The Star Dwellers

“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 ru