The Star Dwellers (12 page)

His face is red again, seething with fury.
His words are laced with venom and spit as he says, “You may have
fooled the rest of them, but not me. I’ll be watching your every
move, while you eat, while you sleep, while you piss—”

“That’s gross,” I say, choosing the wrong
time for sarcasm.

Ram punches me in the stomach and I feel all
the air go out of my lungs. “Shut it!” he roars as I suck at the
air, wheezing through my throat. “One false move and you’ll wish
you had never been born.” He throws me to the ground and stomps
away.

I feel like throwing up. Why couldn’t he have
hit me
before
we ate? Now the potatoes that I scarfed down
not ten minutes ago threaten to reemerge from the wrong end. I
crawl to my hands and knees and pant, trying to calm my nervous
stomach as perspiration pours from my brow. Roc groans and through
my sweat-clouded vision I see him roll over.

“You okay, man?” I manage to grunt.

“I feel dizzy,” he says. “I hope it doesn’t
leave a mark. Then I won’t be able to get anywhere with the
Resistance ladies.”

I laugh and then cough, which makes my
stomach roll again. “No jokes,” I choke out.

“That wasn’t a joke,” Roc says, which
naturally makes me laugh and choke again.

Using the wall, I pull myself to my feet,
somehow managing to keep the potatoes down. Roc is up too, although
he’s stumbling crookedly toward me. He probably has a
concussion.

I look at him and see the beginnings of a
black eye darkening his cheek to the right of his nose. And that’s
on top of the injuries he previously sustained at the hands of my
brother’s goons.

“There’s no mark,” I lie.

“Really? Because I don’t feel anything so
much here”—he points to the left side of his face—“but it hurts
like hell right here,” he says. “You sure there’s no mark?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, good,” he says, laughing. “Next time
we become mortal enemies with someone, can we make sure it’s not
someone six-five, two hundred and fifty pounds?”

“Good call. Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll survive—you?”

“I’m good, I think. Let’s find Ben.”

We head in the direction Ram left, seeking a
neon sign or flashing lights, or something else that points to “the
Isolation Room,” where Ben said he would meet us, where Ram was
supposed to escort us. We come to a crossroads and I look left, and
then right. Both tunnels appear identical, gray stone at the bottom
and black at the top, as if it’s been scorched by fire. “Which
way?” I think aloud.

“Right,” Roc says. “If we always go right, we
can’t go wrong.”

I smirk. “That makes no sense.”

“Okay. Then go right because it smells worse
to the left, which means Ram probably went that way.”

I shrug. It’s as good a reason as any. We
turn right and make it two-thirds of the way down the hall before
passing an open door. Flickering orange flares spill into the dimly
lit tunnel. “Come on in, guys,” Ben says from within, although we
can’t see him through the gloom.

Roc looks at me, grinning. “It was a lucky
guess,” I say.

“Slice it however you want, but the truth is,
my logic worked.”

We enter the room, which immediately
brightens as Ben uses the single torch lighting the room to light
another torch, and then a third. He’s lying on a stone bench, his
leg propped on a flat boulder. His thigh is heavily bandaged.

When we approach, his eyes widen. “What
happened to you?” he asks, staring at Roc.

“You see, the thing is—” Roc starts to
say.

“He walked into a wall,” I interrupt, glaring
at him.

“But…”

“He can be so clumsy sometimes.”

Roc looks at me, blinks. Pouts out his lips
in frustration and then concedes. “Right—a wall. How
clumsy
of me.” I get why he wants to rat on Ramseys, Lord knows I want to,
but I also want to prove myself to Ram—that I’m not a rat. I don’t
know why I care what he thinks, but I do. Despite his fierce
temper, he
is
technically one of the good guys.

Ben looks at us strangely, his gaze bouncing
back and forth between us. He knows we’re lying but doesn’t push
it. “Have a seat,” he says with a wave.

We lower ourselves onto a bench perpendicular
to Ben.

I wait for him to speak, but he’s silent,
staring at one of the crackling torches. I stare at it, too, my
mind wandering. What is this all about? What secrets does this man
hold? Secrets buried so deep he would keep them from his own
daughters? Secrets that my father would keep from me?

“Who the hell are you?” I blurt out.

Ben’s head twitches as he’s pulled from his
thoughts. “Just a guy,” he says.

I laugh. “You sound like me.”

He nods. “I think we’re more alike than you
might think,” he says.

“Look, my father told me all about the
Resistance. How it rose up in 475 PM, before I was born; how you
tried to control the freight train system, thus controlling the
flow of resources; how he sent his armies pouring out of the Sun
Realm; how he killed every last one of the traitors. And yet here
you are—and I don’t know what to believe.”

“Not your father,” Ben says.

“Maybe he just thought you were all
destroyed.” I’m not trying to defend my father. I’m just trying to
understand why he didn’t tell me. Because I’m surprised. My father
may be a terrible person, but he never tried to hide his evil ways
from me, although sometimes I wished he would.

“No. He knows. He lied to you.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know—pride maybe. Or because in his
arrogant mind he truly believes that the Resistance is still weak,
of no concern to his dominion.”

“And how do you fit in?”

Ben sighs. “I never wanted to be the leader,
which I’m sure you understand, Tristan.” I do. I am also reluctant
to be at the forefront of the Resistance. Not because I don’t
believe in the cause—because I do—rather, because I’d prefer to
just be another soldier, nothing special. Just a guy. I’m sick of
being singled out because of who my father is.

“So you’re the leader of the whole
Resistance?” Roc asks for me.

Ben chuckles. “Yeah. All two thousand of
us.”

“But that’s not even half the size of one of
the sun dweller platoons,” I comment.

“We have a lot of heart, though,” Ben says
wryly. “But that’s where you come in. We are nothing while there is
dissension between the Moon and Star Realms. We need someone to
unite them. Someone who knows the truth about the inner workings of
the Sun Realm. Someone like you.”

I shake my head. “Why should they listen to
me? Ram was right about one thing. No one has any reason to trust
me.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy, Tristan. Just
that it’s necessary. You and my daughter—you both have important
missions.”

“Adele,” I murmur. Just speaking her name
sends flutters of excitement through my chest.

“Yes. She has to find my wife. Anna will know
what to do from her end. If we do our job from this end, we just
might be able to pull this off.”

I stare at him blankly. I comprehend his
words, but they don’t make sense to me.
Adele. Her mission.
Important.
If she’s fighting against the odds then I can too. I
have to.

“Do you know the population of each of the
Realms?” Ben asks.

“I have a good guess, but Roc would—”

“One point five million star dwellers, one
point five million moon dwellers, two million sun dwellers,” Roc
rattles off. “Give or take a hundred thousand.” With higher life
expectancies and enough wealth to support more children, the Sun
Realm has the highest population of the three Realms.

“Right,” Ben says. “Do the math.”

Easy—three against two. So we’d have the
advantage in sheer numbers, but—

“They have heaps more resources,” I point
out. “Weapons, equipment, armor. Plus the people up there—I point
to the rocky ceiling—are in much better shape: well fed,
well-trained, prepared.”

“So we shouldn’t try?” Ben says, throwing up
his hands. “This sounds like a different Tristan than just a few
days ago.”

“We have to try,” Roc says.

I look at him. His eyes are a deep, steady
brown, no hint of his usual comedy in them. Ever since leaving the
Sun Realm, he’s been the one pushing me toward my destiny—whatever
it is. “I know,” I say.

“I want to show you something,” Ben says.
Raising his back slightly, he slides a book from beneath him. Its
cover is leathery, marred by scrapes and black marks and time, but
in relatively good condition. He hands it to me and I see that a
strap curls around from the back and clasps in the front.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Open it.”

I gently unfasten the leather strap, afraid I
will break the brittle material, and turn to the first page. The
pages are yellowed with age, but not torn. On the inside of the
cover is written “A girl’s first diary, by Anna Lucinda Smith.”

Roc leans in to see. “Anna—you said that’s
your wife’s name, right?”

We look up and Ben’s eyes smile, but not his
lips. “Just a coincidence,” he says. “But it’s one of the many
reasons I like it.”

“So whose diary is this?” I say, implying I
want to know more than the name written on the inside.

“Turn the page,” Ben says.

Obediently, I carefully separate the page and
slide it over. It’s the first page of the diary and it’s dated—

“Year Zero!” Roc exclaims. “You mean—”

“Yes. It’s the diary of one of the survivors
of Year Zero. A little girl, only twelve years old. Her mother gave
her the diary so she could remember all the experiences she had,
pass them down to her children. Later in the diary she tells all
about her and her family. But I want you to start reading from page
one.”

I’m interested now. I’ve never heard of there
being any eyewitness accounts left over from Year Zero.
Conveniently, many of the diaries and journalistic accounts were
destroyed over the years, in anything from fires to cave-ins. All
very convenient for a secretive government.

I start reading in my head, but Ben stops me
right away. “Out loud,” he says. His eyes are closed and he’s
waiting for me to begin. I read:

“They are calling it Year Zero. The start of
a new life. But not for everyone. The Lottery was yesterday and I
got picked. A one in a hundred chance, they said. The President of
the United States himself congratulated me on being selected. Not
in person, though, because all the government people are already
underground. That’s where I will be soon. Safe and sound and away
from the earth’s surface, where the meteor will crash.

“I got a video from him, and through the
fuzzy picture Mr. President said I am one of the lucky ones, but I
don’t feel very lucky. My mom didn’t get picked. Or my dad. Or my
grandmother, Aunt Gina, Uncle Tony, or Uncle Jerry. They even left
behind my older sister, Tina. Only one of my friends got picked. I
guess she was lucky, like me.

“My mom was crying yesterday. I asked her if
she was sad, but she said they were tears of joy, because I got
picked. My dad didn’t cry, but he got really quiet. I’m only twelve
but first thing tomorrow I’ll have no family.

“In a day I’ll be in the Caves, far under the
earth, where it’s safe. The government people say I’ll be given a
new family, even though I don’t want one. They say life will be
better; that it’ll be a fresh start for humans, for Americans. I
try not to think about things, but when I do, my palms get sweaty
and I get really cold, like I’m sick. I don’t cry, because I don’t
want to upset my mom again.

“They’re coming to take me away
tomorrow.”

I finish the first entry and look up. “My
father told me the Lottery was bad, but I didn’t realize they split
families up,” I say.

Ben nods, his eyes still closed, and says,
“Keep reading.”

I flip to the next entry and read:

“Tomorrow has come faster than I thought
possible. The streets are full of shouting people. Some of them
have sticks, some shake their fists, all wear angry faces. The
armored truck is here and the crowd presses around them until the
soldiers start shooting their guns in the air. When the bullets
start flying the people quiet down and back away. The serious men
who get out of the truck are wearing heavy armor and carrying big,
black guns. I don’t want them to take me away, but I put on a brave
face and hold all the tears inside of me.

“My mom’s hug is so tight I can’t breathe,
but I don’t complain, I just hug back harder. ‘Everything will be
okay, sweetheart,’ she says, but I know she’s lying.

“Finally my dad is crying, which scares me
the most. He’s a man, big and strong and proud. I’ve never seen him
cry, not even when Grandpop and Grandma died in the same year. I
blink away the tears and stick my chin out. ‘I’ll be okay, Dad,’ I
say. Now I’m the one lying. He nods and pulls me close and then
pushes me toward the men.

“I don’t struggle, because I’ve already seen
the men use the Tasers strapped to their belts on other people on
my street. They always get you in the end.

“My eyes are wide as the men lead me through
the crowd, but I stare straight ahead and pretend I’m all alone.
Before the big soldiers help me into the truck, I look back at my
house and notice things I’ve never noticed before. The bright
yellow paint that always felt so cheerful after a long day at
school looks brown and flakey. The white shutters on the windows
are gray with smog. The bright red door is the mouth of a beast,
and my stark-faced parents are its teeth, cold and uncaring. Why
don’t they do something? Why don’t they save me?

“When I linger outside the truck, a strong
hand shoves me forward and into the tinted interior—and Year Zero
begins.”