Trellis

12

If the potato train required me to give it a review, I would give it one star out of five. Would not recommend, even to my worst enemies. Hiding under a pile of potatoes, I finished half of the motion sickness pills in under an hour. 

It was a relief when the train stopped, courtesy of Kertel's temperature-bending powers. We got off and begin to trek, Rima still retching, my head feeling much heavier than the rest of me.

We must have walked at least ten kilometres until I lost signal. Wiping sweat from my brow, I motion for the others to stop.

'It's safe,' I pant. 'They can't track us.'

'They couldn't do anything about it if they could,' says Kertel, sipping from her water bottle. 'We're outside their borders.'

'Illegally.'

'But still. Corsica is legally required to grant asylum to refugees.' She swills the liquid around in her bottle. 'We're almost out. I'm going to search for a stream.'

She leaves, leaving us in the clearing.

Rima picks a leaf off the ground and starts inspecting it. I fear the exhaustion has gotten to his head and try to bring him back to earth.

'So...what plant is that leaf from?'

'No idea. It just looks safe to eat.'

And to my horror, he pops the piece of greenery into his mouth and starts chewing it.

'Why would you do that?'

'To shut off most of my normal human responses.'

I stare, until I realize he isn't joking. 

'You know you'll have to face all of that one day.'

'That's what I'm scared of.'

Kertel returns, and her replenished supply of water manages to make Rima slightly more sane.

We trek through the forest until nightfall, where Rima, for some reason, produces a tarp from his bag. Not that I'm complaining. It's handy.

And we reach Corsica the next morning.

They let us in, no problem. Probably assuming we were victims of Arcadian gangs.

But we have another problem.

'No local currency, we look terrible, no blending in, help...' Kertel whispers, digging through the contents of our bag. 'And they can still track us, probably...'

'They can't.'

'How?'

I hold up two wires. 'I'm stupid. I could have done this earlier. Now they know where we are.'

'But they have no power here,' murmurs Rima.

Kertel and I look at him for an uncomfortably long time.

'But if they put a bounty on our heads...'

'Kertel, let me do the thinking for once. You're overworking yourself.' I settle into a more comfortable position on the library floor. 'We have only one way to worm out of that one.'

'Quit the movie suspense stuff, Rheon, and get to it.' Rima waves a hand and reaches into his bag, extracting a leaf and munching on it.

'Fine. We make ourselves invaluable to Corsica. We work for them, until they can't function without us. Under aliases at first. And when Arcadia figures out we're here, it will be too late.'

'Yes. Flawless.' Rima eats another leaf. 'But once they find out we're no longer in their game, won't our families—'

Kertel bursts into giggles at this. 

'My dear friend. Did you really think our families would be the least bit affected by this? The Cresswells make fake identity cards for a living. And your family makes biological weapons.'

'They do?'

'Are you so dense, Yvet? All of us who have been selected for this, you, me, Dreis, Intiga, our families are pretty high up in the ranks. And we're the weeds. The dissenters. The ones who have something to say about how only the wealthiest are thriving in Arcadia.'

Something in my chest tightens at this. Goodness. I have killed my allies.

I can't deal with that now. But once I've settled down, had some time with myself, I fear the flood that will come. 

But if I kept moving...

'First things first. Kertel, we need more fake Arcadian passports. Then we apply for citizenship, integrate ourselves into the community. Learn what Corsica lacks in its ranks. Then, when we're seamlessly blended in...'

Kertel beams. 'I like that idea. But we do have a minor problem.'

'Wha—oh. I hate you, Kertel Cresswell, you—' Rima pokes me in the ribs, stopping the expletive from slipping out. His lips form the word 'language'.

'Better find a way to pass yourself off as a struggling single mother, then.'