The Colossus Collection : A Space Opera Adventure (Books 1-7 + Bonus Material)

by Nicole Grotepas

  Holly groped in the dimness and dug into the drawer to retrieve one of her throwing knives. Her fingers closed around a smooth hilt as the man suddenly realized what she was doing. He shook his head and scrambled to his feet. Holly shouted again as she flung the knife at him. It clattered against the bulkhead where he’d been sitting, useless. The doors of her room began to rattle and she lunged to release the latch.

  So he hadn’t used the doors—he must have been hiding in her tiny compartment somewhere. He attempted to stop her from releasing the latch as her fingers struggled against it. With the surging adrenalin in her blood, her fingers were jittery. Her assailant—a Shadow Coalition soldier based on his tattoo, which she noted as a prickle of recognition shivered through her—grabbed at her wrist, attempting to pull her away. His attempt worked, but not before she’d sprung the latch. Holly fell onto her behind with a thud, and rolled to get away and leaped to her feet.

  The doors opened and Xadrian came in, “Is everything alright…?”

  “Look out!” Holly shouted.

  Xadrian was cut off as the assailant’s fist connected with his jaw. Xadrian cussed and called the stranger a name as he absorbed the blow and ducked away from further attacks.

  The man came at Holly next while Xadrian struggled to regain his bearings. The room was still too dim to make out details of the assailant’s features, but Holly continued to feel as though she should recognize him.

  She got her fingers around the boot-knife knife in the drawer and raised it to ward him off.

  “You really want to come at me? I’m not afraid to just stab the hell out of you. Self-defense.”

  “You’d stab an unarmed man?”

  “You’ve already tried to kill me. While I was sleeping. Knife in the face isn’t exactly a gesture of goodwill.”

  “He tried to kill you?” Xadrian asked, straightening. “Bloody bastard!”

  It was a standoff. Xadrian near the door, Holly against the outer hull, and the SC member again against the bulkhead.

  “I think we should kill him, HD,” Xadrian said.

  “Right,” the SC thug growled. “Be my guest.”

  “I think we will. Or find out what he knows. He’s with the Shadow Coalition. Maybe he knows where the Heart is hiding.” Holly thought quickly, figuring out how she could question him. It would be their best lead so far if they could get him to talk. But how did someone do that?

  “We tie him up. And make him take us directly to the Heart. I have some experience with interrogation. I like it.” Xadrian grinned and began rubbing his hands together. He was wearing shimmery pajamas—gold colored with undulating dragons in metallic green breathing fire.

  “What are you wearing?” she asked, biting her lip to fight back a grin.

  “What? These? Pajamas. It’s what civilized people do, rather than just crashing in the things they wore the previous day. You ought to try it, HD,” Xadrian said.

  “I have pajamas. But I wasn’t in a position to put them on when I went to bed.”

  “I don’t see how that should affect my sleeping attire choices,” Xadrian said.

  “You two just going to discuss leisure-wear? Doesn’t seem like an ideal time for it, you’re both about to die,” the assailant said.

  “Tell us your name and who sent you.”

  He laughed. “As though that’s what I’d do. Just divulge information you wish to have, because you asked.”

  Holly focused on the task, forgetting Xadrian’s pajamas. “You’re outnumbered,” she reminded the Shadow Coalition thug. “And your weapon is out of your reach.”

  He seemed to consider what Holly had said. And then, from a sleeve, produced another knife. A throwing one like she’d seen on so many other Shadow Coalition thugs and not unlike her own. “Ah, we’re even now, it seems.”

  A worried look crossed Xadrian’s face as he considered who the thug would throw the knife at. Holly felt her own muscles tense in response to the danger.

  Holly exchanged a look with Xadrian. Understanding seemed to pass between them, just before Xadrian dove for the man in a wild attempt to disarm him. At the same moment, Holly leaped to snag the pillow off the top bunk, landed, then went after the thug, swinging the pillow at him and using it as a shield. He slashed the pillow. A burst of feathers filled the air with white and gray down as Holly and Xadrian tried to disarm the thug. A stinging sensation exploded from her bicep. She bit her lip as knife-blades flashed in the muted yellow light of the sconce. The main thing would be to prevent getting slashed somewhere worse and to stop him from getting the larger knife he’d left in her bed.

  Xadrian cried in pain as he was presumably nicked by the knife. Holly hoped it was just a nick.

  After several minutes of struggle, everything stopped as Xadrian suddenly caught the thug’s wrists as he tried to bring his knife down in an icepick move onto Xadrian’s shoulder. They were locked in that move, as voices rose in the corridor outside Holly’s berth. She realized she could stop this all and flipped her knife around and brought the hard end of the hilt down on the thug’s skull, hoping to knock him out. A jolt went through her arm and she felt a gut-wrenching reverberation move through the knife into her arm.

  It worked. He crumpled against Xadrian, who caught him.

  “What’s happening here?” Odeon asked from the door, his voice full of alarm. “Holly, are you OK?”

  The feathers and dust from the pillow created a haze that made it hard to see.

  “I’m OK. Xadrian? You OK?” Holly asked.

  He was in the process of lowering the limp body of the thug to the floor. He grunted an affirmation. “Despite the cuts. I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “I thought he got you too,” Holly said.

  Grant also appeared in the door, as did Shiro. They chattered as well about what had just happened, asking after Holly.

  “Come in. Shut the door. It’s a tight squeeze, but we don’t need more people to notice this little scene,” Holly said.

  They complied. Someone found a way to bind the wrists of the coalition member. Grant and Shiro dragged him into the bathroom, shut the door, and gagged him. Then they cleaned up the feathers and threw the pillow case into a rubbish bin. Shiro managed to pull the large knife out of the bed frame. As they inspected it, Holly felt the bile rising again. That knife had nearly gone through her throat. She absently touched her neck.

  Odeon’s face was a billowing, violet thunderhead. He scowled. “I should have prevented this. It’s my fault.”

  “How could you have?” Grant asked. “As a commander I didn’t stand for talk like that. Unless it’s evident that it was indeed the fault of the one complaining. Otherwise, my friend, it’s just a reason to lose sight of the end-goal in a self-pitying spiral.”

  “I agree with Grant. I don’t blame you, Odeon. Neither of us were careful enough,” Holly admitted. “He must have stowed himself in a compartment when we came in earlier before I fell asleep.”

  “I could have checked. Should have. I wasn’t thinking, Holly. I’m so sorry. That’s why it’s my fault.”

  “We’ll be more cautious in the future. ”

  “He’s the one who was in my grandmother’s shop,” Odeon observed. “Did you notice?”

  “Yes, you’re right, old chap,” Shiro confirmed. “I thought I recognized him.”

  “I thought so too,” Holly said, “but in the heat of the moment, it was difficult to think straight. I wonder if it means the girl is here too.”

  “Well, unlike Odeon, I have no problem pushing the blame onto someone else. I feel quite strongly that this is your fault, Holly,” Xadrian said. He’d found a towel in the bathroom and was attempting to staunch the flow of blood from a long, red gash in his shoulder.

  “Thanks for the help. But, please.” She looked at her arm, which was also bleeding, and gestured. “You’re not the only one who got hurt. It might have been worse if you hadn’t showed up.”

  “Yes, you owe me. Again. So many things that
Holly Drake extraordinaire owes me,” Xadrian said. “Only, I don’t know if you’re that extraordinary. I disagree, slightly, with our employer.”

  “You would.” Holly accepted a proffered towel from Shiro, who had gotten one from the bathroom for her. Odeon was lost in thought, still troubled by what had happened.

  “We only have two hours before arrival. Any ideas what we do next? Sleep is out of the question for me.” Grant was also wearing pajamas. Plain dark blue, loose-fitting. Somehow he managed to look distinguished even in sleeping attire. “I have to say, Holly Drake, that I look forward to being back on Kota, working in my boring shop again. I wasn’t sad to leave the excitement behind me and I’m surprised you’ve all survived this long.”

  She met his gaze, a bit surprised. He winked. That was more like it. Sure it was a lot of surprises, some of them dangerous, and often she wanted to be rid of them herself.

  But really? She’d saved enough people that she knew her work was worth it and was beginning to accept it as her calling. It was the least she could do, being unable to return to teaching.

  Grant and Shiro carried the thug into a supply closet. Odeon found a way to open the latch that only took seconds. After they cleaned up Holly’s room and she changed her clothes and packed up, she stayed in Odeon’s cabin the remainder of the journey. The rest of the crew departed to their own cabins. Odeon helped Xadrian bind up his wounds before he retired to dress and finish out the rest of the voyage. He would have to see a doctor when they arrived, as would Holly. The gashes needed to be sealed to avoid major scarring.

  When the ship docked, Grant and Xadrian went to where they left the thug and removed his gag so that he would be found. They also delivered a threat that, in no uncertain terms, was a promise that if he came after them again, he wouldn’t fare so well.

  8

  The Surge Club had never looked so damn amazing to Holly. So welcome. So inviting. It was beginning to really feel like home.

  She’d been given a numbing agent and her wound was on the mend. It would only take a day to finish healing with the boosters, thanks to Centau medicine which worked reasonably well on humans.

  An early snow flew as Holly wound her way the last remaining feet through the morning throngs, across the street and through the front doors of the club.

  “Here she is!” Torden shouted, in an uncharacteristically happy tone. “The woman of the hour.”

  “Hey, Torden,” Holly said, taken aback. “I’m happy to see you too.”

  He smiled, then leaned across the bar, pausing in unpacking boxes of spirits. In his lavender hands he held a bottle of Joopan vodka. “Charly needs you. And I need you, as a distraction for Charly. She’s been going nuts on me. That’s why I’m so relieved to see you—you’ll save me from her.”

  Holly nodded. “Ah. What do you mean, nuts? She’s supposed to be planning our next job.”

  “She was. It’s mostly planned. And now she’s bored. There haven’t been enough dignitary events of late. So she’s not staying busy.”

  “Maybe she misses the action of the jobs. Being out with the rest of us.”

  “The fighting. Yes, she misses it. All her frustrations come out at me when she’s not getting enough fighting done. Sometimes that is just what I want. Other times,” he gave her a look, shaking his head.

  “I get it, I get it,” Holly said, raising her hand.

  Torden saw the bandage on her arm. Her jacket sleeve was rolled up to accommodate it. “What happened?”

  “Stabbed. Well, slashed. But we took care of him.”

  Torden’s violet complexion darkened, which was the equivalent of blanching for a human. He turned and began putting bottles away again, keeping his gaze on her.

  “It’s fine. I didn’t kill him.” Holly stopped, thinking. “Well, that’s not to say that I wouldn’t if the situation required it.”

  “You don’t have to explain, Holly Drake. I know what you are and what you’ve done.”

  “Wow, Torden, you make me sound so terrible.”

  “Not terrible. Strong. Determined. I wouldn’t cross you. Or Charly.”

  “Admit it, Tord, you love how different humans are from Yasoans. We’re dangerous. You like that.”

  “They’re upstairs waiting for you.” He smiled at her and opened another wooden crate and began removing bottles.

  She laughed as she skirted the bar and leaped up the stairs, two at a time.

  “Well, well, well,” Charly said from the window overlooking the bar. She turned and looked at Holly, beginning to clap slowly, sarcastically. “You get all the gossip from Torden? I thought you were never going to come up. What’s he saying about us? About me?” She moved to her desk, plopped down onto the chair, leaned back, and rested her booted feet on the edge of her desk.

  “Chill, Charly,” Darius said, rising from his seat in front of his bay of computers and approaching Holly. He put one hand on each shoulder and inspected her. He glanced at her bandage, then gave her a beso on each cheek. “Gave us a bit of a scare.”

  “He means himself. I wasn’t worried. Not for a minute.” Charly inspected her fingernails.

  “You guys worry too much.” Holly took off her jacket. She struggled a minute with the arm with the bandage, but managed, and draped the jacket over the back of one of the armchairs.

  “Not enough, if you ask me, Ms. Drake,” Shiro said. He turned and brought her a cup of kasé. “With sugar and milk for the woman who likes all things sweet.”

  “Ahh, Shiro, thank you. But I don’t love all things sweet. Some I like bitter and tart. Like you.” She winked.

  “I’m not tart. Or bitter. I take offense at that.”

  “Come on, Shir, everyone knows you’re a pill. That’s all she means.”

  “Hey Odeon,” Holly said, sitting beside him on the sofa. He nodded at her, but avoided eye contact, which she immediately noticed.

  “Holly,” he said. His club rested across his thighs and he placed a hand on it, and rolled the club up and down his thighs, up and down, up and down. It was as though . . . as though he were nervous. She didn’t remember the last time she’d seen him nervous. Was it never, in fact?

  He’d been stand-offish since the night on the Copper Nebula when he’d taken ownership for her nearly being stabbed right through the throat. When he’d seen the knife embedded in the mattress and frame of her bed, he’d fallen to his knees beside the bed as though his legs had turned to water. No one knew what to say. Grant had tried to comfort him with a gruff comment that Holly would never be so irresponsible as to let herself get stabbed through the throat. She was too tough for that. But it did nothing to comfort Odeon, who’d gone quiet and listless. He was like an unwatered flower.

  “They bandaged me up. I should be fine soon. Xadrian’s was a bit deeper. He’s been such a massive boob about it.” She laughed, trying to pull Odeon out of his funk. “Has anyone talked to Trip?” Holly looked around at the rest of the crew. Everyone could see that she was worried about Odeon. They were worried about him too.

  “She’s fine. But her ship isn’t. It’ll be a week or two more till they have the parts that need to replace the damaged ones,” Darius explained.

  “Trip is fab, but let’s be real. She wouldn’t love this job we’re about to do. She’s a Centau.”

  “The job is from a Centau, though, I thought,” Holly pointed out.

  “Yeah, but that’s a Centau with questionable Centau morals.”

  Shiro sat in an armchair and sipped his kasé. Then he removed his bowler and placed both his drink and hat on the coffee table. “You have the details on the job, correct, Charly?”

  “I got them. Darius?” Charly nodded at him.

  Darius turned and began running things from his v-screens. The big screen above the kasé machine started showing images and video. Together Charly and Darius filled the crew in on the details about Muibaus’ Might. It was small. Small enough that when they took it, it would only require concealment in a bag,
and they could replace the original with a replica. They didn’t have all the details worked out, however, such as when the right time to snag it would be. They also required some of the codes to get past security.

  “Is anyone else concerned that the job isn’t going to work with the Shadow Coalition still out there?” Odeon suddenly asked. He’d been staring at his knees, vaguely listening, and now he looked up, his normally bright eyes clouded.

  “It’s fine, Odeon. This job won’t wait forever.” Charly stood and began pacing around her desk.

  “What if they come after us again? What if, this time, Holly doesn’t wake up and dodge the knife? I can’t be there every second of her life, making sure she’s OK.”

  His worries were coming out. And now they couldn’t change course. Holly shifted and stood, feeling his mood like a breeze blowing off him. She took her now empty mug to the table and put it down.

  “Nah, Odeon, it’s all good. Nothing’s going to happen to Holly. We’ve all got her back. Her worst luck is on trains and zeppelins. As long as we keep her off those, she’s good.” Darius spun in his chair and looked at the Yasoan.

  “Holly is strong. Tough. She’ll take care of herself, Odeon. Although, chap, I do understand your concerns.”

  Holly wanted to stop Odeon too and tell him to get a hold of himself. But. He was right. And the memory of that knife plunging toward her greeted her every time she closed her eyes, lately. Sleep had been complicated since it happened.

  Holly sighed. “Maybe Odeon is right.”

  Charly threw her hands in the air. “Really? Come on, guys. This job. This job will pay us some big dividends. Dave hasn’t been giving us a damn thing since we got the kids. What’s he doing? Are we done with him?”

  “We’re not stopping the job completely, Charly. I think Odeon is right. I have to admit that waking up to a knife in my face has been unsettling. I—it’s been hard to sleep since that happened.” It wasn’t the best thing that she wanted at the moment—to confess being disturbed by nearly being ice-picked through the throat. It made her feel weak and vulnerable to stand there explaining it to her crew. They were tough. It was likely that none of them would ever confess such a mental struggle. But screw it. She’d been avoiding their gazes, but something in her told her to lift her gaze, to not shy away from what she was sharing with them. To own it. So she did. They were staring at her. Darius was nodding, with his fingertips pressed together into a steeple, then tapping against his lips. He made a gesture when she looked at him that meant, “power to you.” Or at least that’s what she thought it meant. Her students used to do it.