The Wall Between Our Worlds

Chapter Five

Trep had had no idea that his mere presence put Krimson in such a difficult situation. It wasn't only the fact that he was from the West, but it was also an issue of gender. She hadn't answered his question when he had asked what might happen to her if someone caught them, and as a result his imagination ran wild.

As he and Krimson continued the arduous climb—well, it felt arduous to him—back to the ruins of his flyer, he cooked up all sorts of morbid possibilities for what might happen to her. Some of them came from history books, while others came from movies and television series that he had binged on throughout his life. Would she be beaten? Whipped? Humiliated? Branded? Executed? Burned at the stake? Forced to perform some sort of bizarre repentence ritual?

Trep needed to leave as soon as possible. If he could not return to the West, he at least needed to put some distance between himself and Krimson.

When they finally reached the ruins of his flyer, he didn't start looking for salvageable parts right away. Rather, he turned to face Krimson, who had been silent since she re-stitched the wound on his leg.

"Why didn't you report me to the Village Elders? Seems like it would have saved you a lot of trouble."

"I told you, the Chief Elder is—"

"A brutal idiot, yes. But why risk yourself?"

"Because it was the right thing to do."

The right thing to do. Most people didn't care what was right or wrong. They only cared what was right or wrong for them personally. Krimson was a treasure. "But I wish—" he began.

"Do not concern yourself with it. I do not regret helping you."

"But—"

"There is nothing you can do about it."

She was right. Trep was powerless to help her. All he could do was hope that Krimson's decision to save him wouldn't ruin her life.

He searched through the wreckage that hadn't landed in the river. He found his laser pistol, which he was glad for; he might be able to adapt the power source to get the Divide Control working. If he could recover the Divide Control from beneath the river's surface.

He also found his camera, which, surprisingly, was still working. It just had a few dents and dings in it.

"Krimson," he said, aiming the camera at her. "Smile."

"Why?"

"Just do it." And please don't have any weird superstitions that are going to make you terrified that I took your photograph.

She smiled, her face lighting up with a radiance that went beyond her near-perfect teeth and flawless skin. Trep snapped the photo before the moment faded. He wanted to see that smile again and again—for the rest of his life.

"What is that machine?" she asked.

"It's a camera. I took your photo. See?" He showed her the camera's view screen. To his immense relief, she did not gasp in horror.

Rather, she took the camera from him and examined the image. "I have heard of this type of device. I believe the HoneyRoot Tribe has some in their archives, but older versions—from the time of the war. It is interesting. How does it work?"

"I couldn't explain the technical details. But I love to take pictures. See? I was admiring the sunrise when my flyer fell." He showed her a few of the shots he had taken of the dawn.

She smiled. "It was a particularly beautiful sunrise. I watched it from the boughs of one of my favorite trees. Then you interrupted my moment of tranquility. You are very troublesome."