Page 55 of The Garnet Daughter
Eighteen
Iwant to scream but I can’t remember how. I can only stare at the man holding the gun in my face. Another stranger slides in next to him, pointing it somewhere past my head.
“Drop it.” August’s voice is deadly.
The man smiles. “Don’t see many Viathan commanders out here.”
I step backward slowly.
Both men are dressed in rough clothing, as if the sandstorm has aged it and taken some of the color from the high points and seams. Something darker than dirt covers their faces, maybe soot, creasing in the sweaty lines around their eyes and foreheads.
“I said drop it.” August’s voice is closer.
I can hear Commander Wesley just behind me. I imagine his weapon is drawn, too, making me keenly aware I am standing between all four.
“Rude for guests to come in making demands,” the second skinnier man adds.
I finally get close enough to feel August’s hand on my back, letting me know he’s there. As much as I want to fold out of the way, I’m afraid any sudden movement will set either side off.
“I’ll ask all of you to put those away if you don’t mind.” An old man walks behind the countertop, wiping the dirt from his sweaty brow and not giving the showdown a second look.
No one moves. If anything, the two strangers snarl and lean a little more intently toward us.
“You will have to forgive my sons. Our town has seen some recent troubles,”
the old man says. “Again, I ask those be holstered.”
Commander Wesley moves behind me, withdrawing his outstretched arm.
“What are you doing?” August grits in a whisper.
“We need information they have. Holster it,” Commander Wesley explains.
“No way I’m surrendering to the dirt twins.”
“That’s an order,” Commander Wesley whispers. “The 99th Commander may tolerate your antics, but I won’t. Holster. It.”
“Soon as you do, I invite you to sit,” the old man calls out.
August’s exhale is drawn out as he stands down.
The sons look a little more relaxed, the rougher of the two sitting his gun on the tabletop as he takes a seat. The second man simply places his small gun in the back of his belt, standing guard against the wall.
“We are passing through, no trouble intended,” Commander Wesley says and pulls out a chair, gesturing for me to sit.
I choose the one next to it and plop down, irritated with Commander Wesley for the way he spoke to August.
“Who is . . . we?” the old man asks.
“I am Commander Wesley, and this is my pilot, Commander August.”
“And you?” The man sitting looks straight at me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
August sits in the chair closest to me, the armor on his shoulder pressed firmly against mine, and quickly deflectsattention away. “We saw some fire damage on our way in. Is this the trouble you speak of?”
“First Son soldiers came through. We are one of the last stops for fuel for a half a day, so it’s common for them to stop here, but things got ugly.” The old man comes out from the counter, placing glasses in front of each of us and pouring a small amount of brown liquid.
“They made demands we would not meet,” the seated son interrupts.
