Page 52 of The Garnet Daughter
“I do not.”
“Perfect.” I cross in front of August, debating if wasting time going back to the Estate for another pilot is even feasible, but it would lead to more questions and chaos, and 99 only gave me so much time. We are stuck with the pilot we have and he knows it.
“Commander Wesley, please wake me when we are leaving. I will be in my quarters. Don’t follow me,” I say directly to August.
When I step through the threshold of my door, I realize how deeply upset I am with him. He had no right to show up like this. I left because it was for the best, because it was dangerous.
But his expression when I screamed I did not want him here crosses my mind and makes my stomach twist a little. Guilt soaks into my bones the more I picture just how unfair this situation is for both of us. I wasn’t looking for fair. I was looking to do this on my own. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt, especially him.
I change out of the grimy clothes I wore out in the elements and have no problem shoving the last injection into my skin, hoping to sleep off my emotional turmoil. There are so many more things I want to storm back into the cockpit and say to him, to scream at him for making me second-guess my impossible choice, for making ones for me, and then apologize for making ones for him.
I groan and flop back onto my stiff mattress.
As the medicine takes over, pulling me into sleep, I acknowledge how much he risks being here. But also the fact that when I was calling his name, unsure if he would answer, a piece of me hoped it was truly him.
I hope I sleep soundly enough to forget that part.
A pounding on my door jolts me from slumber so fast I take a moment to remember where I am, why I am in this strange room.
“Calliape.” August shouts as if nothing has transpired between us. “Hey, so I know you are still mad and that’s fine, but you would hate me if I didn’t wake you for this. Meet me in the cockpit.”
“What?” I call out, baffled, but he does not answer.
I rise and pull on another layer, a sudden chill overcoming me after being tucked into my warm blankets for the hours I slept while the medication took effect.
August is long gone when I open the door, but I follow the same trail up to the cockpit, driven only by the mystery he dangled in front of me.
When I enter, he stands at the front, glancing over his shoulder, anticipating something. “Glare at me all you want, but you have to see this.” He points out the windows.
The storm is lessening enough to see the horizon. Though the hangar’s outline obscures some of the view, a beautiful green and purple light dances across the sky. The morning sun rises and eclipses the planet in front of it like no other time I have seen on Cosima. Here, the skyline is flat and goes on forever, a perfect display of the conjunction lining up in the final days.
“It’s Frith,” he says.
The planet, making the sky dance with vivid color, seems so close it will crash into us. We watch in silence for a long time, until the light evens out and the day is as bright of a hue as the eclipse will allow.
“Thank you,” I reply because even through my anger, I can admit that was mesmerizing.
He nods and plops down in the pilot’s seat. “The storm has been dying down.”
The grains of sand outside scatter across the windows, lingering in the frame instead of streaming across like they did for hours last night as the storm raged through.
“I’m still angry, but I don’t know what to say to you,” I admit, breaking the awkward silence.
“Say I should wear this armor all the time.” He still dons commander armor instead of his normal Viathan attire.
“I’m serious.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do, and you were leaving.” His voice sounds so defeated.
“You didn’t have to do anything. There were things for you to do on the front lines. You could have let me do this alone.” I exhale and sit in the chair closest to him, playing with the edge of my bandage.
The way he looks at me is as if he thinks I’ve said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.
“I have never felt so panicked. I told you we stick together, and I meant it.” His voice gets a little lower when he is serious, like he doesn’t want anyone else to know he is sensitive, even when it’s just the two of us here.
“I did not intend for you to panic.” When I look up at him, his dimple is on full display as he grins on one side. “That was not an apology,” I clarify.
“It was, and I accept.”
