“We’re about to reach the Fort Meeman-Shelby, where Prince Kevon will stay overnight for health monitoring.”
Worry clutches at my chest, and I clench my water bottle. Did he overexert himself?
“He’s not coming to the Barrens with us?” asks Ingrid.
“His Highness also has a prior commitment in the Harvester Region,” Byron replies.
I turn to Emmera, whose mouth drops open. This must be related to Vitelotte’s banishment. Meeman-Shelby is on the border of Rugosa and Panicum.
“What could a prince possibly want in that backwater?” asks another Noble girl.
Byron turns his gaze from the girl and doesn’t dignify the remark with an answer. Behind him, the screen displays a map of Phangloria that tracks the route we have taken from the Oasis. The Oasis is located at the foot of the Great Smoky Mountains in a place that used to be called Sweetwater, Tennessee.
The map shows the old landmarks along our route, such as Nashville and Memphis, Tennessee, which are both within the Harvester Region. We’re currently outside the minor wall that separates Phangloria from the Barrens and our final destination is Fort Worth. It’s located in the place that used to be called Dallas.
“The next stretch of our journey is five-hundred miles,” says Byron. “From now, it will be a non-stop drive to Fort Tyler for a shower and breakfast, then on to the Great Wall at Fort Worth. I suggest you all get some sleep.”
As the Nobles all rush to the left of the vehicle to secure the bottom bunks, I turn to Emmera. “Are you going to take one of the beds?”
She shakes her head. “What’s the point, when these seats recline all the way back?”
The Artisan girl sitting in front rises to take a top bunk, but none of the Amstraad girls leave their seats. I turn my gaze back to the screen, which still displays the Phangloria map. The minor wall runs along the dry beds of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers and ends at the Baltimore coast. Even though the Harvester Region takes up most of the land within the Echelons, the Barrens is the largest mass within Phangloria.
Only fifty-thousand people live in the Barrens. Mom says they’re gathered close to the Forts, where there’s a supply of food and water, but Firkin lived in the mountains. I don’t understand why Phangloria keeps moving its borders across the desert when there is already so much unproductive and desolate land within the Harvester Region.
The screen turns off, and all the lights in the coach dim. I close my eyes and wrap my fingers around the steak knife I saved from dinner, just in case someone attacks in my sleep.
Hours later, a gentle hum pulls me out of a dreamless slumber. I open my eyes and push myself up from the reclined seat to find the vehicle’s windows have turned transparent.
We’re parked within the rock walls of a fortress with a circular courtyard the size of Rugosa Square. Its first level consists of twelve-foot-tall, arched walkways that lead into the main building, with small windows adorning the three levels above.
The doors open, and a gust of hot, dry air streams into the vehicle’s interior. I have to squint as we follow the production assistants underneath the shaded arches and into the fort’s cool, white interior.
Nobody speaks on the walk through the fort’s curved hallway. When we step into a featureless, white dormitory containing eighteen bunks, the Noble girls grumble. When we enter the communal showers, the Noble girls walk out.
Petra the Artisan, Emmera, and I take our showers first, while the Nobles screech about the barbaric conditions. None of the Amstraadi girls join us, and I wonder if that’s because they don’t want to damage their machine parts.
When we step out, our clothes have gone, replaced by outfits identical to the ones we wore the day before. We’re the first to arrive in a formal dining room. Unlike the rest of the fort, which consists of stone floors and whitewashed walls, this room has a beige carpet, champagne-colored wallpaper, and portraits of Gaia and Uranus on the wall.
An elaborate table is set for sixteen with two armchairs at the far ends. It looks like whoever prepared this room was probably expecting Prince Kevon to accompany us.
We sit at one end of the table and serve ourselves from a platter of poached eggs, sausages, bacon, and grilled vegetables. Among the dishes are croissants and waffles. Jugs of syrup and chopped fruit surround a tall stack of pancakes, which I intend to have for dessert. There are also four types of fruit juice, silver pots of tea, coffee, chicory, and hot chocolate, along with boiling water for anyone who wants to make a herbal brew.
The old me would have griped that Guardians enjoyed such elaborate feasts, but Prince Kevon’s water rationing reforms will change things for Harvesters. Dad will probably dig up half the cacti and grow enough food in the garden to support the family, and his micro-gardens will thrive with all that additional water.
When the Nobles arrive, they sit on the far side of the table, allowing me to enjoy this breakfast in peace. Once everyone has finished eating, we board two closed jeeps, which take us out of the fort.
Stones rumble under the wheels of the spacious vehicle. I lean forward in my seat and peer out of the window. It’s hard to tell if the rough terrain is because the road’s surface is gravel or because the winds have blown stones everywhere. For the first few miles, the landscape is a mix of beiges and browns and yellows. Swaths of flat desert stretch out into the horizon, broken up by the occasional rocky hill.
Our guide is a black-haired man with an ageless face who wears a khaki suit. He explains we’re approaching what used to be the Dallas Gate of the Great Wall, but it has moved thirty miles in the
