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In a few minutes, Oliver was ready. He rolled his neck, shrugged on the emotional armor of Oliver Turner, representative of the Turner family, and strode back out into the foyer. Patrick and Mal’ik had their heads together again and glanced up when he entered. Patrick didn’t react to the sight of him, but Mal’ik’s orange eyes flickered over Oliver’s body and he stood up a little straighter.
“Shall we?” Oliver gestured to the door behind them.
“We shall.” Patrick nodded with a smile that made his grizzled face look boyish and then exited the room first.
The first hour or so of the new arrangement was awkward and silent. Oliver felt strangely self-conscious with both Patrick and Mal’ik flanking him. Patrick was Mal’ik’s oldest friend from the sound of it. And he must know about what they were doing. What if he found Oliver wanting? What if he didn’t think Oliver was good enough for Mal’ik? What if he thought Oliver was a prissy bastard and told Mal’ik so? Not that Oliver wasn’t or that Mal’ik didn’t already know….
But after his first meeting—with the minister of the military who Oliver had back on his side in moments, nodding along as though he couldn’t possibly disagree with Oliver’s points—he was feeling more like himself. Enough like himself to scoff at the wilted flowers lining the arcade. Patrick snorted with that boyish smile, and Mal’ik’s scarred lips twitched, and Oliver felt settled back into himself.
By the time they were approaching Emissary Serihk’s ship—Oliver had agreed to meet there once again in his bid to win the qesh’s favor—he was feeling as confident as ever.
It opened before they reached the door, and a young human girl stepped out. She had a gatlung slung over her shoulder that rivaled her in height, and when she caught sight of them, her eyes lit up. Oliver stopped, taken aback.
“Captain Mal’ik!” She grinned and trotted down the gangway to meet them. “Look what I have.” She pulled her gatlung off her shoulder and spun it impressively. Oliver fought the urge to step back when that serrated blade swept disconcertingly close to him.
“You’re very first. May it serve you well,” Mal’ik replied in that warm rumble and smiled. The sight of him smiling as a human child bounced around him made Oliver’s heart ache. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”
“I leave in two days.” The girl shifted and swallowed, but she still looked excited.
“Good luck,” Mal’ik said.
“Thanks.” She grinned at him, then pulled the gatlung back over her shoulder. “Anyway, I have to go. Lar’a found an old friend to give me lessons today.”
“Well, good luck twice then.”
The girl bounced off, and Oliver raised an eyebrow at Mal’ik.
“Astrid Harrison,” Mal’ik replied. “Bryant Harrison’s daughter.”
“He has a daughter?” Oliver frowned. He had tried to dig up everything he could after he’d found out about Serihk’s human consultant, but it was like the man had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Serihk had gone to Lewis Station alone, and when he’d come back, he was carting some human consultant along with him everywhere.
Some human consultant with an uneducated accent, a very rough exterior, and apparently a daughter. Oliver had disliked him immediately on principle—he clearly hadn’t thought much of Oliver and had the gall to stand opposite him. The shrewd look in his eye as he’d sat through the humiliating and torturous meeting hadn’t endeared Oliver to him either.
But of course Mal’ik would be friends with his daughter. The stoic bodyguard seemed to have the knack for making friends that Oliver never had.
Oliver turned back to the ship to see Bryant Harrison himself standing in the entryway, watching them. Oliver schooled his expression into something polite, even friendly.
“Good morning, Mr. Harrison.” Oliver smiled as he walked up the gangway toward him and reached out his hand. Harrison’s eyebrows went up at the gesture, but he took it and gave Oliver a firm handshake.
“Good morning, Mr. Turner.” Then he reached past Oliver to Mal’ik. “Captain Mal’ik. Good to see you again.”
“And you, Harrison.” Mal’ik shook his hand, and Oliver stepped aside. Right, Mal’ik had been here just the other night. Friends with everyone. “This is Patrick Smith. He’s on the security team.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Patrick shook Harrison’s hand.
“Serihk’s in the study.” Harrison nodded down the hall, and they followed. Apparently, Oliver’s bodyguards were accompanying him this time with or without his explicit consent. Oliver found that strangely comforting, though he’d never admit it.
But a klah’eel woman stood outside the study door, and as soon as she saw them, she pointed at Mal’ik and Patrick.
“You two. I need to speak to you.” Her voice didn’t leave a lot of room for argument, but even so, Oliver glanced at Mal’ik to see him hesitating. Mal’ik glanced down at Oliver—their eyes met—then back at the woman. The woman scowled. “It’s urgent.”
Finally, Mal’ik relented. “Alright.” He looked back down at Oliver, and when he spoke, his voice was comforting. “I’ll be in soon.”
Oliver became hyperaware of the number of eyes on them and put his back up. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to think he needed his bodyguard to babysit him through meetings, so he turned to the door and waved his hand dismissively over his shoulder.
“Do whatever you need to,” he said, then brushed past Harrison into the study.
Emissary Serihk was sitting at his desk, looking at a data tablet, and he glanced up when Oliver entered. As though he had forgotten Oliver was coming and was still trying to get some work done. As though Oliver had made an appointment with him rather than organized a meeting of equals.
