The Moon Dwellers (19 page)

“
Doors closing,” the speaker says
.
“Nonstop to subchapter six of the Moon Realm.”

The doors begin closing and we peer
through the tinted windows to catch a glimpse of
our pursuers.
When the doors a
re halfway closed
I think we will make it.
The guards realize they a
re t
oo late and intelligently veer off toward
one of the front sections
of the transporter, but they a
re still at least five long strides away.

These guys a
re not to be denied.

One of them
di
ve
s
head
first at the rapidly closing door, thrusting his arms in the tiny crack and using his elbows like a wedge to pry it open.

“Damn,”
I mutter, as they board
the train.
“What happened?”

Roc’s eyes are wild, flitting from side to side, unable to focus on mine.
“I don’t know—I just freaked.
I tried to sneak away, made some excuse about needing to go to the bathroom.
One of your guards said he’d escort me, that he was bored anyway.
When I said I’d be fine on my own, he started asking me questions and I got flustered and just started running.
That’s when they came after me.”

“Damn,” I say again.
I should’ve known Roc wasn’t cut out for this type of work.

“What are we gonna do?” Roc says.
His face i
s as white as a ghost’s.
He
has
probably been under more stress in the last five minutes than in the last five years combined.

I glance
through the small window
in the door
at the end of
our car.
Two cars ahead I can
see the
guards making their way toward
us, transferring cars swiftly, methodically.

The doors close
a
nd the transporter silently leaves
the station.

We’re going to find the girl.
I hope she is alive.

“Remember all that training we
’ve been doing?”
Roc’s eyes do
n’t l
ight up the way they usually do when I mention
training.
Not this time.
He i
sn’t ready for th
is
.
But he will
have to
be
anyway
.

I put both m
y hands on his shoulders, look
him in the eyes.
“This is gonna be okay, man, I promise.
We’ll do this together.”

I hand him the stolen sword and raise
my own.

The guards enter
our car.

I’m not
su
re whether they know who I am yet, so I ca
n’t depend on my true identity to protect
me from the sharp swords they a
re
brandishing.
After all, they’
ve
just l
eft the pool, where they think I’m
wasting away the afternoon, getting drunk and looking to score with one of my desperate admirers.
Not that I e
ver do that.
But they might think there i
s a first time for ev
erything.
They probably think Roc has stolen something and I am
his accomplice.

Anyway, they co
me at us with blood in their eyes, swinging to kill, or a
t least maim.
I know these guys a
re out of Roc’s league, accom
plished fighters, but I also know I will need his help if we a
re going to survive the next five minutes—or even the next five seconds.

I block
both their swords with my own, feeling thei
r collective strength as I am
thrown back against Roc.
Pushing Roc hard again
st the side of the car, which i
s moving faster and faster, already nearing its top speed of
two hundred miles an hour, I spi
n hard to the left, ducking und
er another sword that
i
s intended to lop
my head from my shoulders.

Roc cries out as he slams into the wall, which dra
w
s
the attention of one of the guards.
The distraction momentarily gi
ve
s me a reprieve, as now I am
only fac
ing one guard.
I deftly slip
under his attempt to gut me like a fish, simultaneously launching my own attack, slashing him h
ard across both legs.
I avoid his chest and head—I still do
n’t want to kill anyone.

He goes
down like a sack of potatoes, dropping his sword and screaming in agony.

I
turn back toward Roc, who i
s also
crying out.
The other guard has
him cornered, slashing at him with
short, flashing strikes.
Roc i
s doing his best to maintain his swordfighter’s
stance, but each time he parries
a blow, it
seems
even less likely he’
ll
be able to block the next
one
.

I charge
the guard from behind,
dropping
my sword and tackling him hard to
the floor.
His sword clatters
to the ground n
ext to Roc, who kicks
it
out of range of the gu
ard’s scrabbling fingers.
I swi
ng my elbow hard, crashing it into t
he back of his head.
He slumps
, unconscious.

Turning
back to the other guard, who i
s writhing on
the floor in the fetal position clutching his legs, I pick
up my sword.

“No!” Roc cries, when he thinks I am
going to run him through.

But I’m not going to kill him.
I spin the sword around and use
the long handle to give the gua
rd a major headache.
He stops flopping about, stops yelling.
Lies
there, silent.

Roc’s face
is even whiter now, like it i
s
powdered
wit
h chalk.
“You okay?” I ask
.

Roc seems
unable to speak, taking short and uneven breaths, his fists balled and legs stuck firmly shoulder width apart, slightly
bent at the knees—just like I’
ve taught him.
He is going into shock.
I need
to snap him out of it.

“Roc, stay with me, man.
It’s going to
be okay, we’re safe now.”
I know I have
to
secure the guards—they’
ve
probably taken a lot of collective hits to the head over their lifetim
es and their recovery time will
be shorter than most
—but I’m worried about Roc, so I take care of him first
.

I put an arm around Roc’s shoulder and the other on his
elbow
and le
ad him to a seat.
He i
s trembling slightly, his body reacting to the sudden
decline in stress.
Once he is seated, I kneel down and massage
his arms gently and then his legs.
“All okay,” I s
ay.
He i
s staring at his feet.

I try
to make casual conversation to snap him out of his funk.
“Remember the last time we were in the sixth subchapter, Roc?”
He continues
to stare at the floor.
“We were riding on that float, trumpets playing, people cheering—when it tipped over.
You remember that?
It was chaos, Roc.
A mob of bodies, mashed up against each other, nearly getting trampled to death.
But we survived it.
And we just survived an attack by two highly trained guards, Roc.
We’re just fine.
You did great.”

Finally, his chin rises
ever so slightly, and he manages
a grin.
“You’re talking
to me like I’m a child,” he says
.

I laugh
.
Good old Roc.
“I th
ought you were in shock,” I say
.

“I thin
k I was…or nearly was,” Roc says
.
“Thanks,
” he adds
.

“He
y, what are friends for?” I say lightly.
I do
n’t want him getting a
ll emotional on me.
There will
be time for that later.

Luckily, Roc
has
man
aged to grab the pack that
we
prepared together.
In it i
s a long coil of rope.
Using my sword, I cut
off four small sections and use
them to bind each gu
ard’s hands and feet.
I stuff
the bodies
under the seats at the other end of the car,
as far away from Roc as I can get.
He watches
me do all this with interest.

When I come back and si
t
next to him, he turns to me and says
, “That was my first real fight.”

“You did great,” I repeat
.

He laughs
.
“How do you figure?
I was screaming like a banshee and on the verge of sudden death throughout the entire thing.”

“You didn’t die,” I say
.
“That’s why.
And
everyone
is on the verge of sudden death in a swordfight.
All that matters is who doesn’t die.”

The guards stir
halfway through the trip
and start yelling.
I wrap
cloth around their mouths to shut them up.

Roc i
s better for the rest of the transporter ride, telling upbeat stories about when we were little, the trouble we
used to get into.
He might be
ov
ercompensating for the way he is really feeling, but I’m not about to stop him; it
’s
better than
listening to
him talk about near-death experiences.

At some point along the way, the well-lit tunnel that w
e a
re traveling through dims, as we cross
the border into the Moon Realm.
Less electricity
is
provided to t
he commoners.
Their leaders have
signed a contract so it
i
s okay.
Yeah
,
right.

An hour
or so later the transporter begi
n
s
to slow, pulling into a dead Moon R
ealm station.
Moon dwellers do
n’t travel much
;
they a
re to
o busy trying to survive.
I am
so
mewhat concerned that there will
be a welcoming party waiting for us: either moon dweller soldiers acting on my father’s orders, or sun dwel
ler soldiers who somehow manage
d
to get the
re in front of us.
But there i
s no one waiting with guns, o
r swords, or handcuffs.
I dare
to hope that perhaps the only guards wh
o know what is happening a
re tied up in the last c
ar on the train
.
Des
pite the low traffic, they will eventually be found.
We need
to be as far away from the sixth sub
chapter as possible when they a
re
discovered
.

We exit
, our
swords tucked under our clothing, and Roc carrying
the
pack.
I scan
the platform for
any signs of trouble.
There a
re only three peo
ple in sight.
A cleaner scoops
rubbish into a long-handled d
ust pan.
An old woman steps
o
nto the transporter a fe
w cars in front of us.
There is no way she i
s going to the Sandy Oasis.
More likely the transporter i
s headed deeper into the
Moon Realm.
The third person is a platform attendant, who eyes us warily—he probably i
sn’t used to many sun dwellers stepping onto his platform.

I approach
him, keeping the cap of my ha
t low to shield my face.
I am
still wearing sunglasses.
I
t
is unlikely he will
recognize me, but I still need
t
o take precautions, so I change
the tone of my voice slightly, makin
g it gruffer and deeper.
I say
, “Where can I catch the first transporter to the
fourteenth
subchapter?
”

He looks at me like I am
cra
zy, as if he’
s
never heard such a request in
all his life.
But then he says
, “Platform seven.
Just
around the corner.”
He motions
in the direction we need to go
.
He does
n’t offer any information on
when the next tran
sporter will arrive, but Roc
alre
ady checked the schedule.
It i
s due only ten minutes after our arrival.