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Garrett wrapped his hand around Leon’s wrist to feel the grounding solidity of him. “I just don’t like it.”
“I know.” Leon squeezed his shoulders and smiled grimly but didn’t offer any comforting words. “Now, about Maxwell.”
Garrett caught Leon’s elbow before he could turn away from him. “I don’t want to leave him here alone with Kurt Buck sniffing around.”
“I know, and you’re right.” Leon dragged a hand over his face as he sat heavily back in his chair. He rubbed at his temples again as he thought. “I can tell Turner to stay with him in the clinic while you’re gone.”
“Oliver Turner?” Garrett dead-panned, his hand with the carafe dropping to his side as he gave Leon an unimpressed look.
Leon scowled. “Are you going to complain about Oliver Turner’s traitorous tendencies too?”
“Do I have to?” Garrett raised his eyebrows.
“Turner is friends with Maxwell, and if Turner is there, then odds are Captain Mal’ik will be there too.” Leon returned his raised eyebrows look. “Are you really going to tell me that Maxwell won’t be safe from the likes of Kurt Buck with Captain Mal’ik hanging around?”
Garrett pursed his lips. He had to admit that the huge and famously honorable klah’eel was probably the best person he could hope for to watch over Maxwell while he was gone, even if he hadn’t come all the way around to liking the man. “Can you ask specifically order Mal’ik and Turner to stay with him?”
“Done.” Leon snatched his tablet from the desk and tapped out a quick message. “Now, will you please go meet Patrick?”
“Alright, I’m going, I’m going.” Garrett clapped Leon on the shoulder as he turned back to the exit flap. “Good luck with everything.”
“You too.”
Garrett left and wound his way through the early morning camp, passing beside gurgling canals and over rickety bridges. He drank his klak with purpose, needing every bit of the stimulant in his bloodstream before taking off on another daring mission back to Tava. Normally he’d have ensured at least a few hours of sleep between missions, but he hadn’t been able to tear himself from outside Maxwell’s door until the sun had started to rise and people had begun to mill about it. He didn’t know what he thought Kurt would do to Maxwell, but he also didn’t want to think too hard about it.
“Garrett!”
Garrett turned at the high-pitched and particularly excited call and saw Rhast—dressed in new clothes that were slightly too big—running to him. Garrett grinned and stooped to catch the little qesh in one arm before standing back up with him. “Hey there, kiddo. You’re up early.”
“You’re going back to rescue my family now, right?” Rhast wrapped his arms loosely around Garrett’s neck and looked at him seriously.
Garrett nodded. “I’m going to go try, yes.”
“Can I come with you?”
“No, I’m sorry.” Garrett shook his head and started walking back to the old but sturdy building Rhast had come running out of. The temple had been built by Priest Lazar way back when refugees had first flooded to Carta during the initial Klah’Eel invasion twenty-five years ago, and it still stood. “It’s not safe, and I can’t afford to be distracted by you while I’m trying to rescue everyone else.”
Rhast’s skin bloomed with splotches of red. “But I can help!”
“I know you can.” Garrett knelt and set Rhast back on his feet at the temple door. “So why don’t you help Priest Lazar set up beds for everyone? They’ll all be hungry and tired when they get here, just like you were, and they’ll need someone to be ready to look after them.”
Rhast balled his little fists, but then his shoulders deflated, and he kicked the floor. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Garrett smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair before standing up. “Thanks, Rhast. I’ll see you soon.”
Garrett shook his head and downed the rest of his klak as he walked to the sky port. God, he hoped Rhast’s family was still okay. There were enough war orphans already.
He found the larger rescue ship already sitting on the tarmac for him, ready to go, thanks to Joan’s immaculate planning and preparation. But all the planning in the world couldn’t make their gear any better. The hunk of junk could maybe—probably—survive the atmospheric entrances and exits and maybe even a Tava storm, but Garrett was pretty sure it would burst into pieces if it took a single shot from one of those pirates.
He walked up the gangway, through the rows of seats crammed cheek to jowl in the main passenger hold, and tossed his bag into the cockpit. The ship wasn’t that big, but it was bigger than the nimble little recon ship he’d been flying recently. It was more like a large moving room or freighter. A nice, big, round target. And it didn’t even have any guns.
Ugh, maybe it was a good thing he’d have the Klah’Eel flying about.
Garrett’s tablet dinged from its spot on the pilot’s seat, and he started to reach for it when he heard a dull banging and a vaguely familiar voice.
“Knock, knock.”
“Speak of the devil,” Garrett muttered and changed course to exit the ship down the gangway.
