Page 49 of The Garnet Daughter
“Then I would ask for a spot in your hangar.”
Mayor Everson hums and crinkles his nose. “Not possible, she’s full. We’ve been waiting for this one since yesterday, tracking it. Its heart will cut right across us. I suggest parking your ship on the eclipse side of the hangar, break some of the larger debris.” He stands, adjusting his too tight belt.
Commander Wesley rises as well, shaking the man’s forearm. “Thank you for your time. We will await a comm granting us clearance.”
“You shall have it as soon as the storm passes, and a word of advice: don’t stay in the next town after sunset. The eclipse has a mind of its own.”
The sandstorm seems to pick up as soon as we seal ourselves back in the Viathan ship. It continues to grow in strength for the next few hours as we wait it out. The wind blows a constant stream of grit. I can’t help but picture the metal surrounding us wearing down to nothing as the storm rips its way in, one grain of sand at a time.
Commander Wesley reassures me that the howling scream outside is harmless, but I remain unconvinced. The terrible sound is a feminine shriek and too similar to sounds I wish I could forget.
I wander around the ghostly ship in search of a comfortable spot to flip through the spell book for more information on Omnesis and the old gods. The book is as much a journal as it is spells and rituals. The priestesses of old who used it logged knowledge they experienced using the spells and stories they heard their priestess sisters pass down through the order.
I wonder how long it remained hidden in the Viathan temple; did the fleeing priestesses know it was there, or were they so afraid of the arriving First Son soldiers they left behind even precious things in their hasty escape?
I make my way to the mess hall, where both commanders sit at different round tables intently staring at their data pads, the too bright room making the details of their black armor more apparent. Commander Wesley has tea in front of him but his sole focus is down at his data pad.
“Am I ok to enter?” I ask, not sure if I can eat with them. It sounds stupid saying aloud, but I have never been around any other Viathan commanders. Ferren once explained that 99 could remove his helmet because of the privilege of his rank, but that the others were bound to it. I shuffle on my feet, assuming this is a private dining room.
“Of course.” Commander Wesley removes his boots from the chair next to him, sitting straighter. “The food stations have a few selections.” He gestures to the back wall lined in crisp metal boxes hovering over a shiny countertop.
“Thank you.” I weave through the tables, doing my best to round the sides farthest away from Commander Vermeil.
Unfortunately, he sits close to the end, where the dispenser for bowls and utensils is, so avoiding his proximity isn’t an option.
Collecting the needed supplies, I keep my head down and make my posture unapproachable, not that he seems like the type to start a conversation. I stretch my arm out, not willing to step closer, and lean so far my hip knocks into the spell book and it falls off the countertop, opening to a random page.
I quickly pick it up, praying there is no damage, running my fingertips along the impacted edge.
The bookmark I was using is missing, but Commander Vermeil is already squatting down to retrieve it.
I groan internally.
He rises, looking over the note August left me this morning, the one I kept and am now using as a sentimental place holder. He stares at it for so long that if I could reach it, I would snatch it away. Picking up dropped belongings is only kind if you respect their privacy.
He steps closer, holding it between his two fingers for me to take.
“Thanks,” I say flatly and turn my back to him, determined to return to my task of filling my bowl with bland Viathan food.
The dispenser next to me whirls to life and protein squares fall into the slot. My peripheral catches the outline of Commander Vermeil’s armored body collecting his meal and then thankfully exiting the mess hall.
Instantly, my shoulders relax. I’m unsure if it’s his mood or personality, but whatever it is, it’s extremely off-putting and makes me notice every unnatural move he makes.
I collect my sad meal and sit at the same table as Commander Wesley. It seems rude to take another.
“Will the storm pass soon?” I ask him, pushing the dry, crumbly pieces around my bowl.
He taps a few times on his data pad with purpose and then turns it toward me, leaning in to see the front as well. “We are here. The storm’s heart is there.” He taps a button, making the dots smaller and more zoomed out. “If it continues the same path, it shouldn’t be much longer, but you never know with these things. Sometimes they linger, and sometimes they dissipate.”
“Oh.” I crunch into my food, trying to keep the sound under control.
“The next town isn’t far, but if we flew in this, the engine would seize up. Once it passes, we will check for damage, clear out any debris, and then head out.”
“We don’t have long,” I remind him.
“I work fast,” he says with a smile in his voice.
“And what about Commander Vermeil? How does he work? Have you—” I clear my throat, unsure of what I am asking. “Do you know him well?”
