The Colossus Collection : A Space Opera Adventure (Books 1-7 + Bonus Material)
Page 152
“Change the subject. Nice.” Normally she wouldn’t call attention to that, but the weeks traveling and searching futilely for more information about her father—which she’d meant to be relaxing, at least compared to being on the countdown clock chasing after a threat—had gotten to her. “‘I missed you too, Drake.’ That’s how it’s done.” She gestured as though teaching a student a foreign language.
Iain laughed. “But that’s not what you said. You said you missed it.”
“It being spending time with you. Whatever, doesn’t matter. Don’t let me spoil this thing that I claim to have missed by taking apart all the sentiment.”
“So, is that a no on the ice?” There was a hint of mirth in his voice.
“No, I mean, yes. Yes, on the rocks, please. It’s five below outside, but let’s get chilled, then warm up by the fire.” Or just by being close together, she thought. Her heart raced thinking of being close to Iain again after weeks away. From where she relaxed near the fire, she could see the muscles on his arms flexing as he moved. Tension twisted in Holly’s stomach as she caught the details on him that she’d missed. There was something in his movements that called to her. There was something about him being absorbed in the task. What was he thinking? About the drinks? Or about her? About being together after being apart for longer than Holly had wanted? The accent lighting over his counter sent shadows along his cheekbones and down to his jawline. He could be angular and soft in turns, and she liked that, because it fit him—sometimes careful and sometimes rough. But always honorable.
Iain laughed and brought the drinks into the living room. “Sorry I’m all out of wine, champagne, and pretty much everything else.”
Holly took the tumbler from him. The ice clinked and swirled in the honey-colored liquid. “I love all drinks. Bourbon is fine with me.”
“Well, technically . . .” he began.
“Yes, it’s not bourbon. I know. Whatever the Constellations call it.”
“For all we know, it tastes exactly like bourbon from Earth did.”
“True. I like to pretend that the Consties have been completely true to the formulas that made bourbon from our homeworld pure as the snow outside,” she raised her glass and inspected the contents. Firelight as well as the muted hues of Ian’s living room lighting collided with the ice and glittered like sparks.
“And as true to tradition as all the fun upcoming Christmas festivities.” Iain laughed. He held his glass out. “To corrupted old Earth traditions, but memories of home nonetheless.”
Holly paused, ready to say something, thought better of it, and clinked her glass against his. “I’ll drink to that.” She sipped the bourbon, letting the alcohol scorch her tongue.
Iain set his glass aside on the console running behind the sofa. “What was that?” He gave her a sidelong glance.
“What was what?”
“That hesitation, when I said the toast.”
“Nothing, it was—it was nothing.”
“Something about Christmas.”
He was going to make her say it. And she had other plans for their evening. Best get it over with. “Fun Christmas festivities? Maybe you mean the ridiculous fakery they tease us with. Blind us to what’s really happening.”
He gasped in mock surprise.
“Holly Drake. You mean to tell me that you don’t like Christmas?”
“It’s fun, I guess, if you’re a sheltered, naive child. It’s kind of outrageous.” Did she dare to keep going with her cynical look at the early winter tradition? “And it’s built around quite a lot of fakery. It’s rather insulting, if you ask me.”
Grant had been gaping at her. A change. He was usually so measured and controlled. “Weren’t you a school teacher?”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. But you were around children—some of them fairly disadvantaged, I’d guess. Didn’t they benefit in some way from the magical feeling of Christmas?”
“Magical? It’s hardly magical. Angels? Santas? A mythical creature who brings gifts to us? Sneaks in our houses? And the angels and choirs and lingering stories about a god that became a man. I mean,” she shook her head. “What’s the point? To tease us?”
“You must have been hurt as a child. You were hurt when you discovered that Santa wasn’t real, weren’t you?”
She slapped her free hand down on the blanket covering her legs in dramatic frustration. “I mean, he’d have to get across the aether. Across the galactic distances and cosmic vastness to even get to the 6 Moons. If he was real, he’s staying on Earth.”
“Oh dear, dear, Holly. It saddens me to hear that you’ve given up belief in the magic of Christmas.”
She chortled. “Give me a break. Please. I just believe in being honest about it. Facing the truth. Not burying my head in the sand in denial of cold hard evidence. We are alone in the galaxy.”
“Now then, I would have agreed with you before the Centau appearance and us living with them on this planet. But Holly,” he leaned toward her, the light in his eyes dancing. He spread his arms out. “Here we are. Anything is possible.”
She couldn’t help herself. For a moment she’d felt a prick of indignation at his teasing, but now she knew he was joking. She laughed.
“You think I’m joking. But I’m serious.” He sat back into the cushions and polished off his drink, then placed the two-bulbed tumbler back on the console behind the sofa.
“No, it’s a good joke, thanks,” she said, shaking her head. “I thought you were serious. But I can see that you’re teasing me.”
He bit his lip and gave her a level stare. “Not joking. What’s great about us humans is all our traditions. Our rituals. And what’s not to believe? If four distinct races from different star systems can land on the moons here, live together, and prosper, why not another dimension where gods live? And angels sing? And some legendary father-figure style human delivers Christmas gifts to all the children of the known galaxies?”
“This joke is getting better.” She chuckled, unable to keep a straight face.
“It’s not just about the possible, anyway. It’s the sense of possibility and hope that gives us something to hang onto in the dark cold hours of winter.”
“You know, it’s sweet of you to try to convince me. But I’m afraid my mind is made up. Christmas is really ridiculous and I’ll never buy into the lies.”
“Never say never, Holly.” He took her hand where she’d left it upon the blanket.
She instinctively almost pulled away, but remembered this was what she wanted. He’d gotten her riled up and romance was far away from her immediate thoughts. Until she let her hand relax into his. His fingers were familiar. She’d missed them.
“You know I love a good challenge. Christmas is going to get to you, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“It’s not a challenge, Iain. I won’t be swayed.” She returned his unfaltering gaze.
He dipped his chin. His eyes held a soft humor that she loved seeing, if only it wasn’t such an annoying thing he was taking up as his standard.
“Challenge accepted, m’lady.” He bowed his head like a knight of yore taking a vow.
Would he laugh if she guffawed and playfully slapped him on the arm? She couldn’t risk it. If she pretended to go along with it, maybe the evening would take its course in the directions she longed for.
With her free hand, Holly took another drink from her glass. The not-bourbon was strong, and she found herself beginning to stare fixedly at his lips, focusing on how much she’d like to feel them against her. He watched her, a bemused expression on his face. His eyebrows knit together for a moment. What was he thinking? She wished they’d gotten past some of these awkward moments where they continued to avoid what they really wanted. But they hadn’t. So Holly found herself often confronted with the prospect of getting past the hurdle of feeling like everything with him was the first time.
The two of them had moved closer
together by degrees. A hundred topics of conversation that Holly had put aside to zero in on the kiss fluttered at the edges of her thoughts like snowflakes in a storm, beating against a window. The wind roaring through Analogue Alley outside the windows whistled, distracting her.
Another sound began, growing louder and louder. Shouts. The scream of a siren—a rare sound in the City of Jade Spires, but even rarer in Analogue Alley—startled them as it zipped past.
“What the hell?” Iain asked, giving Holly a look, then leaping to his feet and rushing into the bedroom at the front of the house, overlooking the alley outside.
Holly jumped to her feet and followed him. At the window beside him, she surveyed the action down below them on the street. The windows were covered in frost like lace. The aether-lamps glowed, creating valiant halos of light on the slushy piles of snow and banks that had been pushed up out of the street. It was unusual to see an auto on the street, which was usually reserved for pedestrians.
“A police vehicle,” Iain muttered, pressing his face against the glass, trying to see what had passed them.
“I can call up Gabe or Meg to see what it was about.”
“Let’s just go outside to see what it was,” Iain said, turning to look at her.
Her hopes fell. If they went outside now, it would spoil the plans she had for their first night back together after weeks and weeks apart. She maintained her smile.
“Or, did you want to stay in here instead?” he asked, as though reading her mind.
But no. She couldn’t allow herself to be that transparent. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him out of the bedroom. “Let’s go see what this chaos is all about.”
2
“What’s this about, Dave?” Holly stretched and went to the window of his satellite office—the one he saved for meetings with the likes of her. She knew more about his identity than ever before, but she still liked the charade of keeping their arrangement hush-hush.
“You know my real name, Drake, now I expect you to use it. No more of this ‘Dave’ nonsense.” Idris—she really wasn’t used to that name—poured a tumbler of whiskey, neat, at the drink cart against the window.
Holly sighed and turned away from the view of the city to watch him. He’d taken off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his desk chair. His sleeves were rolled up. He’d shrugged off his suspenders and they dangled against his thighs. She cocked her head at him.
“I’ve missed getting chastised by you, Idris Caron. And, for the record, it feels weird to use your real name now that I’ve trained myself to protect your identity. Are you sure you don’t want to keep me used to the pseudonym I came up with for you? I wouldn’t want to find myself tripping over myself and using your real name around my crew on accident.”
He waved a hand and took a sip of his drink. “That won’t happen. You’re a smart woman. And clever. Oh, and you don’t need a personal invitation to get yourself a drink? I trust you’ll get one when you’re ready.”
“Of course. But I don’t want one right now. Thanks anyway.” She looked back out the window. Outside the sky was a brilliant blue, but the towering spires were still dusted with snow from the recent storms. They’d cleared the pollution from the air, casting everything in a near-angelic brilliance. Ixion glowed down from his corner of the sky with a clarity she had a hard time remembering ever seeing before. “It’s beautiful out there.”
“You’ve been gallivanting around the moons looking for answers, I suspect. Missed this, have you?”
“You’d be right about that guess. And yes, I did miss it. Short-lived as my peace has been. Last night I saw something I’ve never seen before in Analogue Alley—a police chase. Or at least the tail-end of a chase. We didn’t see the cars. Never caught what it was about, however. Something went down that’s still a mystery to me.” She gave him a pointed look, expecting him to jump in and tell her what it was all about.
Caron nodded, but passed on that bit of information. Instead, he grabbed hold of her admission about where she’d been over the past weeks.
“And, Drake, have you found anything helpful?” His voice dropped an octave as he came to stand beside her, as though they were conspiring in a busy barroom and had taken care to keep their plans just between them. As he waited for her answer, one hand tilted his tumbler against his lips, the other gripped a suspender and relaxed against his hip. “Well?”
“Nothing. Nothing, really,” she said, sighing.
“The answers will come. Just keep looking.” He swept his gaze away from Holly and focused it outside, though Holly thought she caught a hint of satisfaction about her stymied search. “You can’t give up yet.”
“No? Will you ever tell me what you know?”
He laughed. “Probably not.”
She felt her expression darken. She shook her head. “Why am I here, then?”
“There’s something I need you to fix.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t there be?”
“Before you get all testy, the pay is good.”
“Who’s bankrolling it?”
“Let’s just say there are people in power who would benefit from your help stabilizing a potentially disastrous problem.”
“So you’re being the puppet again, for the Centau overlords.”
“Precisely. But be careful where you are when you say things like that, Drake.” He gestured at her like a schoolteacher admonishing a child.
“Out with it, Idris. I have things to do. Like catch up on sleep. I’ve been out of whack with all the traveling.”
“Fine, fine. Keep your shirt on, Drake.” He sauntered away from the window, moving to his desk. He put his drink down and leaned back in the chair, placing one shoe up on the wooden edge of the desk. Holly could hardly imagine him doing any actual work upon it. It was a beautiful set-piece and it was as uncluttered as one. “As you know, we have a situation—the Angel of Starlight was taken last night—yes, that was the chase you saw.”
Holly bit back a gasp. “That’s an odd thing to steal. An ornament? Really?”
“More than just an ornament. The Angel of Starlight was brought across the cosmos in the steamer trunk of a child who hoped to celebrate Christmas once she got here. It represents the hopes and dreams of humans for a bright future, all while keeping us in touch with our distant past. Some would say it’s even magical.” He laughed when he saw her expression.
“Spare me.”
“Anyway, we’ve noticed a theme with this stuff. Haven’t you?”
“What do you mean by we?”
“Xadrian and myself. The Centau, and particularly their little one-off oddities who decide to rob from the other races, love our trinkets. They have none. Their culture—it’s, how can I put this delicately?—it’s sanitized. Homogenized. Pasteurized? All the words that you could apply to something that means its colorful, sometimes unseemly nature, has been taken away.”
“Yes, they do seem to have a dreadful lack of brilliance.”
“You get it, then. The powers-that-be don’t want a scene. You know how they are. Can’t have the plebeians rioting when their pets go missing. And we can’t loudly go after the thief and make a scene. Can’t have things looking messy. If the humans knew that a Centau had taken one of their toys, everything would come unraveled.”
“But do the heads of state know who took it, then?”
He frowned, then laughed. Holly sensed that he felt as baffled by the Centaus stealing from the oppressed humans as she did.
Before he spoke he blinked slowly, then regarded her somberly over the tips of his fingers, which he’d steepled in front of his lips. “All signs point to a certain someone.”
“Who?”
“This Centau doesn’t display her trophies. She’s not like our other breeds of strange collectors or criminals.”
Holly realized she’d been holding her breath and leaning forward, anticipating the revelation. “On with it. Who is she? What does she do?”
“You know, I’d never pegged you one for engaging in theatrics. Changing my mind about that.”
“Drake, she’s a bit of a mental case. I believe she plans to melt it down to make something. An amulet. A powerful trinket that she intends to use as a tool to control humans. Or get rich with it? I don’t really know, because we haven’t had a chat. It’s what we gathered from her recent purchases and other things she’s stolen.”
“Oh lord.” Holly let out a loud guffaw. Had she heard him right?
“I know.”
“You said melt it down? Make an amulet? We’re already beholden to the Centaus. What more can they take from us?”
“Well, this one fancies herself something else. A witch of sorts. She’s done other outrageous things. The Centaus are terrible at policing their own. You know that. They hope any anomalies will disappear if they ignore them long enough.”
“They don’t. It’s a problem. And it just gets worse. This is outrageous.”
“Can you get it back? That’s what I need from you. You and your little club. Your team. Whatever you call them. Get the angel back without making a big scene. Don’t draw attention to this outlier in the Centaus world—please. Practice some discretion, Drake.”
“It’s hardly an outlier. There seems to be a large number of odd Centaus screwing up their little utopia.”
He waved a hand to dismiss her assertion. “I can trust you to not worry about that. Focus on the task. Can you do that? I think you can, but I want to hear it from you, Drake. This is the strangest case we’ve seen. This character. What she’s doing—it’s harmless really. But, she’s an eyesore on their image, enough that they’d do nothing good to her if word got around about it.”
Holly had begun pacing on the far side of his desk, near the chairs that faced it, which no one ever occupied for other meetings she suspected he never had. Maybe he’d done all that once upon a time, back before she first met him, when his side operations were perhaps a little more corrupt, and before his son had been kidnapped by the questionable people employed by the now disbanded Shadow Coalition. “I’ll be discreet. You know I will, Idris. Have I ever been anything other than circumspect?”