Desert Wake ✔

Ch. 16, pt. 1: Trade

I'm standin' on a long pier next to Ro, wearin' black pants and a sturdy short sleeve blue shirt—the sensible kind of outfit a proper farmer would wear to work her prosperous Regions farm. Ro holds my arm, upright and stiff, wearin' similar garb procured fer us by Gina in a town fifty miles east of here. We need to look like we belong on that big tall ship at the end of the dock. I know exactly nothin' about boats, but Ro grew up in the capital, just up the hill from a port. He tells me the ship's a barquentine with three masts. The foremast is square-rigged, while the main and mizzen masts are fore-and-aft rigged. Whatever that all means. Honestly, I don't rightly care what kind of boat it is or which way its sails face as long as it gits me to that island.

It's a good ship fer makin' runs up and down the coast but evidently it cain handle a journey far out into the ocean as well. Ro takes it on faith that it's sea worthy, like it's a given that it cain keep us afloat and ain't no reason to doubt it. I shift on my feet, thinkin' about being' trapped on that thing fer weeks on end with nothin' but blue 'round me. My whole life I've wanted to be somewhere with an abundance of water. Guess I'm gittin' my wish and then some.

Ro squeezes my hand. Despite my protests, he's given me his medallion, the one only proper folks in the Regions is supposed to wear. I know without him havin' to say it that he'd do anything to git me on that boat, git me away from the danger he feels he's put me in. So we only got one medallion 'tween us, only one trinket provin' one person's Regions status, and Ro is determined it be me who puts it on display. Ain't no use arguing with him.

The line moves like it cain't grasp the concept that that's what lines is supposed to do. Looks like way more than the hundred-fifty people they're acceptin' as New Pioneers has shown up. Other folks ahead of us is turned away. We could be turned away. This could all still come to nothin'.

There's plenty of lawfolk here, too, which don't help my blood pressure none. It's probably standard, but I fear they're lookin' fer us. The half-covered flier in the boarding house bearin' Ro's likeness blows through my mind like dust across the plains. I bite my lip and give Ro another once over. He's wearin' a wide brimmed hat and his beard is all grown out again, fuller than it's ever been, he claims. After months on the run, he's got harsher angles and a knowin' look in his eyes that don't reflect much upon that picture of him plastered all about town. Still, someone could surely recognize him. It ain't beyond reason'.

Slowly, we move up the line. Beads of sweat collect at the edge of my collar. "Come on, Nessie." I pull gently on her lead. Hopeful trails willingly in her shadow. It's a mighty consolation that I ain't gotta leave my Nessie behind, and gods willin', she'll live out the rest of her days without fearin' the bottom of a fryin' pan. She's all I have remainin' of the farm, my home fer the first nineteen years of my life. Even Frank's been left behind. Ain't no guns allowed in the Regions; gittin' caught with one would surely give us away. Vern's got Frank now. He'll give him a good home, no doubtin' that. But I cain't bear to think of Frank, tried and true friend of one May June Stebbins, bein' gone from my life, not when I gotta focus on my actin' skills. Cuz finally, we're up next.

We're questioned by some kind of official. She introduces herself as Ms. Portia. "And this is Captain Beatty." She points to an older man with a neatly trimmed mustache standin' behind her. He gives us a slight nod as Ms. Portia keeps talkin'. "We'll determine if you are eligible to become New Pioneers. If you are, you'll board immediately and be shown to your quarters."

"And if we're not eligible?" Ro tries to keep his words steady.

When she smiles, her lips practically disappear. "You needn't worry about that unless it's necessary. Your names please?"