Page 47 of The Garnet Daughter
Chapter
Sixteen
The cockpit is larger than I expected. The pilot’s station is on a platform in the front and behind it sit rows and rows of chairs, enough for at least a dozen Viathans to strap in during takeoff. By the time I choose a seat, both of my travel companions are walking in, calmly going over flight logs and preparing to depart.
“Are you familiar with the buckles?” Commander Wesley says, noticing I have paused.
“I’ll manage.” I climb down into my chosen spot and watch the pilot flick a few switches that light up with a touch of his gloved fingertips.
“It’s a short flight to the birthlands.” Commander Wesley fastens his seat straps a few rows ahead of me, closer to the pilot’s command station. “But it will be bumpy, sandstorms.”
“Sandstorms?” I didn’t know such things existed. How does a storm rain down sand?
“Nothing to worry about. Commander Vermeil will weave us around it, right, Commander?”
The pilot pauses his flight protocols and looks over his shoulder at me briefly and begins again. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he finally says, his voice monotone and stilted.
He doesn’t sound thrilled to be going toward whatever danger we are flying into, but at least Commander Wesley doesn’t seem worried.
The large windows in front of the pilot’s station are dark and hued in purple as we lift out of the city. Commander Vermeil smoothly turns us, maneuvering the vessel with confidence. The only things on the horizon are more somber shades of the conjunction and, beyond that, somewhere in the darkness, the birthlands.
The thrilling feeling of ascending higher into the sky makes my stomach flutter with excitement. From the first time I flew on August’s ship, I loved it, taking off into the space between, suspended by technology I can’t fathom, no matter how many times August has tried to explain. I did not suffer travel sickness like most do during their first time in the space between worlds. My mother traveled to Frith while I was still in her womb, perhaps acclimating me to the sensation even then.
When we land at our first location, I wait in my room for Commander Wesley to come back from speaking with the dock workers. This is a Viathan post, but the town it resides in is governed by an official who can deny clearance to pass through it. Commander Wesley seems to know him and promises to return shortly.
I place my few items of clothing into the metal locker in my room. The light within comes to life as soon as the door opens. The space is compact, but there are two beds stacked on each other with a lavatory connected. I can’t picture two commanders in here at once, with their armor getting in the way.
The top bed creates a cozy cave-like ceiling for the one below. I lie on my back and unwrap my arm layer by layer until the last one that holds a piece of gauze is revealed. I slow my movements to prevent any discomfort like previous times.
The wound has improved significantly. Fresh skin spreads across where it once oozed with infection. It’s still tender, but the Viathan medicine has sped up the healing process in a way that Ruth’s herbs never could. I have one more injection for tonight, and then soon after that, I will remove this itchy wrap and get used to the scar it leaves behind.
“Calliape,” Commander Wesley calls through a command panel by my door. “Report to the bridge.”
I hastily rewrap my arm, trying to identify which part of this ship is referred to as the bridge and if it differs from the cockpit.
My door whooshes open in suspicious tandem with the one directly across from it. Commander Vermeil stands in the threshold, appearing to have been summoned as well.
I find it odd that of all the rooms on this ship, he has chosen the one across from me, or maybe I have chosen across from him without knowing. Do Viathan fleet ships not have a pilot suite like August’s and they sleep amongst the rest of the crew?
I step out, hesitant for no reason. “Which way is the bridge?”
He points as a response.
“Thanks.” I slowly head in that direction and can hear him trailing behind. He speaks less than 99, which I imagined being impossible.
“Left,” he instructs from a ways behind me when I come to a cross section and look in both directions.
I pause in the corridor and turn toward him as he approaches. “Why don’t you just show me the way?” I much prefer this moment of awkward interaction over the promise of him lurking in my shadow the whole time.
He nods and passes. Something is strange about him, but I can’t pinpoint what.
Commander Wesley has a floating map of the terrain illuminated on the table as we enter. He hovers over it, fingers drumming on the tabletop in contemplation.
“I’ve arranged a meeting with the town’s mayor. He will meet us here at the port.”
“Can he tell us where the temple is?”
“He can answer questions you have and is trusted by the Viathan government to keep the port treaty,” he replies as if that means anything to me at all.
