Shadow of the Colossus

by Nicole Grotepas

  “That or I decided to take up painting,” she said, smiling at him.

  “Not a bad hobby, if you can afford it,” he responded. “It can get expensive really fast.”

  “You’ll have to tell me all about it. How long will this counting task take?”

  They hovered near the entrance as they talked. A voice from the back of the shop called out to Grant.

  “My assistant—who you’ve just heard—hasn’t left yet. So, of course there are easier ways to take inventory. But, as with all things analogue, the people who rent property here love doing it the hard way. I’m one of those people. It’s a philosophy.” He shrugged.

  “You mean, you’re going to manually count each item?”

  He seemed to color slightly. “Something like that.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Hey Scotch, I’m done. And I have to run. The costume ball is starting in an hour. Gotta get dressed. Hello, who’s this?” A girl with short, spiky black hair appeared around the aisle. She was at least a foot shorter than Holly and at least ten years younger. She grinned widely at Holly.

  “Holly Drake,” Holly answered, sticking her hand out for the girl to take.

  “I’ve heard of you,” the girl said, smiling and taking Holly’s hand. Then she pushed it aside and gave Holly a hug and a beso on each cheek. “That’s a proper greeting.”

  “Er, Kaye means that she’s heard of how I’ve worked with you. And sorry, I didn’t make introductions. Holly Drake, my assistant and niece, Kaye Finan. She’s a handful.”

  “Right, work. That’s what I meant, yes, work. Anyway, Scotch, you love having me around. I brighten this shop up and do all the real work,” Kaye said.

  “Which is why you’re leaving on the longest work night of the year.”

  “You do inventory every month because you’re a control freak. I’m not losing my real life for paintbrushes.” Kaye gave him besos. “Thanks for covering for me, Holly.”

  Holly looked at Grant. “Wait, what?”

  “You don’t have to help,” Grant said, suddenly bashful. He ran his hand through his hair. “Keeping me company is all you need to do.”

  Holly couldn’t mask the quizzical look on her face. “How’d you know I would come?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “He knew. He hasn’t stopped talking about it since he came back with the bottle of wine. He never buys me wine when I stay to do inventory with him.”

  “I bought the wine for myself,” Grant said. “I had it before I ran into you, Holly.”

  “That’s true, you did,” Holly admitted.

  “Get along, Kaye,” Grant said, putting his hands on her shoulders and steering her toward the doors. He flicked off the open sign while he was near the front windows that looked out on the street below. Kaye laughed, opened the door, and went out with a last goodbye. Grant locked the door behind her. “I never thought she’d leave.”

  “And you’re worried she’d get you into trouble,” Holly teased. “I notice she calls you ‘Scotch.’”

  “She’s defiant like that,” Grant said. “But, come back here with me. I’ll open the wine and you can start into it.”

  “One bottle hardly seems enough.”

  “Are you planning to get toasted? I thought that was reserved for space flight?” He led her through aisles full of paintbrushes, tubes of paint, and columns of pencils and sticks of charcoal. They reached the counter and Holly followed him behind it, and through a doorway into the backroom.

  It was more than just a backroom. There was a rug on the floor Holly that wouldn’t have been surprised to see at Angelo’s for sale. A large overstuffed sofa was pressed up against one wall. There were several throw blankets on it with decorative pillows and a lamp beside it atop an end-table. Along the wall there was a long waist-high bookshelf full of paperbacks and other books.

  “You really do like analogue,” Holly observed.

  “Call me old fashioned,” Grant said. He busied himself at a table that held a tray full of various bottles of spirits. The wine Holly had seen him with earlier was there. Using a corkscrew, he opened it slowly while also watching her study the room.

  Hanging on the walls were paintings of landscapes. Lakes in the mountains. Pastures and fields of grain. A few studies of faces. “Are these yours?”

  She glanced at him and judged from the darkening of his color that they were. “I used to paint. As a boy. And then when I joined the military, it went on hold. When I left, I returned to it. A first love.”

  “I don’t know very much about art. But I like them.”

  There was a desk at the other end of the room with various notebooks stuffed full of paper. Holly strolled past it, her gaze skimming over everything as he poured the wine.

  “Paper?” she asked.

  “Yes, and then I enter the information into a v-screen. Because I have to order supplies via the network. Some things are impossible to skip.”

  Holly strolled around the room, then returned to the bookshelf. Perched on top of it was another contraption Holly had seen before at Angelo’s. “What is this?” she asked. “I’ve seen something like it at Angelo’s.”

  “That’s one of my prized possessions. It’s called a turntable.” Grant finished filled two glasses.

  “Is it from Earth?”

  “It is. That’s an antique.”

  “Does it work?”

  “Angelo got it working. I only have a few pieces of the format that it plays. Records.” He brought her a glass and waited for her to take it. When she did, he held his glass out to touch to hers. “Cheers?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “To new beginnings,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, taking a sip and watching him over the rim of her glass. “You’re surprising, Grant.”

  He swallowed. “Am I?”

  “You’re really incongruent, at least, from that’s what I think based on what I’ve observed.”

  “In what way?”

  She went to the bookcase and looked through it. “Do you read these?”

  “I wouldn’t have them if I didn’t.”

  “Why don’t you read on a v-screen like everyone else?”

  “I like things that I can touch. I’m sensory,” he said, watching her steadily. The awkwardness that he’d displayed in the alley was all but gone.

  Holly looked away, back to the books, feeling like the planet had shifted beneath her feet. “I like real things too.”

  “I imagine that’s why you go to Angelo’s?”

  She thought about it. “Angelo’s feels like home, in a way. I’ve been going there for years. I don’t buy stuff very often. Maybe I sort of adopted him when my parents divorced and my father moved off-moon.”

  “Gabe has told me about some of that.”

  “All of it bad, I’m sure,” Holly said. She didn’t recognize any of the titles on his bookcase, except The Art of War. The rest were unfamiliar.

  “Are you going to show me how this works?” She gestured to the record player. “Angelo played music for me from something else old today. Called cassettes.”

  Grant placed his cup of wine down on his desk and moved to stand beside her. She watched his movements, trying to ignore the random thoughts that were fluttering through her mind as he pulled a large black disc from a cardboard sleeve. “This is a record. The music is engraved into the grooves.” He held it so she could see them in the light.

  “That is . . . insane.”

  “I know.” He placed it on the spindle. Flicked a switch. And the disc began to spin. “I lower this, and the needle reads and translates the information into sound.” He used a lever to lower a long arm. When the needle touched the disc, it crackled.

  “What was that?”

  “Don’t worry, it was nothing.” The music began. It was louder than what Angelo had played for her off the cassette. But it still wasn’t as loud and perfect as live music. Or the music she could play in her apartment straight out of th
e aether, her interface simply a panel on the wall.

  The sound was thick and deep. She stood there, listening to it, feeling as though she were hearing something from beyond the seen world. There was something three-dimensional about it. She closed her eyes. The music yanked on something in her heart. Grant was standing so close to her. He was solid. Heat emanated from him. The music was like him: real. She could almost feel his breath, and smell it, and the tones of wine on his tongue. And there was a fragrance being so near him, and something else . . . Something pulling her in.

  Her mind flashed back to when he was standing on the bridge of the tanker as the fighters came after them, talking to his crew, interpreting the situation, and delivering orders. He’d been in such control. Powerful.

  But then, here he was, burying himself in the past, in art, in sounds and comfort.

  “What do you think?” he asked quietly. “Do you like it? The music?”

  “I think I do,” she said, opening her eyes. “What is it you like about it?”

  “It’s real. Not piped out of a wall, which is easy. That information isn’t the same as this. I don’t know, it’s probably just me being ridiculous. Just like I am with all this stuff. But a man has to have something to live for, once his enlistment goes away.”

  “I don’t think it’s ridiculous,” she said. He lifted the needle off and stopped the record from turning.

  “Don’t stop it. Let’s listen to it while we count,” she said.

  He grinned at her. “The other side is better.”

  “There are two sides?”

  To answer, he flipped it over, handling it carefully. He placed the record back on the spindle. Holly watched his hands. They were thick and looked strong. She couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel to touch. Or to touch her.

  “You’ll help me count then?”

  “I might. If you ask nice,” she teased. Teasing him. It was all she could do. She could bury her desire for him in it, in the jokes and the jabs.

  ELEVEN

  Holly woke with a bit of a headache. The late fall sun streamed in around the shades in her condo bedroom.

  She muttered a curse and climbed out of bed. At least the night before, though the alcohol had been swishing around her veins, she’d remembered to set her brewer to make a cup of kasé for her first thing.

  She padded barefoot out of her bedroom into the kitchen, her eyes still clouded with sleep, and poured a cup.

  “Do you happen to have enough for me?” A voice said from her couch.

  Holly cussed and nearly dropped her own mug. “Grant!”

  He chuckled and stood, still in the clothes he’d been wearing the night before.

  She watched him, vague memories of his shop, the wine, and the counting coming back to her. “I didn’t have that much to drink, did I?”

  “If you’re asking and you forgot that you invited me to sleep on your sofa, then maybe, yes.”

  “I didn’t forget,” she lied.

  He smiled. “I’ve seen that expression before. You’ve forgotten everything. I’ll just head out and find a cup on my way back to the shop, which is also where I live, you know,” he paused, furrowing his brow as he looked at her, “on the top floors, did you know that?”

  She self-consciously touched her hair, which was down and likely a mess. That was when she remembered that she was wearing just a shirt and nothing but her britches. Didn’t matter. She wouldn’t suddenly act embarrassed to be seen by Grant. Her cheeks flushed with heat. “Don’t be silly. Of course I have enough for you.”

  He took a few explorative steps toward the kitchen and her. “Nothing happened, you know?”

  “Really, it’s not a big deal. Why would I be bothered if it did?” she scoffed.

  “You wouldn’t,” he said, playing into her bravado. Would you?”

  “I don’t know, would you?”

  “So you’re not kicking me out?”

  “Not. No, I don’t make it a practice of pushing people out onto the streets in the cold. Especially not when they’ve been so helpful. You came home with me. It was late. I appreciated the escort. Make yourself at home.”

  “Very good to hear. So what’s next for you today?” he asked, stretching and walking into the kitchen. “Oh, and it wasn’t an escort.”

  “Then what was it?” She laughed. She really must have had a lot to drink. She sort of remembered counting inventory with him, lots of laughter, and then possibly walking through the city-streets as snow fell, leaning against him. There were two coats she didn’t recognize draped on the far armchair. When she left home the previous morning, she’d only worn a jacket because the day had been balmy before the storm came in. That meant Grant had let her use one of his winter coats.

  He shrugged, filling a mug that Holly pulled out of a cabinet. “OK, it was an escort. Not that I don’t think you can’t take care of yourself. I know very well that you’re capable, as Meg’s sister, and beyond that, from the stories that circulate among your crew.”

  “I can. Very capable.” She wondered if he knew everything. Had he heard about Graf?

  He drank his kasé without condiments. Holly stood with her back to the countertop, resting against it, as Grant leaned against the opposite counter, facing her, near the sink and the kasé brewer. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

  “Then why did you escort me?”

  “How does it feel if we call it insurance?”

  “Of what nature? To console yourself or me?”

  “Ex-military. I like to have your back.”

  “Just mine, or—”

  He grinned, then hid it behind his mug. “I wasn’t ready to say goodnight.”

  She hadn’t been either. She was surprised, in fact, that nothing more had happened between them. What was her excuse for that? She cleared her throat. “So today I’m heading over to check in on the kids we rescued. Have I ever said thanks for your help in that, by the way? I couldn’t have done it without you.” He nodded, maybe even blushed slightly. She continued. ”Anyway, I need to see how Elan and the others are doing with the school and how the search for their parents is going. What are your plans?”

  “Hurry home, shower, open the shop. Nothing so noble as what it sounds like you’re doing. Maybe avoid probing questions from Kaye. Ideally get back before Kaye shows up. Sometimes she arrives early to raid my kitchen.” He finished his mug and set it on the counter. “I should be going, then, otherwise I won’t be there when she arrives and the questioning will begin and I’m afraid I don’t have the stamina to manage her endless questioning. Thanks for the drink and the space on your sofa.”

  She walked him to the door.

  He put one of the coats on and gathered the spare into his arms. “This one never looked so good as it did last night.”

  Holly laughed. “Your coat and I had a really good time parading through the streets. Thanks for bringing us together, and keeping me warm last night.” The memories were returning.

  He paused and looked at her, as though a thought occurred to him, which he kept to himself. “Of course. I’m glad you took me up on my offer of having a drink.”

  As he went to the door, she found herself wishing that her plans for the day included him. But he had a life outside her, and besides, showing up at Elan’s school with Grant would invite scrutiny, and Holly still wasn’t certain what was going to happen with Elan. Or Grant.

  “See you around,” he said, heading out the door and to the lifts.

  She closed the door behind him and waited. When she was certain he’d gone, she returned to her bedroom and got ready for the day.

  As she showered, she wondered why she’d been so indecisive about Grant. She’d run headlong to Elan and his embrace. She could have had Grant last night. And this morning. Why hadn’t she? The water coursed over her. She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined him walking through the cold, early morning streets carrying the spare coat. His black hair, graying at the temples, but stalwart against the cold, and glin
ting in the sunlight or catching the snow. She considered his mind, full of clever thoughts zipping electrically around his skull. Maybe some of them were for her. Maybe he wished he’d been in her bed and not on the couch.

  What did she think? That she wasn’t desirable? She laughed aloud. “Of course he wants you, you ridiculous fool.” The doubt, planted there for years under the thralls of Graf, often undermined her ability to think clearly about herself.

  Graf. Grant. She was suddenly aware of the similarities of their names and resolved to call Graf, Grafton. Or Grant, Iain. They were light-years apart from each other. In demeanor as well as personality—she wasn’t worried about getting them confused in any other way. She just hated that the name Grant was so similar.

  Holly had always been careful. A result, perhaps, of what had happened with Grafton. The one rash decision she’d made in her life. There were reasons for that. The way they’d met—on the zeppelin and the danger, the disaster, the near death—it was of course, a terrible way to allow herself to make lifelong choices. But she’d been young. How could she blame who she’d been then on the wisdom she’d gathered since?

  Elan was safe. A known variable. Grant, Shiro, even Odeon. Comrades she loved, but was unsure about in any other setting. They would always be her friends. Teammates, maybe, for years to come. And that was for the best.

  She finished showering and dressing as these thoughts weighed her down, strangely liberating yet also . . . lonely.

  TWELVE

  Elan’s school was on the edge of the Ice Jade District, taking up six floors on the bottom of a nondescript spire. When Holly arrived, Val greeted her with an enormous bear hug that squeezed the air from Holly’s lungs.

  “Hols, I have never felt like I was doing more important work than I do right now. Action, adventure, insane get-aways at the last minute in space-fuel tankers and shit, and doing it to save some kids. I mean, for Ixion’s sake, you know?” Val shook her head as they sauntered through the hallways. Holly could tell that they’d been working hard to give some structure to the children and return their lives to something normal, something that wasn’t operating the mini gas-haulers. “Look at this place.” She shook her head again. “I don’t know if I want to go back to our old school? I’m terrible, right?”