“Why?”
They continued walking in the direction of Holly’s home.
“There are things happening that I can’t explain. I would feel best if all of us stayed together. Strength in numbers,” he said.
Holly turned to study him. “You look toasty,” she noted, mentally tucking away his insight to bring up later.
“I can tolerate the cold for a time, but halfway through winter, my endurance for the long season begins to exhaust me. Today is a deceptive one. Fewer clouds, no falling snow, but frozen.” His eyes traveled up the spires to the sky, taking in the environment, then he brought his gaze back down to her and smiled.
“Did you see the goons from the Shadow’s Shadow walking through the crowd?”
“Yes, and that makes me happier that I followed you.”
“No following, Odeon. Just talk to me. You know I always welcome your company,” she said.
Something about the exchange reminded her of the first time she’d met him. Even then, he’d taken it upon himself to look out for her.
“I can agree to that,” he said.
“You have plans tonight? I just bought the stuff to make a stew, and you’re invited.”
* * *
Sounds of knives against bamboo cutting boards filled the kitchen of Holly’s Yellow Jade district penthouse suite. Mutually agreed upon music played over the speakers softly—a calming blend of Yasoan strings fused with human electronic keyboards. The windows let in the glowing lights of the district and their reflection on the cloud cover that had moved in. The air outside held the promise of snowfall. A large soup pot bubbled on the stove as Holly and Odeon chopped the vegetables and added them to the mixture.
“Perhaps you fixate on the underlying ideas of the job, Holly Drake,” Odeon said. He kept his gaze on the vegetables as he chopped.
“Could be. Or could be that you don’t think about them enough,” she said.
“Or it could be that I understood them long ago and proceeded, once I made the decision, to keep living my life instead of falling into a black vortex of moral dilemmas each time I came to a crossroads.”
She pursed her lips, letting the idea percolate. “I don’t like stealing just to get rich. It’s egocentric. It’s symbolic of something that I don’t like.”
“Even if you use those novas to do something for the greater good?” He scooped the chopped carrots up onto the flat blade and dumped them into the mixture. “What good do you think the collectors we steal from are doing with the objects that we take?”
“I don’t know. Staring at them? It’s a good question. Maybe dust them off and display them like trophies, occasionally cleaning them, shining flattering lights upon them. It’s a self-indulgent act.”
“Yes, it’s not a noble thing.”
“Neither is stealing.”
“We take. Sell it to another collector. That collector puts it on their shelf. Another collector wants it, and someone else steals it.”
“It’s a cycle.”
She finished slicing up the potatoes and carried the cutting board to the pot and dumped them in, careful to not let it splash on her. In her cabinet, she located the herbs the recipe called for and smashed them between her fingers over the bubbling stew.
The discussion was interesting, but she’d had it many times before, and always came to the same conclusion: it was pointless. She wasn’t robbing the poor to get rich. She was taking priceless objects—that really belonged in a museum for everyone to appreciate, regardless of wealth or stature—and selling them for exorbitant amounts, and then using the money to fund their operation of fighting against the evil factions operating in the underground of the 6 Moons.
But damn if it didn’t disturb her from time to time to the point that she fought against the inevitable.
“I just don’t want to become like my father,” she said softly, picking up her wine glass. She swirled the deep blue liquid, then took a slow sip.
Drinking wine while she cooked dinner was an exercise in being in the moment. She got lost in the process and it cleared her head, moving through such fundamentally human activities It was a ritual she never tired of.
“You will never be like him.” Odeon lifted his own glass of wine. The lights of the kitchen danced across the multi-hued colors of his irises. “To never being like our parents,” he toasted.
She clinked her glass against his and took another sip.
“Can you feel it, Holly?”
She furrowed her brow. “What?”
“There is something out there. Something I think you need to plan for.”
“You mean with the silly Shadow’s Shadow?” She downplayed the looming threat she too could sense.
“Yes. So much is happening, just below the surface.” He strolled to the window and stared out.
Holly checked the stew, gave it a stir with the bamboo spoon, and then joined him at the window. “It can’t be that bad.”
“We do not know, yet. I’m planning for the worst. Are you?”
“I always do, Odeon.”
“Good.”
“But I’m hoping it’s overkill, that it’s not so bad, that things will be just fine, like they always are,” she admitted with a sigh.
“Are they usually fine?”
“Well, not precisely. But we’re not dead yet.”
“That’s because we have each other. Strength in numbers.”
He was right. "So what do you think Shiro will wear if we do the vase job? Another performance suit?" They both laughed and Holly felt her relief grow as the subject moved to lighter topics.
The stew cooked for hours, and Holly began planning in the spare rooms of her mind while Odeon played the stringed instrument he’d recently been favoring. Eventually, they ate together and talked of Iain Grant, Trip, Darius, and the others.
When the dinner was finished, Holly relaxed on her sofa while Odeon absently played calm melodies. Holly’s eyelids grew heavy as she watched her Yasoan friend live in the moment.
There was something perfect about being with him that she’d missed. It was easy to be near him. He wasn’t demanding. He didn’t require her to live up to anything. He just was. And because he was simply Odeon, she was free to be simply Holly Drake.
8
Resolve formed like a storm inside Holly and swept her toward the unknown as she marched to the Bird’s Nest the next day. A faint headache nagged at the back of her eyes, likely from the wine the previous evening, but the sense of purpose that had migrated into her overtook it. A smile played on her lips as she recalled the rejuvenating evening she’d experienced just being with Odeon. Sometimes that was all she needed—to be with a friend.
Snow pelted against the buildings from the storm that had shifted over the city during the evening and settled upon them for the night. The wind bit her cheeks, and flakes settled on her eyelashes then melted into droplets that clouded her vision.
The city throbbed with life despite the storm, infecting her with its vibrancy. Glancing around at the people living their lives, she couldn’t imagine anyone harboring ill will. But she knew that wasn’t true. So much was concealed by the city, like a fake smile on the face of an enemy. They grinned as they stabbed you in the back.
She would do the vase job. That was the reason for the urgency in her pace—for now, she resisted the feeling that she should prepare for something. Doubt still plagued her about opposing forces mounting an attack against her. Perhaps the children who had been leaving Elan’s school had merely found a better situation. She’d seen the kids leaving, and had heard more about it from Elan, Este, and Val—her friends that had helped her rescue the kids from the Shadow Coalition, and who now ran the school for the parentless kids.
Yes. Maybe those kids had just been leaving to find a better situation for themselves. Working as . . . something.
She sighed. “That’s idiotic.”
She couldn’t hide from reality for long. But oh, how she wanted to.
Holly reached the edge of the Green Jade district, and the crowds slowly transformed from humans and Constellations into primarily Yasoan and Centau, with a few humans here and there. Soon, she was weaving through throngs, minutes from the Surge Club.
Just before she headed into the club, she spied a small group of white jackets and red crests. That was the third pack of the Shadow’s Shadow she’d seen on her way to the club that morning.
Inside the club, she nodded a good morning to Torden, and then raced up the stairway into the well-appointed office that she’d grown to feel perfectly at home in.
“I made a decision,” she announced to those in the room, which was just Charly.
Charly looked up from something on her desk and blinked at Holly, then shifted her eyes around the room. “Uh, well, great job, Hols, happy to hear that. Bravo, go you.”
Holly laughed. “Where is everyone? And what do you have for breakfast here? I’m starving.”
“I guess you could ask Torden to make you an omelet or something?” She put down the viewscreen she’d been looking at. “What’s this decision?”
“The vase job. It’s on.”
“Oh sweet, you know I’m into that. What changed?”
“We need the work and the money, and I got over my concern that it’s morally wrong. It’s morally right. At least, it’s not like these elites are doing something special with the things. They just steal from each other, which, in a roundabout way, makes it so that we can benefit—you know, from their greed and egoistical nature. Besides, something’s going on that I can’t pinpoint. Need to do something. Make a move. Prepare.”
“What’s going on?” Charly tapped her chin with her finger. “Wait. You mean with the Shadow’s Shadow?”
“That. And whatever the hell Aimee Voss and her Shadow Coalition remnants are doing.” Voss was the woman who seemed to be stepping into the position Holly's father had left behind as the Heart. So far, she'd eluded Holly and her crew and had killed a few people. She was generally unlikeable and her power-hungry aspirations only added to Holly's opinion that she was a self-serving sociopath.
“Yeah, shit is brewing. I can feel it too.”
“You can? Why didn’t you say something?”
Charly walked to the coffeemaker situated next to the kasé brewer and started prepping the machine. “Never know if these feelings are accurate or just like, I don’t know, me being paranoid.” She sighed. “In the mood for coffee this morning? A wake-me-up? Or, pick-me-up? Whatever it is.”
“I’ll have some, thanks,” Holly said, watching Charly. “Well, you are paranoid. And if you are, then I am too, I guess.”
“Nice. That’s the catch, right? Well, we’ll be paranoid together.”
Holly looked around the room. She wasn’t used to seeing it so empty. “Where are the others?”
She sauntered to the window overlooking the street outside. The view to the ground was obscured with the veil of snowflakes crashing against the windows.
“No idea. Probably sleeping.” The whirr of the coffee grinder started up behind Holly and ran for a moment, followed by the sound of water being poured into the reservoir. “The real question is why are you here so early?”
The lid shut, and a beep rang out through the room. Charly joined Holly at the window.
“Couldn’t sleep. Now that I’ve decided, I need to get this going. Full of all that anxious energy of a new project starting.”
She went to Darius’s bay of screens and ran her finger over the biggest, sketching in plans for the vase job.
“Get on that. I’m going to have Torden whip up some breakfast. Make sure you put me down for this job, I want to be on it. Hopefully, I can use my fists. They’re getting too soft these days.”
Holly laughed and drifted into the silence of planning.
For a moment, it was just like when she was back at school, working out the lesson plans for her students. She scribbled down what she knew of the job and what would be needed. She would use the basics—and wrote those down as well.
In the background, beyond her perception, she heard Charly traipse downstairs, catching the sound of her footfalls in the stairwell. Charly’s conversation with Torden was a distant noise, and then Charly was back, offering Holly a plate of food.
Holly took it without pulling her gaze from the screen. She muttered a thank-you, and kept her eyes fixed on the screen as she absently ate whatever food Charly had placed in her hands.
She was vaguely aware of Shiro entering, then Odeon, and eventually, Darius. They conversed behind her, but none of them attempted to pull her from the trance-like state she’d fallen into as she worked out the particulars of the job.
She knew that once they’d done further recon on the gig, there was a chance that the details would need to change. For now, she’d painted the screen with a nearly perfect heist. It was a fine and beautiful thing that made her smile as she stared at it.
The idle thought glanced across the surface of her brain, What would Iain think of this job? Would he think her a criminal at heart, or would he admire her for exhibiting a type of genius when it came to planning a job with several complicated, moving parts?
Genius. Probably.
She laughed, then spun on her heel and greeted her crew.
“Well, well, well, Ms. Drake, it looks like you’ve planned the heist without any of our help. What good are we, then?” Shiro sat on the couch facing the screen with one pinstripe-clad leg crossed over the other, his arms draped over the back of the sofa, and his cane resting on his lap. His bowler was tipped at a jaunty angle, and he watched her with dancing eyes.
“You don’t need to worry, Shiro. I’m sure the plans will change as we gather intel,” Holly reassured him.
“And I’m just picking locks again,” Odeon muttered, a disappointed look on his face.
“And I’m just manning the comms and cameras, again. Boring, Drake!” Darius laughed loudly. “Kidding. You know that’s all I’m good for. Unless you need something to intercept communications or whatnot. I did that once. Remember that, guys? Damn. That was a good job. One of my top jobs of all time.”
“Here’s my thinking—this should be a relatively easy snatch. At least compared to some of the nightmares we’ve been on lately,” Holly said. “We get this done, and if everything goes according to plan, we can put this behind us and tackle bigger, more important things.”
Darius stopped his pacing and stared at her. “What could be more important?”
Holly sighed, then took a deep breath, prepping for the explanation she was about to launch into. “First, I’m not sure it’s on point, but, well, there are bigger things happening at the moment.”
“Like what?” Darius asked, cocking his head to one side and crossing his arms.
“The Shadow’s Shadow. Remember them? I keep seeing them around the city. Something’s happening. Can we afford to not be prepared for that?”
“Ah, true, Ms. Drake, I’ve noted a few of those ridiculously adorned chaps flitting round the city.”
“Let’s not underestimate whatever is going on with them. Not to mention whatever the hell Voss is doing.”
Shiro inhaled sharply. “Please, let’s not mention her ever again.”
“We have to, Shiro,” Odeon said. “This is why you should never be trusted to make decisions about lovers.”
Charly hissed and shook her hand like she’d been burned. “Ouch, Odeon. That’s harsh.”
Odeon glanced at Charly then laughed, his white teeth brilliant against the deep lavender of his lips. “I am sorry, Charly. I noticed that unless I am very forthright with Shiro, he misses my point.”
“Damn! Also harsh,” Charly laughed. “You do not hold back, do you?”
“I just said that I don’t,” Odeon observed, deadpan.
“Don’t trouble yourself over it, dear Charly. I have grown used to Odeon’s cruelties. Where he once was my most favorite crewmate, I have now put him on the level of torturer, and I don
’t listen to him.”
“You would be wise to listen to me, Shiro,” Odeon said, leveling his gaze at the man. He’d positioned himself at the coffee machine and was pouring the brown liquid into a four-bulbed mug from the carafe. Tendrils of steam rose from the nectar.
“Two can play at that game, chap. Watch your back, that’s all I shall say on the matter,” Shiro said.
“In any case, Shiro,” Holly said, bringing them back to the topic. “Who is the buyer? And tell me more about this wealthy Constellation who’s in possession of the vase. We need to know everything we can before we head into this one. Need it to go as smooth as possible.”
Shiro stood and began pacing the room. He used his cane for dramatic effect, posing with it, the tip balanced against the ground, his arm held straight out to his side gripping the head of the lion.
Holly and the crew watched him, their expressions somewhere between long-suffering and admiring as they endured Shiro’s theatrics.
“Menakil Mapsoom rose to prominence after making a fortune due to her business manufacturing hangers.”
“Er, did you say hangers, Oahu?” Darius interrupted.
“I'm sorry, are you talking to me?” Shiro blinked. “I daresay I've never heard you call me that.”
“Er, did you say hangers, Shiro Oahu?" Darius asked, this time sarcastically.
“Ah, that's more like it. Yes, you know the things that we drape clothes on and put in closets?” Shiro said, stopping by the window overlooking the club floor.
“Right. But didn’t those exist already?”
“They did, but there were no factories here. Menakil Mapsoom apparently took a journey back to old Earth and brought manufacturing plans back here to the 6 Moons. If you have a hanger in your closet or wardrobe, it was likely made in one of Mapsoom’s many factories on Paradise.”
Holly pulled a hairband out of her jacket pocket, gathered her hair into a ponytail, and looped the elastic around it. “How old is this Constellation?”
Shiro smiled. “That is the interesting part. She is one of the oldest Constellations in the 6 Moons. I think she’s something like two hundred in human years.”
The Colossus Collection : A Space Opera Adventure (Books 1-7 + Bonus Material) Page 107