The Star Dwellers (26 page)

“Now, I want to reconfirm our position to
ensure everyone is still in agreement. After hearing from Tristan
Nailin earlier…” she says, and I cringe when I hear my last name
spoken out loud. My father has made me ashamed of it. I want to be
Tristan. Just Tristan. “…we all agreed that he is telling us the
truth and wants to help the Resistance overthrow his father, and
that we could use his help to convince the other VPs. Given we have
all had additional time to think about it, are we all still in
agreement?”

The room is silent and I’m afraid to take my
eyes off of Morgan to scan the faces around the table, but I know I
have to. I have to show I’m not hiding anything—that I meant what I
said earlier. I turn my head and gaze around the room, lingering on
each VP’s eyes, not flinching from their stares. I’m doing my part,
in an odd sort of way.

With every person I look at, I expect them to
shout “You’re a fraud!!” but they don’t. They just look back, some
nodding, some seemingly indifferent. After a few minutes of
silence, Morgan says, “We’ve got one minute. I need positive
confirmation of your positions. Abbott, I’ll start with you.” The
woman to her right says, “I’m with you.”

As they move around the table, each VP
affirms that they’re on our side—on my side. I’m still shocked by
the incredible turnaround from earlier, when their words were harsh
and their expressions harsher.

When they get back to Morgan, she nods at me
encouragingly. “Okay, here’s how this will go. I’ll begin and then
hand over to Tristan to speak. Then the other VPs will have the
chance to ask questions, make comments. Understood?” She’s talking
to everyone, but only looking at me. I jerk my chin down. I’m more
than ready for this. I’ll do anything to help stop my father.

“Right. We go live in three, two, one…”
Clearly some technician is watching the proceedings because
suddenly the screen goes all white and then flashes back to life,
as the picture comes into focus. At first there are raggedy lines
of static running across the panel but soon the clarity
improves.

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.

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 warmth 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.”