The Moon Dwellers (34 page)

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 r
emember the smug smile
on h
is face when he finished.
He i
s 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 i
s
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 firs
t part of the suburbs, people a
re out of their houses, wearing sleeping tunics or just boxer shorts, watching the fireworks in the distance, spe
aking in hushed voices.
They a
re so transfixed by the scene be
fore them
that they barely pay us any attention.
We a
re 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 m
arch
on, passing through a ritzy neighborhood—at least by moon dweller standa
rds—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 stree
ts and cracked sidewalks.
It i
s 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.
Wi
thout 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 i
s weird to think ho
w 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 mak
e it through the slum
s without event.
The map shows
at least twenty miles of sparsely
populated terrain.
Within it i
s a network of caves called the
Lonely
Caverns.
But we a
re f
ar too tired to attempt it to
night.
We fin
d a co
uple of large boulders and seek
shelter behind them, roll
ing 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
awa
ke
to find Roc sitting up, studying the map.

“Morning,” he says
, noticing my movement in his peripheral vision.

I notice
that he does
n’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 i
sn’t much good
about this morning.
All we have to eat a
re dried fruits and nuts, and a few blocks of thick wafers
, which we managed
to steal from th
e 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
morni
ng,” I reply
cheerfully.
For, despite our modest breakfa
st and sleeping situation, I am ecstatic.
In fact, I have
never been happier.
F
or the first time in my life I’ve wo
ken up without the weight of my fa
ther on my shoulders.
And I am
doing something
I
want to do.
I know it i
s
selfish, but my whole life I’
ve
bee
n 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 fr
om 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—”

“N
o, 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 an
d let us catch her.”
He grins and the tension melts
away
, but I’m not sure if the discussion i
s 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 th
e various maneuvers with ease.
It’s just the basics, but it’
s a start.

“What time is it?” I ask suddenly when there i
s a break in the action.

I don’t bother
to l
ook at my watch.
Usually Roc i
s 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 a
re 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 co
me to a large cave mouth, near the southern entrance to the
Lonely Caverns
.
Sure enough, there i
s a small stone shack wi
th a stand, set up just outside the caves
.
A middle-aged man with a l
ong, salt-and-pepper beard dozes
in a hammock, an unlit pipe dangling from his chapped lips.

All around him a
re 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 ge
t
s
some
business.
There is also a decent selection
of preserved food, like dried meats and fruits.

As we slalom
through the pi
les 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 i
s, 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 spi
n around to find the man standing close to us, much
smaller than his voice suggests.
He
eye
s
us waril
y,
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 s
ign above the telebox that I had
n’t noticed.

“Of course, of course,” I say
.
“We have Nailins.”
I motion to Roc, who promptly unzips
the pack and extrac
ts
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 abo
ut 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 bomb
ing, which, not surprisingly, i
s the le
ad story.
But a close second i
s the report on the g
uests who
escaped
from the Pen.
First they show
a guy, Cole something, large and dark-skinn
ed.
In his mug shot he appears angry, which i
sn’t t
hat surprising considering he was
convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison.
The thought o
f the moon dweller girl
traveling w
ith him scares
me.
The report
notes that the Cole character has
no fa
mily left and therefore, he’
ll probably try to get
out of the subchapter.