The Star Dwellers (27 page)

“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 curiously,
“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?”

“Sounds good.” I’m hoping he’s just
interested in being my friend—nothing more—because I’m starting to
like Brody. He just seems so…real.

Brody moves in close, closer than I’d like
but not close enough where it’s uncomfortable, guiding a pistol
into my hands, showing me how to hold it, how to aim it. “See, you
have to hold it slightly lower than the target you’re aiming at,
because unlike a bow or a slingshot, a gun has some serious
kickback. When you pull that trigger, it’s going to squirm on you.
That’s why your first shot went way too high.” I feel the warmth of
his hands on my skin, as if they’re burning through me. I have the
sudden urge to push them away, but I want to learn so I don’t.
“Does all that make sense?” he asks, his eyes close to mine.

“Uh, yeah. I think so. Thanks,” I add. We
take the first shot together, a burst of flame, a jerk against my
hands, and a shock through my arms. A wisp of smoke trails from the
muzzle.

Finally Brody releases me and I feel the
tension leave my body. For some reason, it’s a relief.

“Do you see where the bullet hit?” Brody
says.

“Wh—what?”

“The bullet? Did you see if we hit the
target?” There’s a twinkle in his eye and I know that he already
knows.

“No. It went so fast I couldn’t see it.”

“It’s not so much seeing it as
feeling
it. Trust me, you’ll get the hang of it. Let’s go check it out.
Race me!” he whoops, and starts running.

Without thinking, I give chase, accelerating
quickly to make up his head start. As we race, it reminds me of
Camp Blood and Stone, when Tristan and I raced after we rescued my
father. Except this time I’m not racing Tristan, a guy I barely
know, I’m racing Brody, another guy I barely know. My life feels
strange, like everyone I’m interacting with are just rocks in a
swirling underground river, put in my path by chance alone.

With the head start, Brody beats me easily,
but he would have beaten me anyway, his long legs gaining ground
ahead of me with each stride. At the end we’re both hunched over,
our hands on our knees, breathing heavily from the exertion. Which
I like, because it means Brody didn’t go easy on me. He didn’t
underestimate me. Which means he respects me.

“Dead center,” he says.

“What?” I say, wondering if that is what
soldiers say in the army when they win something.

“The bullet you fired—it hit dead
center.”

I look up, still panting, and see that he’s
right. A hole the width of my thumb is drilled through the
bull’s-eye of the target, not even touching the edges of the
painted-on red circle. I laugh. “It was
your
shot, not
mine.”

“True,” he says, laughing.

Could Brody be like an older brother to me?
“How old are you?” I blurt out, right away wishing I hadn’t asked.
It makes me sound like I’m interested in him—which I’m not.

Brody’s laugh reaches his eyes and the single
dimple is deeper than I’ve ever seen before. “Does it matter?”
Matter for what? I think I know what he means, but I’m not going to
say it.

“I was just curious,” I say nonchalantly,
looking away. “Forget it. Let’s go shoot some more.”

I start to walk back toward where we left the
pistol, but Brody stops me with a hand on my wrist. I feel a
crackle of electricity through my skin. “Twenty-two,” he says.

“Oh.” He’s younger than he looks. I was
guessing at least twenty-five.

I pull away from his hand and walk quickly
back to the guns. The clop of his boots on the rock slab echoes
behind me but I walk fast enough that he doesn’t catch up. I need
to get out of here; I feel like every second I’m with him he’s
getting bolder.

“I’ve got to go,” I say as Brody pulls
astride.

“But we’ve only just started the lesson,” he
says, looking at me with one eyebrow raised.

“I just forgot something I had to do.” It’s a
bad lie, no detail, obvious.

But Brody doesn’t question it. Just says,
“Okay, no problem. How about one last shot with the pistol?”

I shrug.
Sure, why not?
Taking the
pistol from him, I use both hands to line up the shot, like he
taught me. Finding the target, I compensate for the gun’s kick by
lowering my aim ever so slightly. Keep my arms locked, my hands
steady, my eye on the target. Pull the trigger.
Pop!
The gun
is like a live animal in my hands, throwing them up and back, but I
manage to hang onto it.

“Well done,” Brody says. “That was much
better. If my stellar eyesight is right, you nicked the top of the
third ring up from the center. I’ve seen practiced shooters do
worse.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m starting to get the
hang of it, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Before I know what’s happening, he
leans into me, his breath on my lips, his eyes on fire. I know what
he’s going to do. I saw that same look of longing in Tristan’s eyes
before I left him, and I know my own eyes mirrored it back at him.
But this time I know my eyes are only filled with horror. Brody’s
going to kiss me.

I pull away awkwardly. “Well, anyway…thanks
for your help. I really appreciate it.”

Brody sighs, pushes his feathery hair off his
forehead. He looks stung, like I’ve just slapped him. “Uh, yeah, no
problem.” It’s the first time he hasn’t sounded completely sure of
himself, and I feel bad about it, because it’s my fault. He’s been
nothing but nice to me. He doesn’t know that I’m thinking of him as
a brother. “And I’m sorry.”

Not what I expected him to say. What is he
apologizing for? I’m the one who brushed him off. “No, Brody, it’s
okay. I’m the one who should be sorry. Look, I’ll see you later,
okay?”

“Sure.” He sounds defeated and I have the
sudden urge to put my arm around him, show him that I do care about
his feelings, that I want to be his friend.

Instead, I just turn on my heel and walk away
to find Tawni and my mom.

S
itting next to Ben
the next day, I feel discouraged. The rest of the yesterday’s
meeting didn’t go very well. We gained the support of five
additional VPs, although the other Moon Realm leaders ridiculed
them for it. So now we have eighteen out of forty-two, less than
half. It’s not what any of us had hoped for.

“Will eighteen subchapters be enough?” I
ask.

“Jonas,” Ben says, “you know how it works as
well as I do. What are your thoughts?” I can tell Ben doesn’t feel
like talking about the rebellion right now. And I know why. His
wife was there. Adele’s mom. Like me, all he’s thinking about is
the fact that she’s okay, that she’s a general in the star dweller
army, and he’s wondering whether Adele found her, whether she is
okay, too. All I want to do is get out of this strategy meeting and
talk to Ben in private.

Jonas is speaking and I try to push aside my
personal thoughts to focus on what he’s saying. “…without a
majority, the Moon Realm can’t technically declare war on the Sun
Realm, or form a military alliance with the star dwellers.” He
pauses, waiting to see if I have any questions. I nod at him and he
continues. “However, each individual subchapter can act
unilaterally if they wish. But then the other Moon Realm
subchapters might align themselves with the Sun Realm, in which
case we’d have—”