Meg laughed derisively. Gabe allowed himself a slight chuckle, as though aware that he didn’t exactly enjoy insider status on jokes about Holly and Meg’s mother.
11
The next morning, Holly waited at the opening to the alley just beyond the Earl’s Crown bookshop. Apparently Gabe’s pilot friend was meeting them somewhere nearby. The usual motley assortment of interesting people came and went into the alley. Men in top hats and suits walked by with monocles in their eyes or dangling from their jackets, while women in various dress styles with corseted torsos breezed along with them, feathers sticking off their hats. Being so close to Angelo’s shop, Holly recalled Shiro’s watch, which she still hadn’t returned to him. It would be nice to hop into Angelo’s shop for a rejuvenating sit in a chair, surrounded by all things velvet and old, to soak in the odors of time and a long-past world that she’d only ever seen images of.
And Angelo himself. His kindly manner always made her feel something, that she was connected to others. Her own father was kind, but demanding. Because Holly had rejected the family line of work—policing—she had never gotten that feedback that she was right with the world, and that her father was proud of her.
A tall, male Druiviin walked by, a female beside him, both of them wearing feathery wings on their backs attached to small vests that left their arms and midriffs exposed.
“There you are, kiddo,” Gabe said, seeming to materialize in front of her when the wings of the Druiviin finally slipped past. Being near Analogue Alley, the world reeked of magic and possibility, and Gabe’s sudden appearance fit perfectly with that.
“Gabe,” Holly said, masking her surprise.
“This is such a weird place,” he remarked. “But it’s where Old Scotch picked for himself, I guess.”
“Old Scotch?” Holly repeated.
“Yeah, that’s his nickname. His real name is Iain Grant.”
“Of course he’s got a nickname.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I don’t.”
“Yours is ‘kiddo.’”
Holly shook her head. “Only you call me that, at your own peril.”
“Shall we go in,” Gabe asked, laughing and clapping her on the shoulder. His hand lingered there, until he slipped it down to her upper arm as he fell into step beside her. “What I can’t understand is how he even ended up here. This isn’t his scene. Ex-military. Very stoic. Very tough guy. You’re going to love him.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You’ve already sold me on him. He sounds like a wonderful human.” She pulled her arm away from Gabe as they walked. His touch didn’t bother her, but the sense that he was controlling her, did. After living under the oppression of Graf for so long, Holly was determined to never be controlled.
“Sarcasm. I never tire of it. At least, not from the Wolfe sisters.”
“Meg taught me everything I know about it.” She grinned despite herself. The alley was full of costumed pedestrians, as always. The odors of breakfast wafted through the air: baking rolls, the sugary fragrances of syrups and sauces, sizzling bacon, and the less familiar scents of Druiviin, Constellation, and Centau foods.
“I should have skipped breakfast at home and eaten here. I forget that this place specializes in old foods.”
“Are we meeting Old Scotch at a restaurant?” Holly asked, waiting for a Centau dressed in furs to pass, and then continuing on.
Gabe chuckled softly. “Not at all.”
Soon they came to a shop that was snuggled between a Druiviin costumier and a Constie shop that specialized in rarities and trinkets of yesteryear. The terms of some of the signs made her laugh inside—translation into the universal language from the original language didn’t always work. A shop called something like Oddities of the Sort One Might Find on Axcia in Times Long Past in the universal language might be something as simple as Odds and Gobs in the Constie language.
“This is it,” Gabe said, heading up the stairs into the shop that was dwarfed by the surrounding spires. All the buildings in the alleyway were two to three story separate structures with pointed roofs, eaves, and windows, with doors that creaked on hinges when opened. The one Gabe led Holly into was called Create Like Your Life Depended on It.
“That’s a serious sign. On the one hand, artsy, on the other, urgent. I feel so mixed up inside.” Holly laughed.
Gabe paused at the door and glanced back at the bamboo sign at the foot of the stairs. “That’s just Iain’s style. I don’t know if he has a sense of humor. But, well, you’ll see.” He turned to go inside.
“Oh, wait,” Holly said, following him. “You mean, this is his shop?”
But Gabe was already calling out to Iain. “Scotch! Hey, you in here?”
There were displays everywhere and goods stacked upon them. Free-standing shelves ran parallel to the walls, which also held shelves of things like canvases and tubes of paint. An entire wall featured rows and rows of paint-brushes, along with a v-screen running a video about how to use a paintbrush. It was currently playing a woman describing how to mix oil paints and which kinds of brushes worked best with oils. The stuff was so archaic. Holly paused and inhaled. The place smelled strange. It recalled the smell of Meg’s condo while they’d been painting the day before, but there was an underlying fragrance that she was unfamiliar with. But that was the whole point of Analogue Alley—a romanticization of the past. Bringing back archaic traditions that, some would argue, were better left in the past.
There were other paints stacked in shelves. Acrylic. Water. And pencils and pens. There was clay as well, and chalk and charcoals. Everything seemed so tactile and real. She wanted to walk up to all the objects and touch them.
“Well, bust my balls, if it isn’t Gabriel Bach, the worst detective the City of Jade Spires has ever seen.” A man emerged from a back room. Holly looked up and moved toward the center of the shop, where Gabe was laughing and clasping the man’s hand in a firm forearm shake.
“Scotch. This is my ex-sister-in-law, Holly Drake.” Holly smiled and offered her hand. Scotch took it and shook it gently, while meeting her gaze with his own.
“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Drake.”
“And you, Scotch?” she asked.
“Scotch is fine, thank you,” Iain said, nodding.
Holly noticed Gabe staring at the floor, as though lost in thought. Holly waited for him to say something more. When he didn’t, Holly searched for something to ask Iain. “So, how did you come by your nickname?”
“Someone figured it would be funny to reference my heritage, rather than my name. Some drunk bastard during a bar sing-along. We were all drunk.”
Gabe still hadn’t made a move to say much more, so Holly continued to try to engage Iain. “How long have you been running this place?” She glanced around. It reminded her of Angelo’s, but only in the old format sense of the materials. “Do you know Angelo?”
“Angelo. Of course. We get drinks together occasionally. You know him?”
Gabe looked at Iain then, his eyes narrowed.
“What, Bach? You think I would lay off the drink after what happened? No. A man has to survive, and since I’m not running a ship anymore, what’s the harm?”
Holly looked back and forth between them, waiting for one of them to tell her “what happened.”
“I’m not your keeper, Scotch. Just don’t want a repeat of what happened.”
“I’m already a disgraced commander. What could be worse?”
“Being a disgraced commander in prison. Again.”
“You were in prison?” Holly asked, feeling a sense of understanding creep into her.
Iain sighed and turned away. He went back behind the counter where an old style register sat upon the glass display case. Stacks of boxes reached the top of the counter. Iain snatched a knife off the counter and cut the top box open and began pulling out supplies.
Holly cleared her throat. “I was in prison too. Wrongfully. I’m not here to judge.”
“Goo
d, because there’s no reason to judge me, miss.”
Gabe looked at Iain with a bemused expression on his face. “It was just a drunk and disorderly problem. Some damages. A bar fight.”
Iain paused in what he was doing and glared at Gabe. “Someone slandered me.”
There was some heat in the conversation, making Holly feel like a third wheel. She distracted herself by picking up a metallic tube of oil paint that Scotch had just pulled out of the box and placed on the counter. The color was Cadmium Red Deep. It pressed a satisfying weight into her hand. “Was your bar fight in connection with the nickname?”
“No, that was months before. Familiarity breeds contempt, as they say. The bastards who gave me the name . . .” he shook his head, inspecting a container of paint brushes.
Holly waited, but he didn’t continue.
Gabe watched the other man carefully. “Eventually they found out he’s an ex-commander. Discharged. Turned it into a case of ridicule. Scotch fought with them.”
“We are no longer friends,” Iain said. He glanced at a v-screen and compared the products he was unloading to it.
“Scotch spent the night in jail.”
“A few nights.”
“That’s how we met,” Gabe finished. “And Scotch is one of my best friends now.”
Holly looked at Gabe. Why hadn’t she ever heard of him, then? “What about the others? Did they also get in trouble?”
“They ran off before we got there. Scotch was the only one left. When I found him, he was trying to calm the owner of the bar down, telling her he would pay for the damages.”
“And I did. I keep my word. And I don’t run when things get hot.”
Holly studied Iain’s face. He had a firm jaw with craggy features like he’d just climbed down from the mountains. His hair matched that sense, a bit unkempt and graying. But there was a gravitas to him that Holly liked. Though Gabe and Iain had both just shared a story about him that lent a sense of wild danger to the man, he seemed collected and under control. He hadn’t run off when the police came to break up the disturbance. Iain had accepted the stripes. He was responsible.
“Why did you leave the military?” Holly asked quietly. If she was going to charge him with a ship, she should know what he was capable of and what he wasn’t. Otherwise she saw no reason to put a tanker in his command and task him with flying it.
Iain put the v-screen down and focused on Holly. He leaned to the side against the heavy boxes and folded his hands in front of his stomach—not in an aggressive way, however. It was a pause to listen and take seriously what he was about to say, and it struck her more as the style a mentor would take with their student.
“The conflict got to me.”
That was it. Holly glanced at Gabe, who was just turning away and moving to the shelves on the other side of the room. Holly understood: she was on her own with this one, but then Gabe spun around, suddenly.
“Tell you what. You guys hungry? Ever since we got to weirdo alley, my stomach’s been growling.”
“Good idea, Gabe,” Iain said. “You alright with that?” He addressed this question to Holly.
She nodded, though her mind was spinning in circles around what he’d just said about the conflict. Did he mean the one conflict? The big one?
Apparently, she wouldn’t be able to ask that here. Iain had disappeared into his back room and she could hear him barking orders at someone. Holly shot a look at Gabe, who was currently holding a small paintbrush, running his fingers over the soft bristles.
“He’s got an employee,” Gabe said without looking up.
12
Iain picked the restaurant. It was a fusion joint, serving breakfasts from both human and Centau cultures. Which made for a delectable balance between sweet fruits and salty meats like bacon and ham.
The three of them were seated at a window that overlooked the alley below. Holly found her gaze drifting down to the people walking to and fro like they were on parade. And they were, it seemed. It was the main reason to come to All Things Analogue—to see what others were dressed in, to be seen, to be appreciated.
Curiosity about the conflict Iain was speaking of burned in Holly’s mind. More questions swirled just behind her teeth, desperate to be freed in conversation with Iain.
If he had indeed been a military commander in The Yol Conflict, that meant he had seen non-humanoid creatures. Sentient creatures that were every ounce as clever as the Centau, but who were banned from the Yol system where the 6-moons were found. It had been promised to the other races that only humanoids—people who had evolved to look similar, bipedal, with four limbs, hands, and faces that were remarkably similar—would inhabit the realm, making it easier to live together.
Holly wondered what it was like to engage in anything with non-humanoids. Were they as terrible as the Centau made them out to be?
They ordered food and the topic of piloting the tanker remained off the table. Gabe hadn’t told her whether or not he’d informed Iain of the purpose of their visit. But now she was distracted with questions about the Yol Conflict. The war had been over twenty-five Earth years ago, before Holly was alive. That put Iain just over forty, if he’d been involved as a younger man. When he became a commander, had that been something he’d done as a sort of boundary patroller? Or . . . were there still small skirmishes always happening out at the far reaches of the system? These topics were not regularly discussed. Information about them was kept out of the main view of the inhabitants of the 6-moons. Everyone was safe, always. The only threats were those who lived in the 6-moons. The monsters that fed on aether and radiation out in space were kept at bay. Everything had been done to protect the 6-moons, so no one needed to trouble themselves with concerns about it.
It was easy to sink into complacency if one never traveled out beyond the boundaries of Ixion and the moons she kept in orbit around herself.
“So, this job you have for me,” Iain began, sipping his kasé. “What’s the pay like?”
Holly started, pulling her eyes from a Centau dressed in a costume like one of their homeworld native trees. “We would need to discuss it,” she said, recovering. So it was on. He knew. And she needed to be a leader. He was military. He probably didn’t respect civilians that showed weakness. “But you would be paid fairly, if not better than fair.”
Iain dipped his head, his mouth hiding behind the three-bulbed Constie mug. “Their kasé isn’t the best, is it? Well. Everything else is.” He cleared his throat. “While better than fair sounds tempting, it needs to be more tempting to get me to leave my shop behind and go back out into the ungrateful, dark universe. I’ve gotten comfortable here.”
Holly studied his craggy features. He was right—he looked comfortable. There was little left of what she imagined the military man had been. She wondered if it was a challenge, if what he wanted was a bit of a battle about going back out into space and taking on a command. “Apologies. I thought you would appreciate the chance to sharpen yourself up. You’re right—you do look comfortable. How long has it been since you commanded a ship?”
In her peripheral vision, she could see Gabe watching her. She nearly blushed under his scrutiny, then told herself, Screw it. This is how I’ll run things, even if Iain doesn’t like it. He didn’t have to work for her. He was under no obligation, and so she would do it the way that came natural to her, or rather, the way she’d learned to deal with leading perfectly capable adults, rather than the children she’d spent so long teaching.
“Seven years,” Iain said. “I don’t miss it.”
Gabe chuckled and poured sugar into his coffee. He was unabashed about how he preferred his drink: cream and sugar, though it wasn’t the way a man’s man would do it. He stirred the drink and then took an experimental taste. He sighed. “Who would? The idea of being trapped on a ship during battle? Not my idea of a good time. There’s no backup plan.”
Iain glanced at Gabe. He was a very serious man, but the corner of his mouth twitched like
he would smile. “There are backup plans. But a commander doesn’t need a back-up plan. If you’re worth your salt, you go down with the ship. Because the idea, Gabe, is to not get blown up. Fight smart. Keep your ship safe. Destroy your enemy so that you don’t have to decide. Of course, there are escape pods. But the odds of those saving your ass are slim.”
“Sounds like a death-wish, Old Scotch. You couldn’t pay me enough to do it.”
“Oh, don’t worry, there’s not even a remote chance that you’d be asked to. You’re too soft,” he said, then muttered to himself, “I’m too soft.”
Instinctively, Holly sensed that Iain wanted to take the charge. The fact that the conversation continued around the subject, not to mention the other things that he’d said, led her to feel that he wanted to be convinced.
“You know what the work is, Scotch?” Holly asked. She sipped her own kasé and watched him to see his reaction. The same corner of his mouth that had threatened to smile, drooped down into the faintest hint of a frown.
“I got the idea, yes.”
“Good cause. Right?”
“Can’t argue that. No, I can’t.”
“I don’t want to do it this way. But I have no choice. And I need someone I can trust. I can’t tell if that’s you. I think it is, but I’m not a pilot and I’m not in the military.”
“I haven’t commanded a ship in a while. I’ve never flown a tanker. They’re different from the military ships.”
“So, you can’t do it?”
Iain shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I said I’ve never flown one. I don’t know what the interface is like. And I would need a crew.”
Holly took a breath. She hadn’t noticed that she’d been holding it. “I can find you a crew.”
“No. I want to find my own crew. I won’t just fly a goddamn ship with a crew I don’t know, that you picked up off the streets.”
“I picked you up off the streets.”
“Foul,” Gabe said, laughing. “Scotch isn’t a street urchin. He’s a decorated vet. Who had all his decorations taken away.”
The Colossus Collection : A Space Opera Adventure (Books 1-7 + Bonus Material) Page 57