Page 63 of The Garnet Daughter
“I said good ideas.” He turns away and sits in his pilot’s chair. “All but the malfunctioned drone have returned, ready?”
“We can just leave it out there?” For some reason, I can’t help but be sentimental toward it, as if it were truly alive and not a flying metal egg.
“Normally, we would retrieve it, but considering our time constraint, we will have to do without. I will program them to sync with one less,” he says and juts his chin toward my chair for me to sit for takeoff.
It doesn’t take long to move the ship to the next spot. August is fast and efficient, keeping a serious disposition, knowing that my patience and anxiety is growing as time passes. For all that he is silly and charming, he knows exactly when to switch into a focused state that I greatly appreciate now.
We’re parked out in the open this time. The wind whips across the front windows, blowing tiny rust-colored particles across the glass.
I offer to help August place the drones outside, having not seen them launch the first time. However, he demands that I observe from within the cockpit. The compromise is easy after seeing how much grit is swirling around.
He carries both totes around to the front for me to watch and sends me a little wave when he spots me through the window. His movements are exaggerated at first, holding up the first drone dramatically and laughing to himself.
The silver egg floats down about knee-height off the ground and circles out near August, casting out larger rings until I see it disappear to the side of the ship.
He waves for my attention and then points to the side of the cockpit where the map of the previous spot was scanned.
A green portion expands, more terrain being logged. With the first drone launched, it’s already filling in the space with its findings. I watch for a while longer and notice other areas now being added, and when I peer out the windows again, August is activating the last drone. This one zooms out into the desert farther than I can see.
August stays in the cockpit for most of the day, glued to the terrain map, making notes and zooming into specific sections.
I’m happy to pace around the rest of the ship, trying different options of Viathan food and flipping through the spell book and marking any pages that even mention the old gods.
Eventually, I make my way back up to the cockpit to join August. I’m hoping the drones are completed and we have the next task to move to because it’s becoming more difficult to avoid the nagging thoughts about how different it is between us since our last honest conversation. Or the fact that we are alone together on this ship with nothing to do but wait.
“Any others malfunction?” I ask as I enter the front of the ship.
“No, they are looking good. Two directions seem promising, but I want to wait until they fill in the space more before we make a decision.” He finally takes his eyes off the screen and smiles. “Any luck finding a spell?”
“Some. Best I’ve come up with is to imprison it in its own temple with one of the binding spells.”
“You can do that?”
“I don’t know.” Doubt spreads across my nerves. I could not do the spell I intended to do in the temple, so why would I assume I could perform another without incident?
He must sense the shift in my mood because he redirects, pulling my attention away from the topic. “So! I had a thought.”
“What kind?” I glare at his suspicious tone.
“What do you think of learning to fly while we wait?”
“Like the ship?”
“Yes, like the ship.” He beckons me with his hand and crosses the room toward the pilot’s station.
I’m reluctant to follow. Even now I can see how many buttons are flashing. “I’ve never even considered it.”
“Might like being able to pick up and move whenever you want, have the freedom of moving between worlds but with a home base.” He sits in his chair and swivels it in my direction. “Not as fast as folding, of course, but it’s a close second, and if you like it, we could find you your own ship . . . if you preferred.”
I can’t help but make a face at how much we have jumped from learning to fly to owning my own ship.
The longer I stay silent, the more he fidgets, then laces his fingers together to stop himself. “If it were up to me, I would fly you wherever you wanted to go, but if you had your own, you would be in control. If you wanted to be alone . . .”
Does he assume I don’t like staying on his ship now that he has told me how he feels? Maybe I stayed too busy today and he thinks I was avoiding him.
“You have put a lot of thought into this,” I state.
“Well, it’s also a good skill to have if the party you are with is down a pilot for whatever reason.”
