by David Estes
The screen is made up of a series of boxes, each with a live shot of one of the VPs. Evidently the meeting was called on such short notice that there was no time for any of them to gather together. As I scan each of the faces, I recognize most of the leaders, but if it wasn’t for the names at the bottom of each box I wouldn’t remember them. There’s Bruce and Quinton, Perez and Morrison, Winters and Queen. Oh, and I notice Ogi, too, the Vice President of subchapter 14 of the Moon Realm. Adele’s subchapter. Ben’s subchapter. He’s a sheep, one who will follow my father off the edge of a cliff. There’s no way we’ll be able to get his support.
Altogether there are thirty boxes, twenty-nine for the moon dweller VPs and one for the Star Realm. The Star Realm’s box is the biggest, located at the bottom right-hand corner of the screen and the height and width of four of the other boxes. Across the bottom of the box it reads “Star dweller generals.” Not the star dweller VPs, but the generals. The military is making the key decisions in the Star Realm. Things are even worse than I’d thought.
A number of people are seated across a table, staring at the camera, seven in total. Three women, four men. I take in their faces, trying to remember if I’ve ever met them during my visits to the Star Realm. Gazing at the first six I draw a blank—they’re just faces with vague features—but the seventh…the seventh looks familiar for some reason. A woman, perhaps mid to late thirties, hazel eyes that look sad but intense, dark, dark hair, jet-black and beautiful, and features that appear soft at a first glance, but harden the more you look at them. There’s something about her that—
My heart stops when I realize. The end of my thought was reminds me of Adele. Vice President Morgan is speaking but I don’t hear her, my eyes locked on the seventh star dweller general. Unwillingly, my eyes close and I picture the woman next to Ben. They look nothing alike, but when I add my last memory of Adele—her green eyes shining with confidence, her soft but strong cheeks so pale and beautiful, her lips pink and parted slightly, all framed by the cascades of obsidian hair rippling around her shoulders—into the gap between them, they are somehow connected. She has both their features in her, like the missing link between two people who were always meant for each other. My eyes flash open.
And then Morgan is speaking directly to me, her eyebrows raised slightly. “Tristan? Would you care to say a few words?”
I don’t know how many times she addressed me while I was daydreaming, but all eyes are on me, and more than a few of them are looking at me strangely. Although I’m flustered, my training kicks in and gets me started. “Yes. Thank you all for coming,” I start, trying to buy some time while I find my words. I force my eyes away from the bottom right corner of the screen, away from the woman who might be Adele’s mom, alive and well, not in some star dweller prison, a general in the freaking star dweller army, but my gaze keeps coming back to her. It can’t be her—it can’t. She’s in prison. Not a general. Not possible.
I pause, my thoughts tumbling over each other like a team of acrobats, flipping and spinning and leaping, none of them coming out of my mouth, which is probably a good thing. But then one thought takes center stage and I hear myself gasp. Ben. Ben is here and this woman who resembles Adele so closely is here—well not here, but connected to us via the video screen.
My eyes dart to the big man sitting next to me, and beneath his well-trimmed goatee I see a slight smile. His eyes aren’t on me, but on the screen, and I don’t have to follow his gaze to know what part of the screen. His gemstone-like green eyes—that remind me so much of Adele—are wide and watering and full of emotion. It is her; the intensity of his eyes all but confirms it. He’s looking at his wife for the first time in months, knows she’s okay.
“Tristan?” Morgan says again, and I have no idea how long they’ve been waiting for me to speak. I clear my throat and desperately try to focus on the task at hand.
“I don’t have time for this,” I hear someone snap through the speakers. One of the boxes on the screen is lit up. Peroni. A white-haired VP from one of the Moon Realm subchapters; 20 or 21 or something, I don’t really remember.
“No,” I say. “Wait. This is important.” Fire is coursing through my veins again—not anger this time, but determination. To do the right thing. To convince these people of the way forward. “I know all of you through my role as heir to the presidency of the Tri-Realms. My father, President Nailin, sent me to all of your subchapters to negotiate contracts that were unfair to your people, contracts that you never should have signed.”
“Like we ever had a choice,” Peroni says.
“I know that. It was wrong, what I did. I always knew that and yet I did nothing, and for that I’m sorry. But it’s time to make amends. It’s time for me to make amends, by helping you rebuild the oppressive government that gives you nothing and takes everything.”
“They provide us with leadership! The Sun Realm is responsible for everything good we have!” This time it’s Ogi speaking, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from telling the weasel to shut up!
“No, that’s wrong. I’m the only one here who has seen the inner workings of the government. All they care about—all my father cares about—is sucking the life out of you each and every day, so that they can continue to enjoy their lavish lifestyles. The time has come to take a stand. The time has come to stand together, united with the Star Realm, and take back the Tri-Realms!” I’m on my feet, my fist raised in the air, but I have no recollection of either action. My whole body feels hot, but this time I’m not running for the exit; this time I want to see the reaction.
I should have left.
“Rubbish!”
“We will never fight with the backstabbing star dwellers!”
“I’ll die before I support the Resistance!”
A chorus of other angry rebuttals pounds through the speakers and soon I can’t make out the individual comments. The boxes on the screen are all lit up and filled with a flurry of activity. Some VPs are on their feet, screaming and pointing fingers at the camera, obviously aimed at me. Some are pounding on their desks, their faces red. A handful of the VPs look as mortified as I do; they’re either staring at the camera with wide eyes or looking down at their hands awkwardly. The generals in the star dweller box are whispering to each other, shaking their heads, frowning. Only Adele’s mother is doing something different. She’s ignoring the others, looking at the camera, almost as if she’s looking right at me.
And I swear her lips are curled into a smile.
Chapter Nineteen
Adele
I find my mom in her office, and I’m starting to wonder if she ever leaves it. Her chair must be ultra-comfortable, or surely she’d have a sore butt by now.
I tap lightly on the door, which is open, and her head jerks up from some papers she’s reading.
“Well, hi there, honey.” Her greeting sounds so normal, like I’m just getting home from school and she’s at the wash basin, preparing our meager supper of dried beans and week-old bread. Like she’s not a general planning the next attack on the Moon Realm. Her voice puts me right at ease, and I feel like maybe I can talk to her like a friend again.
“Can we talk?”
“Of course we can. But I thought you’d have crashed by now. It’s been a long few weeks for you.” Her smile reminds me of when I look in the mirror. You’re so much like your mother. My father’s words, not about my looks, but about my fighting style; and yet, still relevant here.
I go to sit down on the other side of the desk, but she says, “Not here,” and stands, steps around the desk. Puts an arm around my shoulder, and I don’t shrink from her touch this time. I didn’t realize how badly my body has been craving my mother’s touch until now.
I melt into her side, wrap my arm around her back, and we walk like mother and daughter through the halls. We don’t speak and I don’t really notice my surroundings as we pass by. I know they’re gray and stone, but any subtle details escape me. I’m just living in the war
mth of my mom’s hold, the slight thump of her heart beating, the gentle motion of her hand rubbing my shoulder.
We reach a door, and she momentarily releases me as she unlocks it, pushes in, flicks a switch to turn on the thinnest of lights on the ceiling. Inside is her bedroom, private and plush compared to the packed Spartan bunk rooms. A thick, red comforter hides a largish bed with at least four pillows at the head.
“This is home…for now,” she says with a wink.
I close the door behind us and she goes and sits against the bed’s headboard, her feet sprawled out on the comforter, using two pillows to prop herself up. “Let’s talk,” she says, patting the space next to her.
I so want to just start firing questions at her, stay on my feet, maintain a position of power, but my heart won’t let me. Instead, I obey, sliding next to her, my head resting on her outstretched arm, almost like the old days, when she used to comfort me after one of my nightmares about drowning.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asks innocently.
What did I want to ask her? My mind is blank—I’m lost in the beautiful glow of my mom’s love. I can feel it surrounding me and it’s so real—so different than the side of my mom that Tawni said she overheard, the side of my mom that makes her give me a gun and send me off to be part of the army. The side of my mom with secrets. Right, secrets—the army supplies, I remember. “How is the star dweller army so well-supplied?” I gaze into the fathoms of her eyes, seeking the truth.
“Trevor said you might ask me that.”
“Why are you talking about me with Trevor?” I ask. I should be angry when I ask it, but I’m not. I’m more sad, because she’s keeping secrets from me.
“It wasn’t like that, sweetheart.”
“Then what was it like?”
“He just told me you were asking him questions, questions he didn’t know how to answer, and I told him I’d take care of it.”
That’s consistent with what Tawni told me. “So what’s the story?”
“To be honest, I don’t know. The other generals have blocked me out. I had power when I was a Resistance leader, but down here I’m just the new general, with very little influence. They respect me because I can lead the soldiers and because of my experience, but they won’t let me into their inner circle. I don’t know where the money’s coming from, how they can afford all the weapons, the equipment. Trevor’s trying to find out for me, do some undercover work. He’s taking great risks for me, Adele.”
It’s not the answer I expected at all, so for a moment I’m not sure what to say. I thought my mom was at the center of some big conspiracy, involving bribery and theft and maybe even worse evils. But I can sense she’s telling me the truth—and I believe her. Perhaps she’s not the problem. Perhaps…
“What if Trevor is just pretending to help you? When really he knows the truth—is part of the truth—working with the other generals? Did you think about that possibility? That maybe he’s a spy for them?” My questions are coming fast and I know there’s heat in my words, so I look down when I finish, play with my hands, try to control my emotions.
“I thought that at first,” she says, and I look up at her. Her lips are pursed. “So I did my own digging. I’m pretty sure Trevor’s clean.”
“What if he’s not?”
“Then he’s a damn good liar,” she says, and I’m surprised. I’ve never heard her curse before.
“That fits with my impression of him,” I half-joke.
She laughs. “Sometimes he doesn’t make the best first impression.”
I realize then that Trevor has my mom’s complete and utter trust, and that she’s not going to believe me without proof. I’ll have to get that proof. I change the subject. “What’s going on with the communications with the Moon Realm?” I ask.
Her face falls. “It’s not going well,” she admits. “Those papers I was reading when you came in were the transcripts from the meetings. That’s where I was all day—with the other generals, speaking to the moon dweller Vice Presidents. The majority of them are not being reasonable, are not willing to join the star dweller rebellion. But we have a few advocates, and I sense your father’s influence behind their words.”
“Dad?” I say. “So you heard him?”
“Not exactly. But I saw him—he was there. But trust me, he’s behind the scenes helping to convince them to join the cause. Oh, and your friend is there, too.”
My friend? I stare at her blankly.
“You know, Tristan.”
My heart hammers in my chest. Tristan promised me he would help and he is. He’s not like his father, the President—nothing like him at all. Excitement rushes through me, buzzing all over my skin and swooning in my chest. Memories of the last time I saw him race through my mind. The tenderness in his touch as he pulled me close to him. The way he looked at me, a tear escaping his eye. How his lips yearned for mine and mine for his, and how I had to use all of my strength to pull away from him, thus ensuring that our first kiss would not also be our last. “Tristan,” I murmur.
“Yes,” she says. “He spoke today, tried so hard to convince the moon dweller leaders to join the rebellion, was successful with a few of them. But it wasn’t enough. The majority are still supporting the contracts with the President, maintaining the status quo.”
“We have to go up there, meet with them in person, not hide down here like a bunch of rats.”
“I agree, but the other generals refuse. Not until they have the support of the Moon Realm in writing. They’ve given the moon dwellers three days, or they’ll attack.”
“No! They can’t do that! Dad, Elsey, Tristan, Roc—they’re all up there! Did you tell the generals about the sun dweller soldiers me and Tawni saw?”
“Yes, I did, but they’re skeptical. They think maybe you were seeing things, or dreamed it, or something, perhaps after you contracted the Bat Flu.”
“But it was before we got the Flu!” I object.
“I know, honey, I told them that, too, but it didn’t help. I’m trying, Adele. So very hard. But I’m outnumbered.” It’s Trevor, I think. He’s a spy. The generals know exactly what my mom’s trying to do before she does it, because she shares everything with Trevor.
“If the other generals won’t go, then we have to go ourselves,” I say firmly.
“Yes,” she says softly, as if it’s a decision she’s been trying to delay as long as possible. “We will.”
Finally, I feel like I’ve truly got my mom back. We’re working together—on the same side. No more secrets. I flop my arm across her stomach and lean into her side, curl my legs underneath me.
Warmth and love and fear and exhaustion surround me and I drift away into the darkness of the never never.
* * *
I wake up naturally at five in the morning. I only know that because the dim lights are still on and I can see an old-fashioned clock hanging on the wall. The big hand is a minute past twelve. The little hand is dead on five. My mom is already gone, to do whatever it is she does as a general in the army.
I have a choice to make: to meet Brody or cancel. Something about the whole situation feels dangerous, not because he’s a scary guy or anything—quite the opposite—but because I don’t want to give him the wrong impression, especially not after it felt like he was flirting with me. But it’s just training. No harm in trying to improve my shooting, right?
I take my time getting ready because I don’t have to meet Brody for target practice until six, although it all seems kind of pointless now that I know we’re going it alone. By five-thirty I’m in the mess hall, eating alone because I don’t know anyone.
Just as I walk out the door leading to the training grounds, I see Brody emerge from a door further down the complex. He spots me right away and smiles at me, jogging over to intercept my path to the gun range. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” he says.
“I always do what I say I will.”
“Mmm,” Brody muses, looking at me curi
ously, “I bet you do.” He pushes a hand through his hair to move his bangs away from his eyes. He’s always doing that. “Ready to shoot?”
“Not really,” I admit. “Guns aren’t really my thing.”
“But bows and slingshots and fists are?”
I shrug. “It’s how I was raised. How’d you get so good with guns anyway? They were so rare in the Moon Realm that I wouldn’t think there were any in the Star Realm.” I ask the question nonchalantly, but I’m probing for information. Although I’m sure Brody wouldn’t have more information than my mother, he might at least know when guns started popping up as if they were breeding.
His eyes are steely, as if the blue-green of his eyes have finally agreed to mix and form an iron gray. His dimple is there, but he’s not smiling. Instead, his expression is wistful. “My father taught me to shoot. We never had much money—or any money. But he had this old gun, handed down from generation to generation, a real dinosaur, you know? He’d take my brother and me out back to shoot tin cans using bullets he hand molded from whatever leftover metals he could scrounge up from the mines. By the time I was twelve I could hit those cans dead in the center every time.” For a second there’s a tear in his eyes but he quickly blinks it away, brushing his hair from his face once more. I know there’s more to his story.
“Where’s your family, Brody?”
His words are clipped, as if he practices saying them with as little emotion as possible. “Dad died in a mining accident. My brother got sick and never got better. My mom committed suicide. Any other questions?”
“No…I mean, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” Brody says, the smile suddenly popping back onto his face, lighting it up. “I’m not used to talking about all this. How ’bout we do some shooting?”
