”
Finally they show her. Her sad, green eyes suddenly fill the screen, and then the rest of her features follow as they pan out of the strange choice of close-up. I was right. Green eyes. I don’t know how I knew. But I did.
Her face is flawless. Her lips are in a tight line, but behind them I can feel the warmth of a smile that hasn’t been used in a long time. Her cheeks are pale, but well-constructed. Her hair is radiant black, cascading down from her head and in front of her shoulders. Not only beautiful, she looks capable, a more important trait in the world she lives in.
And she has a name! For the few days since I’d first seen her, she’s just been a face, an idea, but now the name Adele Rose shivers through my mind and body like the wings on a moth. Adele and Tristan. Tristan and Adele. Like the love-struck schoolboy that I am, our names flit through my head idiotically. I don’t even know her, I remind myself, trying to be sensible.
She was in the Pen for treason, although the report doesn’t provide any details on what she had done specifically. Her parents are noted as traitors, too, but no information is given on their whereabouts, and one can only assume that they’ve been executed in accordance with the law. But I know differently. She has a sister, too, ten years old and living out her childhood in an orphanage in a rough part of town. A slum. The slums.
Roc and I look at each other at the same time. “She’s headed for the orphanage,” I say as Roc nods vigorously. “Maybe already there and gone.”
“You don’t know that. We have to check,” Roc says.
“Let’s go.”
Roc settles up with the shop owner and shoves the food into our pack. I am already halfway down the path, back the way we came. The lights above the majestic cavern are dimming, simulating the impending darker gray of dusk. I feel a warmth in my skin, although there is a chill in the air. I think it is the warmth of determination. Although I was determined before, now that I know her name, it is like she has finally become real to me, more than just a dream or a boyish fantasy.
Roc catches up with me at a slight jog and I immediately match my pace to his. We make our way back to where we camped, hoping we’ll be able to find safe passage into the slums. The news story motivates us, and we make it back in half the time. Just as the large boulders we’d camped behind appear in the distance, we hear the scurry of frantic footsteps approaching from the path that leads to the slums.
“Down!” I cry, not that either of us need to hear it. We are both already diving for the rocks, flattening ourselves and crawling behind the biggest stones we can find on the barren landscape.
Just as we hide, a form bursts from behind a large boulder, racing along the track dangerously fast. He is big, man-size, dark. A second shape emerges, with white, flowing hair and long strides. Big, dark-skinned guy, white-haired girl: it doesn’t take a mining engineer to figure out who they are.
I hold my breath, watching the entrance to the slums, hoping and praying she will emerge. No, not she—Adele. I am shocked when the third figure scrapes from the path, short legs pumping wildly, dark hair pulled into a ponytail. My first thought is: she’s much shorter in person. But then I realize my mistake when a fourth figure appears.
There is no mistaking her this time. Athletic strides, fiercely determine expression, piercing green eyes—it is Adele. My heart flutters.
My mind is a black hole; my heart is a stallion. The stallion in me wants to jump up, say, “I’m here, and I’d love to meet you!” but thankfully my mind’s black hole implodes upon itself, evaporating and returning clarity of thought.
The orphanage. Her sister. A small girl who resembles Adele. It is clear what has happened. They’ve broken her out. And the way they are running—like the wolves of hell have been unchained behind them—means that someone is chasing them. Enforcers perhaps. Or orphanage security, if there even is such thing.
Wrong and wrong.
The Devil himself emerges behind her, running with purpose, perfectly balanced and efficiently functioning, like a machine. A very evil machine. I know that face, that form, all too well. Rivet. The best of my father’s special purpose unit. And the most evil. The most like my father. He is chasing my Adele. Or at least Adele; I still have to ask her about the my part.
Behind him is the rest of his unit: half a dozen special forces personnel with big guns and sharp swords. Death on twelve feet.
Adele and her friends look like they might turn toward us, but then they veer left, up a slight rock hill, heading for the mouth of one of the Lonely Caves.
Rivet is gaining.
Without thinking, I stand up and run hard, cutting the distance between them like a knife, willing my legs to fly. My hand draws my sword instinctually, using small movements to conserve strength. My heart is pounding, not from the urgency of the run, but because I know Adele is so close, and yet she might never know I am even here. I hear footsteps behind me and know right away that Roc has my back. He and I both know he’ll be no match for the highly trained soldiers, but he is my friend—a true friend—and he will go down fighting, whether to the grave or to a prison cell. Just like me.
Rivet is like a heat-seeking missile: Such is the intensity in his venomous eyes and the way his stare is locked on Adele that he doesn’t even see me coming. One of his men shouts something as I approach, but he ignores it, thinking it is just a standard war cry, an adrenaline-induced whoop! of the chase.
When a collision grows imminent, I lower my shoulder and target his chest. The timing is perfect.
I hit Rivet just before he starts up the hill, ensuring his momentum hasn’t lessened whatsoever, creating a human shockwave that sends tremors through both our bones. But I am the aggressor in the collision, and I am ready for it, so he takes the worst of it by far. He is knocked off course, his feet momentarily leaving the rock and his body contorting awkwardly in midflight until he thuds onto a hard slab of rock more than fifteen feet away.
There are people who, if hit that hard, at that speed, might die. Unfortunately, Rivet isn’t one of them. Not even close. He is pure strength, sporting more muscle around his fingers and toes than most people have in their biceps, back, or abdomen. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but not too far from the truth. Plus, he is wearing a thin layer of moldable body armor. The hit would’ve hurt, but to Rivet, pain is pleasure, all part of the game.
I glance up the slope to see if she’s gotten away okay. To my surprise she is at the top gazing down, watching my fight with Rivet. I want to run to her, to embrace her, to tell her what I’ve been feeling. But that is madness. Rivet will just kill us both. I need to give her time. It is the hardest thing in the world to push her away.
“Adele!” I scream. “Run!” I don’t have a chance to see if she listens to me, because I sense movement to my left.
The sick puppy is on his feet and drawing his sword before I even have a chance to say nanny nanny boo boo! which is probably good because it would just make him even angrier.
As it is, he is angry enough, charging me like a steamroller. Dong! The impact of his blade on mine jars my teeth, threatening to dislodge each and every one of them. His next swipe nearly takes off my head, but I manage to duck at the last minute.
Roc reaches my side, and I use one of my arms to thrust him behind me, out of danger. He has improved steadily during our training sessions, but he isn’t ready for the big leagues.
Rivet’s men surround us, jeering and taunting as their boss and I circle each other. Roc is like my unattached tail, hovering behind my butt. I look into Rivet’s eyes, hoping for some indication of mercy. I see only death. I am a good fighter, but it is too much. There are just too many of them. We are both going to die, and I haven’t even spoken to Adele. The only satisfaction I have is that I’ve given her a slim chance to escape.
Ziiiip! Something whirrs through the air, sounding odd next to the raucous cries of Rivet’s men. “ARGH!” one of the men roars. Rivet and I both risk a glance away from each other to see what is happening. A large guy with a patch over one eye is slumped to his knees and clutching his heart. A sixteen-inch shaft protrudes from his left breast, finned at the end. Blood dribbles from his mouth as he dies.
A chorus of zips and whirrs fills the air as arrows rain down on us. Realizing we are under attack by a seemingly deadlier foe than Rivet, I grab Roc and thrust him down, falling next to him flat. Cries of pain echo through the cavern as each of Rivet’s guards is taken out by precision targeting. Not one arrow so much as grazes our skin. They aren’t shooting at us—at least not yet.
I hunt for Rivet, but he is gone, either having lurked off or dove for cover somewhere. It is too much to hope that he’s been killed along with his men. I scan the bodies anyway, looking for their leader. He isn’t amongst the dead. I finally spot him by pure luck, as a stray beam of dome light catches the tip of his sword as he skulks off, escaping over a rock embankment and back toward the slums.
I stay down, preferring not to be mistaken for one of Rivet’s men.
Our saviors approach, their faces cloaked in shadow by dark-brimmed hats. Most of them clutch bows, cocked and ready to kill, while others have swords, like us.
The leader stands over me, his sword pointed close to my chin.
“I’ll be damned,” he says. “If it ain’t Prince Nailin himself. If I hadn’t heard the news this mornin’, I’d never have believed it. You’ll make a pretty prize for the star dwellers indeed.”
Chapter Thirteen
Adele
No beast of reality, or creature of imagination, is as terrible as mankind. Or as loving. It’s a contradiction. I’ve always liked contradictions. Today I see both sides of the coin unveiled in gruesome and beautiful imagery, captured by my eyes and filed away in my mind, like still shots taken by a world-renowned photographer.
First the terrible: Rivet. I can see the bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes at the end of the alley. He shouts something, to his men most likely, and then comes after us.
I am surprised when I catch up to Elsey first. She was in the lead, but is now falling behind as Cole’s powerful legs and Tawni’s long strides outdistance her. I urge her forward with a soft nudge on her back. I have no idea where her shortcut leads, but I hope it will be to a place we can hide.
Hiding is our only option. Fighting will be futile, as Rivet will have a horde of men with him, armed to the teeth and ready for action.
In the distance I see Cole and Tawni drop out of sight, presumably cresting a rise and banking down a slope. Glancing back, I can see Rivet gaining on us, flanked by his men. They look like robots, rigidly pumping their arms opposite their strides, programmed to obey only one command: kill.
“Go, Elsey, go!” I urge, trying to use my mind to magically lengthen her short legs.
We reach the spot where the others dropped away and feel gravity pull us forward, down a steep slope. Dusk is falling upon us rapidly—the overhead cavern lights dimming—and it is getting hard to see our feet on the gray stone. A sprained ankle or a slight stumble could cost us our lives.
Thankfully, our steps are true and we reach the bottom of the slope, veering left to where another trail leads up to a cave mouth. Cole and Tawni are waiting for us at the top.
I shouldn’t look back, but I do. Rivet is already halfway down the hill, having silently sped up, moving inhumanly fast, as if sensing that an end to the chase is near.
Elsey and I try to find an extra gear to allow us to reach the top of our slope before Rivet reaches the bottom of his, although I know in my heart the feat is impossible. We are caught and I know it, but I wasn’t raised to be a quitter. We push on. My thighs burn and my calves ache. My head is throbbing from the physical and mental stress of the chase.
I glance up to see how close we are to the top. I’ll never forget the look on my friends’ faces. They are staring past me, toward our pursuers. But their faces aren’t those of helpless prey about to be captured; rather, they look astonished, their eyebrows raised and mouths open.
We reach the top and I look back.
I involuntarily imitate their expressions, raising my own eyebrows and opening my own mouth. I am genuinely shocked by what I see.
Rivet is on the ground, rolling to a stop. Has he fallen? I don’t think so. A simple misstep wouldn’t capture Cole’s and Tawni’s attention so completely.
That’s when I see him.
Despite the dim lighting, I recognize him instantly. He is carrying a long sword, standing stoically, waiting to fight Rivet. His blond, wavy hair is ruffled, but in my mind not a single hair is out of place. He looks strong, confident, heroic. Clearly, he has saved us. So he is a hero of sorts.
He looks at me, locking eyes. A wave of emotion washes over me. He screams my name: “Adele!” At first I think he is beckoning me to him, but his second word clears up any confusion: “Run!”
Despite the urgency in his tone I remain frozen, watching what will happen next.
Rivet attacks, launching himself with an animal frenzy at Tristan. In a manner I can only describe as professional, Tristan blocks the attack and jumps back. I notice someone behind him, also carrying a sword. A friend of Tristan’s most likely, or so I hope.
Protectively, Tristan holds the other guy back with one arm while parrying and dodging Rivet’s strokes. The rest of Rivet’s men arrive, surrounding them. No! I think.
