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

I turn back toward Roc, who is also crying out. The other guard has him cornered, slashing at him with short, flashing strikes. Roc is 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 next to Roc, who kicks it out of range of the guard’s scrabbling fingers. I swing my elbow hard, crashing it into the back of his head. He slumps, unconscious.

Turning back to the other guard, who is 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 guard a major headache. He stops flopping about, stops yelling. Lies there, silent.

Roc’s face is even whiter now, like it is powdered with 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 lifetimes 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 lead him to a seat. He is 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 say. He is 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 thought you were in shock,” I say.

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

“Hey, what are friends for?” I say lightly. I don’t want him getting all emotional on me. There will be time for that later.

Luckily, Roc has managed to grab the pack that we prepared together. In it is a long coil of rope. Using my sword, I cut off four small sections and use them to bind each guard’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 sit 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 is 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 overcompensating 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 we are traveling through dims, as we cross the border into the Moon Realm. Less electricity is provided to the commoners. Their leaders have signed a contract so it is okay. Yeah, right.

An hour or so later the transporter begins to slow, pulling into a dead Moon Realm station. Moon dwellers don’t travel much; they are too busy trying to survive. I am somewhat concerned that there will be a welcoming party waiting for us: either moon dweller soldiers acting on my father’s orders, or sun dweller soldiers who somehow managed to get there in front of us. But there is no one waiting with guns, or swords, or handcuffs. I dare to hope that perhaps the only guards who know what is happening are tied up in the last car on the train. Despite the low traffic, they will eventually be found. We need to be as far away from the sixth subchapter as possible when they are discovered.

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

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

He looks at me like I am crazy, 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 doesn’t offer any information on when the next transporter will arrive, but Roc already checked the schedule. It is due only ten minutes after our arrival.

“Thanks,” I growl.

We round the corner and my eyes widen when I see the next platform. Based on the noise level—which is almost nonexistent—I expect to find another empty platform. Not so. Instead, the platform is packed with people, shoulder to shoulder, back to front, most of them staring straight ahead. No one speaks. They are like statues.

I check my watch. We’ve arrived eight minutes late, which means the train will arrive any second. It is early evening—quitting time. I’ve heard that jobs are becoming so scarce in many of the Moon Realm subchapters that some people commute to other subchapters to work and then return home at the end of the day, but until I see that crowded platform I don’t really realize the extent.

We join the crowd, wedging ourselves between a fat guy and an even fatter lady, trying to blend in. We get more than a few suspicious glances—it doesn’t help that I am wearing dark sunglasses.

I hear a rumble in the distance and the crowd pushes forward, anticipating the train’s arrival, anxious to get home. The train arrives and the doors open. It is empty; apparently subchapter 6 has a lot more jobs than subchapter 14. By the time we push, jostle, and elbow our way onto the car, all the seats are taken. We fight our way to the wall and lean against it, trying to get some breathing space. No luck. The biggest man I’ve ever seen in my life stands right next to us and raises his gigantic arm so his sausage-like fingers can grasp the handrail. Out of his exposed armpit wafts the smell of dried sweat and too many days without a shower. He burps, letting out an even worse odor, one I couldn’t easily identify, but which reminds me of rotten onions.

It should be a terrible ride, but it isn’t. After all, I am going to find the girl with the dark hair. The girl I know I have to find. The girl I hope will change my life. Assuming she’s still alive.