“I’m here, I’m here, Drake and Odeon. At the Nest,” Darius said. “Ok, there’s a platform really close. I’m commandeering your gondola, overriding the last known instructions. Which gondola are the Shadow Coalition bastards in?”
“Two behind us,” she said.
“Righto, alright, alright,” Darius said, as though concentrating on something. “I’ve taken over theirs. And I’m sending it the opposite direction at the next fork.”
“Good, and thank you, you beautiful, tech genius,” Holly roared over the blowing wind and sideways rain that blasted her in the face. She and Odeon balanced together with their feet on a tiny segment that remained of the gondola floor, and held to the emergency straps at the top. Luckily those hadn’t been destroyed in the shooting. Though it was dangerous as hell, and Holly’s guts felt like they were dropping out of her, the view was magnificent. She gazed out at the spires, so close it seemed she could reach her hand out and touch them.
With no walls to separate them from the rich colors and the lights of the city, veiled only by the rain, the the scene hit her in vivid detail. Or perhaps it was just the affects of her heightened senses from the adrenalin.
They both swayed as their gondola suddenly took a right. Holly felt a stabilizing touch on her back from Odeon beside her. In the midst of the turn, there was a moment when the Shadow Coalition foot soldiers suddenly fired repeatedly at them, and then just like that, their gondola took a different turn and swept around a spire top, vanishing.
“Thank god, they’re gone, Darius,” Holly shouted. She glanced behind her—the other gondola was indeed gone.
“You mean, ‘thank Darius?’ I know. My thoughts exactly. Who’s the goddamn man?” Darius asked over the comms.
“We’ll be sure to thank you properly when we get back, Darius,” Holly said.
“Thanks for saving our asses,” Odeon agreed.
Soon the remnants of their gondola had coasted into the platform area into a loading slot. The waiting crowd stared, mouths agape, as they watched the two passengers ride in on a nearly disintegrated gondola. Holly jumped onto the solid building and sighed. “That feels really good. Doesn’t it, Odeon? Nothing like solid ground after dangling high above the city for, you know, any amount of time.”
Odeon jumped down beside her. “I can’t argue with that.”
Holly turned to the crowd. “What? It was like that when we got on. But if I were you, I would not ride that one.”
23
There was something else Holly needed to do. Her brush with death on the gondola ride had her rattled. It was one thing to be chased, quite another to nearly plummet hundreds of feet to her death. She needed something soothing and real to ground her firmly in a world that valued life and relationships. After touching base back at the Nest with Darius, Holly had somewhere she wanted to go. She overcame Odeon’s protestations that she not walk through the city alone, and headed out, cognizant of the Equalizer in its usual spot against her back.
Another thing she was suddenly aware of: Shiro’s watch. It was a small weight in her blazer pocket as she walked through the streets on a path as though she were returning to the Earl’s Crown. When she got closer, she passed the store and continued on toward a distant alley that, at the moment, spilled bodies at a slow trickle.
The alley was wider than the usual alleys around the city. Within, it contained structures on either side that were buttressed up against the bottom of the spires—these were small shops, added as an afterthought at some point by their owners who saw a place that could hold relics of the past. A sign made from bamboo was pointed up the alley. In the universal language it read, “All Things Analogue.” The humans heading into and out of the alley carried parasols and canes and wore top-hats or bowlers. Some of the Druiviin who moved through the crowd here wore various styles from their own history—long, brilliantly colored feathers attached to their backs that rippled in the breeze as they moved, and carried boxes or musical instruments native to their homeworld. There was a similar theme with the Consties and the Centau who milled about, carrying or wearing artifacts that had been left behind as time wore on, both object and owner immigrants far away from their respective homeworlds.
Holly worked her way up the alley, dodging between people, stepping aside to give a female human carrying a particularly towering stack of boxes room to pass, and then continuing on. The path zigzagged up the street while the shops alternated which side of the street they were on. Eventually she came to the seventh shop up the alley and climbed the stairs and entered.
Angelo’s Golden Age. It was a pawn shop. Run by a human and filled with mostly artifacts of Earth.
“Holly, dear!” The older gentleman behind the counter said when Holly entered. He wore his usual magnifying goggles on top of his forehead and a flannel jacket. He was balding with a few patches of fluffy white hair around his ears. The tip of his nose drooped like the beak of an eagle but his eyes and smile glittered in a friendly way that told Holly he was truly glad to see her.
“Hello Angelo,” Holly said, grinning. She couldn’t have stopped herself from smiling if she’d tried. The shop was full of treasures of yesterday. Typewriters, ancient rotary telephones, televisions, very old wing-backed armchairs covered in floral crushed velvets, ancient rugs that still held their color and the fibers in clever weaves, long-gone storage formats that carried music, records, players, and ancient computers that eventually spawned their more modern counterparts—the v-screens. It was a haven of history. There was a warmth in the shop, its goods, and the owner, Angelo, that Holly could soak in and almost taste. It felt almost as cozy as her childhood home, and when her parents had separated and moved away, Holly had found herself drifting into Angelo’s shop when she needed an injection of human kindness.
“How are you, lovely girl?” Angelo asked, walking around the counter and approaching her. He gave her a big embrace that felt an awful lot like hugging some large zoo animal. A bear. A gentle lion. A rangebeast, if they had paws and not a hooves.
He let go and stepped away. Holly took a deep breath, finally relaxing as what she expected—for once—happened. Angelo had greeted her in his familiar way. The shop was what it always was, with its familiar odors of must and mold and aging goods and their metals and plastics giving off a fragrance that never changed. The ambiance was comforting as ever with the soft bulbs that draped, in a subtle and gentle yellow light, all the shelves and objects spread out across the floor on display.
“A million times better, now that I’m here,” Holly said, answering Angelo’s greeting.
“Well, my shop may as well be your second home, dear girl,” Angelo said, hobbling back to his counter where he appeared to be studying an object through a magnifying glass.
“What are you working on, Angelo?”
“I am trying to fix an old magnetic tape player. Have you heard of tape?” Angelo asked, tapping the machine that currently had its mechanical guts strewn about the work counter.
Holly shook her head. She moved to the counter and studied the object in question.
“Ah yes, well,” Angelo continued, “no one would ever use it today. But once upon a time, it marked a turning point in the world of recording. It was frail however and eventually the information stored on the tape would become corrupted, fade, and slowly vanish.”
“Then why use it?” Holly asked, perplexed. She leaned over the counter to watch what he was doing, which appeared to be wiping down the gears and cogs with alcohol and cloth.
“I’m cleaning it. I think I can get this one working. And then I shall be able to play this.” He lifted a rectangular cartridge no bigger than his hand that rattled in his fingers. There were two holes in it with tiny plastic teeth. “It’s a cassette. The small strip of magnetized tape should convey sound. But no one has listened to a tape in ages.”
“If there’s someone who can get it working, it’s you, Angelo.”
“I hope so. It would be truly remarkable to hear
whatever this tape contains.” He held it at arm’s length to read the faded writing. “The Bee Gees. Whatever that means. Something fascinating no doubt. Perhaps the collected wisdom from long ago.”
“You’ll have to let me know what you discover.” She watched him put the cassette aside in a special cloth sack. From the first time Holly had discovered Angelo’s shop, she’d relished the opportunity to come and observe him at work, to listen to him explain the history of the artifacts that he kept, traded, and sold. There was something almost magical about the notion that the objects had lived in the old world, before the advent of the Centaus and the great migration to the 6-moons. There was a similar sense that she found comforting in the Earl’s Crown. But those were only books. And these things, they had served other purposes, some of them strange and mysterious, or, as often as not, mundane to the point of being oddly fascinating.
Angelo suddenly put a bowl of gears and spindles down and looked up at her. “Now, what is it that brings you by? Just a social call? Or did you have something else you needed?”
Holly felt in her blazer pocket and pulled Shiro’s watch out. “This.”
Angelo squinted and reached for the watch with his thick yet deft fingers. He pulled down the set of magnifying glasses he always wore on his forehead and turned the watch over in his hands as he stared at it. “A true work of art and genius,” he muttered. “Ah yes. I see you, beautiful girl, a bit broken, worse for wear, eh?”
Holly was patient, familiar as she was with Angelo’s tendency to talk to the objects that he worked on.
“That’s alright, that’s alright, I understand you. I see what you need, my girl. Speak to me. Ah yes.” He opened the face and ran a fingertip over the cracks. Then he pushed aside the tape player and put the watch down on the wooden workspace. He paused for a minute, tapping his lip with one finger, and pulled a black velvet cloth out from under the counter, then placed the watch on top of it back on the counter. “Here we are.” He muttered. With a tool he pried the watch face open and then studied the innards.
“Well?” Holly asked, holding her breath.
“It will take some time. But I believe I can make the parts needed to replace the broken bits.”
“With your blacksmith tools?”
“Ah yes. It will be quite the challenge.” He looked up at her and pushed his magnifying glasses back up onto his forehead. “The challenge of a lifetime. And therefore more fun than I should be allowed to have.”
Holly let her breath out. “I’m glad to hear it. It belongs to a friend.”
“She’s come a long way, and a long time,” Angelo said. “She deserves the royal treatment. I couldn’t bear to see her never tick away again. It’s lucky for her that blacksmithing is my hobby, else, she’d be unsaveable. Is that a word? Unsaveable?”
“Should be, if it’s not,” Holly said with a shrug. “Don’t worry about money, Angelo. Just fix it. Whatever the cost.”
Angelo raised a fuzzy white eyebrow at her. “Must be important to you, dear girl.”
“That,” she said, leaning across the counter to give him a parting kiss on the cheek. “Or money is no longer an object to me.”
“Could be both, however,” he said, tapping his cheek where she’d kissed him. “And now you’re off. Come back when you can stay longer.”
Holly was already to the door. She knew herself: if she didn’t leave now, she’d sit down in one of the ancient chairs and fall asleep beneath an old reading lamp as the stress of her work fled.
“I’ll be back soon, old friend,” she called. “Enjoy fixing that watch. I can’t wait to see what miracles you work with it.”
* * *
Holly threw her blazer onto the armchair when she walked in. She went to the fridge and pulled out the first beer her fingers grabbed—she wasn’t feeling choosey at the moment . . . just overwhelmed. She opened it and took a long drink.
Darius had made it to the Bird’s Nest, and once Holly and Odeon had shaken the men following them, they’d gone back to the Nest as well. Charly and Shiro had never really shown up, so they still didn’t know about the insane gondola ride that had nearly dropped Holly and Odeon.
She leaned against the waist high white stone countertop and stared at her free hand, trying to stop the trembling.
Was she cut out for this? More and more she simply did what she had to do. Oh, the Shadow Coalition is shooting at her goddamn gondola? Just hang on, Holly! Just survive! Need to get into a desert canyon warehouse and steal some money using a smoke grenade? No big deal! Just do it!
That was her life now.
And it was . . . a bit scary.
But . . . it was also, kind of amazing. Outsmarting the thugs. Knowing they were out there. Knowing what they were doing, and finding it in her power to hurt them with a . . . well, what amounted to a tiny poke, really, because Holly and her crew were a tiny band of fighters.
But something was better than nothing.
She took another drink and looked around her condo. The lights were low. Her velvet red armchairs looked inviting, even with her wet jacket draped over the back. The rich dark colors of the rug that held the sofa, coffee table, and armchair ensemble together was a unifying touch that gathered the objects into a whole. Her coffee table held at its center an expensive, mechanical replica of the 6-moon system orrery that had been popular when she’d been a girl. It currently ticked away the motions of the planets.
She’d decorated her place in dark, rich colors like an old earth style that had been prevalent several hundred years ago. Meg’s condo was decorated in a cleaner style, which Holly liked, but she wanted the crowded warmth of the style she’d used for her own place. It didn’t really match against the sustainable woods and clean stone look that prevailed on Kota, but she didn’t care.
Outside the rain still came down hard against the windows. Her own view out into the night was shrouded with the mist and cloud cover. She felt ensconced in a puffy blanket of night, hidden from the world, but still vulnerable. She’d been careful walking home, hurrying from shadow to shadow to stay out of sight of any pursuers.
It wasn’t very late, and even with the beer, her heart still churned out a fast rhythm, thundering through her chest and up into her neck, just beneath her chin where she felt it fluttering like a scared mouse.
She liked having her own place to live now. To be in a safe place, alone. To have no fear of someone entering her place of solitude and refuge and disassembling it piece by piece or shattering it with an enraged outburst.
But this evening she wasn’t coming back to the ground. Her heart rate remained aloft. Her fears ate at the outer edges of the moment. Anxiety gnawed at the refuge both outside her and within her.
She sighed, finished her beer and went into her bedroom to change her clothes. When she came back out, she had on a white, clean rain jacket with a hood. Her black trousers had a geometric design up her legs and her boots had tread on the bottom that gave her traction in the rain. She checked the Equalizer before she went back out, to make sure the rain hadn’t damaged it. Satisfied, she left her condo.
On the ground floor, she went outside. The streets were relatively empty, but there were still people hurrying in various directions. Holly flagged down a taxi and got in when one stopped. The cabbies loved rainstorms—it meant more business for them. They waited months for the wet season. A smart cabbie could make enough to offset the dry season and set themselves up for the rest of the year.
Holly gave him the address and then sat back to enjoy the ride. She never fully relaxed however. As she rode along, she realized that she hadn’t sincerely relaxed for a week or so. Not, at least, since Charm had been taken. They passed milling groups on street corners, waiting to cross. At one point they crossed a bridge and Holly caught a momentary view of the canals that caught all the rain runoff and ferried it out to the distant sea.
The interior of the quiet, economic aetheric-powered vehicle was largely window. Autos like it didn’t travel
very fast, because they were designed to move around the city, and there was no reason to speed. Speed was reserved for the vehicles that traversed the great distances far outside the city, in the parts of the sliver that covered acres and acres of woodland, farmland, pasture, and plains.
They arrived at Meg’s without incident, which actually surprised Holly. She’d been prepared for a roadblock, an attempted kidnapping, or a fiery explosion halting her in her path, anything but getting to where she was heading.
She exited the vehicle after slipping the cabbie a few novas. She entered the spire and rode the interior elevator up to the 117th floor.
Meg answered the door.
“Holly, hey.” Meg smiled slightly, then her eyebrows came together in a look of concern. “You OK?”
“Probably, yes. I think I’m fine.” Holly tried to look past Meg into the apartment. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, not really. Well, come in.” Meg backed away from the door and Holly entered.
Gabe was also there, sitting at the small circular dining table. “Hey, kid,” Gabe said, smiling at Holly when their eyes met. Lucy sat next to Gabe and leaned up against her father looking tired and like she’d been crying. She rubbed her eyes as she watched Holly.
To Holly’s surprise, Charm’s parents were also there. Meg returned to her seat on the other side of Lucy and whispered something to her daughter.
“Oh, sorry, I er, didn’t know you had guests.” Holly paused, wondering if it wouldn’t be best, after all, to leave. She didn’t want to explain to Charm’s parents that they still hadn’t found their daughter, and that they’d run up against roadblock after roadblock in their quest to find the whereabouts of the poor girl.
“They came by to see how the search is going,” Meg said, giving Holly a look.
The Colossus Collection : A Space Opera Adventure (Books 1-7 + Bonus Material) Page 42
