We resumed our trek across the glittering desert, each of us carrying several of the luminescent fruits. The sand beneath our feet no longer felt like it was trying to drain the life from us. Every few minutes, we'd take small bites from the fruit, savoring the rush of hydration that followed. Even Raphael had stopped complaining, which might have been the most miraculous thing about our situation.
"These trees," I said to Monica as we walked. "If they're prisoners, how are they helping us from so far away?"
She stroked Copernicus's copper leaves thoughtfully. "They say they're connected. Not just to each other, but to all plant life in the Arborist's collection. They call it the 'Great Root' – like they're all parts of one organism spread across this entire world."
"And they all want the Arborist dead?"
"Yes," Monica said simply. "They've been here for thousands of years, some of them. Taken from their home worlds and forced to grow in patterns he finds pleasing."
