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

by Nicole Grotepas

  “Well done. Begin departure checklist,” Watson said.

  “Already underway,” Brand said. “Been at it for hours.”

  “Excellent.” A stab of guilt flashed through him for falling asleep. That wouldn’t happen again.

  Watson paced around the bridge. It was as elegant as the rest of the ship, with dark blue carpets beneath chairs positioned before command consoles, and large shielded windows that allowed a view of the space platform and beyond it, the Earth.

  With everything already underway, Watson’s thoughts wandered.

  He went to an unmanned console and picked up a v-screen.

  Brand watched him. He cocked an eyebrow. “Did we forget something?”

  “What? No. No. Just looking over things.”

  “What things?” Brand moved as though to approach Watson and look over his shoulder.

  Watson turned his shoulder toward his First Officer to dissuade him from approaching.

  “All the passengers checked in, correct?” Watson asked, clicking through the screens to find the passenger manifest.

  “Aye. Like I said, already, all checked in,” Brand’s eyes narrowed like he was suspicious. “Just a few more things to tick off. Less than two hours till departure. Fleet’s set to rendezvous at Luna in 56 hours.”

  “And then on to L5,” Watson said absently, focusing on the list as he scrolled through it, scanning for something.

  Alphabetical order meant he found her name without too much searching. He cared equally for all his passengers, but something about that one, traveling into the unknown on her own. Well, he couldn’t help but feel obliged to watch out for her.

  And he would. He took that responsibility seriously. He felt a faint smile touch his lips. It was nice to have something to look forward to.

  7

  Baroque chords rose from the instruments balanced in the hands of the band on stage. Passengers entered the dining room in groups, bubbling with energy and conversation. Meals were staggered to give the dining crew time for breaks. There was no night or day on the ship, but they had arranged it so that half the ship was on a night schedule while the other was on day.

  Watson stood near the bar with his hands clasped behind his back, watching guests filter in. His stomach growled from the smell emanating from the nearby kitchen. He kept his eye out for a particular passenger, but suppressed the feelings, ignoring them, telling himself he wasn’t.

  Brand entered, looking dogged, and sauntered up to Watson.

  “Captain.”

  Watson dipped his chin in greeting. “Brand. Can’t sleep?”

  “You guessed it.” He sighed. “Might take me a day or two to get on that schedule.”

  “You have five months to adapt, so you’ll get the hang of it.

  “Cortez covering the bridge?” The First Officer asked.

  “Yes, she’s on it,” Watson answered, vaguely, his attention pulled suddenly toward the secondary entrance of the dining room.

  His stomach lurched as a familiar halo of red hair bounded into the dining room, marching along with a bounce in her step.

  Brand noticed and followed Watson’s gaze.

  “Ah,” he said.

  “Knock it off,” Watson growled.

  The other man rocked on his heels. “This trip should be interesting.”

  “Where’s Janessa?” Watson asked, referring to Brand’s partner and the safety officer, which technically made her the third in command. It wasn’t ideal for a military vessel, but since the ship wasn’t military, Watson wasn’t running Fortune’s Zenith like it was.

  “Sure, change the subject just when things were starting to get intriguing.”

  “She’s a passenger, nothing more.”

  “Looks like a firecracker. I’d watch out, with hair that color,” Brand said, his eyebrows lifting as his gaze followed Sally.

  “That sounds prejudiced. Are you judging someone based on their hair color?”

  The other man shrugged. “Call it experience.”

  “She bit my head off during the cargo check in. I found that—”

  “Ah,” Brand held up a hand. “Say no more. A fighter. You’ve always loved a fighter. ”

  Watson cleared his throat. “Look, if you’re going to stay, let’s sit down and eat. Otherwise, I’m going to mingle with the passengers. We have a long journey and the best captain knows his crew as well as his charges.” He turned to go, but paused to see if his First Officer would join him.

  Brand’s gaze shifted out the windows behind them, then swung back into the dining room with its red and gold decor. “I’d say yes, but Janessa would kill me. Best wait for her to eat. So,” he sighed. “I guess I’m heading back to my room.”

  “That’s the spirit. Really dig into getting some sleep.”

  Brand smirked over his shoulder as he turned and began walking away.

  Watson strolled past the captain’s table. A couple members of the officer crew were already seated and eating. They nodded in acknowledgement and exchanged brief pleasantries with him, then resumed the conversation they’d been having when he’d joined them.

  Watson wandered, doing his best to look like he was unaware of the red-headed vixen he’d not been able to shake from his thoughts since meeting. The woman had successfully become a shadow in his mind, looming over everything, haunting him.

  He didn’t even know what he planned. Simply that he wanted something. Her brilliant blue-green eyes to glance across him, to see them with his own eyes, and enjoy their weight upon him. He still recalled the flecks of their jade light touching his face, setting him on fire.

  Damn her.

  Watson’s feet carried him between tables of passengers. They graced him with nods and brief greetings. Occasionally he’d stop and ask how their journey had been so far. He didn’t want to get cornered into a long conversation, so he kept moving. The redhead had sat at a lone table and was currently speaking with a server.

  The server noticed him first. “Captain,” the server said, “hello.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Watson said. “I can wait.”

  Without asking permission, Watson pulled out a chair and sat.

  Sally glanced at him, seeming perturbed. But she continued addressing the server, taking Watson’s encouragement to ignore him like the direction had been given to her.

  When she finished, the server strode away.

  The woman took a sip of her glass of water, pointedly ignoring him.

  He wanted to laugh at her determination to continue to make him pay for the tiny fiasco with the cargo. He’d made it right! What did she want from him? Blood?

  “How’s your lodging?” he asked, attempting to break the ice.

  She raised an eyebrow and finally looked at him with a gaze that could chip ice from Jupiter’s moons.

  “Did you think you’d intrude and get a hero’s welcome?”

  “Maybe just a little bit of a welcome. Doesn’t have to be a hero’s.”

  “I was just sitting down to a nice dinner alone and you came charging up like you own the place.”

  Well. He did sort of own the place. “I do, sort of. I’m the captain.”

  “Yes, I know, Captain.”

  He’d never heard the title said in a way that made him feel quite so dirty.

  “I check on all my passengers,” he said, sounding more gruff than he intended. “Which is what this is. You’re traveling alone?”

  Charging forward was the only way with her, apparently. He could manage that.

  She tapped her fingers together like she was calculating how to answer the inquiry. “A woman never divulges secrets like that.”

  Of course the innocent question was met with resistance.

  Watson leaned forward to hear over the jangling tune the musicians on stage had just begun. “I’d like to know for safety purposes.”

  It was on the manifest, but he wanted her to know that he knew. Why he wanted her to know that, he couldn’t say.

 
; Her brow furrowed. “Are you planning a disaster?”

  A shock rippled through him. “Please, Ms. Anders, don’t curse our ship.”

  “Well, are you?” She tilted her red mane of curls to one side and regarded him steadily.

  He didn’t know what he expected. That the woman would relax and admit the mistake? Yes, he’d kind of hoped for that. Though he knew that was a fool’s wish. Well, he’d hoped for it, anyway. Talk of disaster on a ship bound across the galactic expanse was something most spacefarers frowned on.

  Yes, it was superstition. That’s just how things were—the larger the unknowns, the bigger the superstitious beliefs became. Hence Cassandra, the statue, balanced on the tip of the zeppelin like a jilted lover on top of a wedding cake.

  A wedding cake turned on its side, soaring through the aether.

  “Hope for the best, ma’am, plan for the worst. I know how little is under my control, in reality, so I shore up my defenses best I can and stand at the ready. I don’t taunt the gods. They’re not nearly as good humored as I am.”

  “Oh, I disagree. I hear many of them have a sick sense of humor.”

  “Yes, that’s likely,” Watson grinned. “Which is why I don’t taunt them.”

  She shifted in her seat and placed her elbows on the gold tablecloth. The jade stones of her eyes settled like a weight on his face. She took a long drink of her water. “I am traveling alone. And I’d thank you to keep that to yourself, Captain.”

  The request caught him off guard. It flipped something in him. Was she afraid of him? He’d not even considered the possibility. Watson was a man of honor. He’d broached the topic in order to make her feel safe, like there was someone on her side, looking out for her. He felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment for not understanding—he’d unintentionally done the opposite.

  Watson cleared his throat. “Please, call me Watson. Watson Wolfe.” He reached across the table, offering her his hand.

  Her expression softened as her gaze took in his proffered hand. She studied it long enough for him to feel positively naked in the somewhat submissive move.

  Dammit, take it, woman.

  Finally, she placed her hand in his. It was warm. Tiny and soft compared to his, but strong. Perfect.

  “Sally Anders,” she said, a glow filling her irises like sunlight spilling into a meadow.

  8

  Sally Anders’ cabin was tiny. Most of them were, but hers was one of the extra small floor plans with only one bed positioned over a narrow couch that could be turned into another bed if needed.

  They’d just finished dinner, their fourth or fifth in the space of four weeks. Watson buzzed from the conversation and drinks. Sally had invited him back to her cabin, and that had him buzzing as well. Their elbows and shoulders crashed together repeatedly as they struggled to avoid spilling the beverages they’d brought from the dining room and tried to situate themselves without being on top of each other.

  I wouldn’t mind being on top of her, though. Or the opposite. Either would work.

  His cheeks flushed at the thought.

  “Could you move, maybe? Just back up a little?” she asked.

  “I’ll just sit here,” he said, plopping down onto the minimalist couch. “Oops, sorry.”

  He drew his leg back when she almost tripped over it.

  At last they’d done it, successfully pulling free from the jumble of knees, hands, and elbows.

  “OK, wow,” she said, backing up against the bulkhead that divided her tiny bathroom from the rest of the space. The heavy door was closed behind her.

  They stared at each other for a moment under the soft yellow sconce light of her room. Lifting her hand casually, she flicked a switch near her shoulder and a fan began to circulate the air, causing her faint perfume to filter around the cabin. Watson inhaled, feeling intoxicated in more ways than one.

  Sally took a step and a half and leaned forward to place her vodka martini down on the end table. She backed up and watched him for a few heartbeats.

  “Now, then. Now. Now that I have you here, here where I want you,” she slurred. She closed the distance between them and got down on her knees. She leaned forward near his legs. Placing one hand on the cushion next to his thigh, she thrust one hand under the seat.

  Watson cleared his throat. What’s happening?

  His face was on fire. Sweat broke out under his uniform.

  She drew away and smiled up at him, her green eyes dancing.

  “Ready for this?”

  “What?” His thoughts raced a thousand miles an hour. “Ready for what?”

  She lifted the hand that had reached under the seat. There was something in it. But Watson couldn’t make sense of anything.

  Her expression registered something. Embarrassment. She lowered her eyes. “Oh, you thought . . .”

  “What? No. No, I didn’t,” Watson sputtered.

  “Well, sorry to disappoint,” she said, sitting back with her legs crossed on the red and gold rug. She opened the suitcase she’d pulled out from under the seat.

  “I’m not disappointed. Who said anything about disappointed? I’m thrilled to see your—” he studied the suitcase she’d just opened. It wasn’t a suitcase full of clothing, and no, he hadn’t been hoping that it was full of lingerie. Or maybe he had. He was an idiot, though. “What is that thing?”

  “It’s a record player.”

  “You brought a record player?” He took a drink from his whiskey, gripping the glass with both hands so it didn’t slip from his sweaty fingers.

  “I couldn’t go five months without listening to my records and reading books, Watson. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “So you brought a record player?”

  “This one has speakers. It’s not like my turntable, which is packed away. This is portable. I can listen anywhere there’s power,” she explained. “I thought you might enjoy it.”

  He’d enjoy other things more, but he could play along. “I’m thrilled to see it. I—I can’t wait.”

  “Let’s do more than just see it. How about we listen?” She got on her hands and knees and crawled toward him, reaching beneath the bench seat again.

  Watson silenced his thoughts and looked away, waiting to see what further surprises she’d packed along.

  Sally pulled a box out from under the seat.

  “How did you get that in here?” he asked, eyeing the box. It was too bulky to fit in a bag.

  “I carried it,” she said.

  “And these books?” He asked pointing at the paperbacks filling the shelf portion of the end table.

  “Those fit in my luggage,” the redhead answered absently, thumbing through the few records in the box.

  “I don’t see what’s wrong with digital formats,” Watson answered, sipping his Scotch again.

  “Nothing. I have books in that format as well. But sometimes, I don’t know, sometimes a woman just wants to feel real things beneath her fingers.”

  She pulled a record out and eyed it, running her hands across the cover, smiling as she stroked it.

  “Violent cover,” Watson observed. It was some kind of herd animal being taken down by lions.

  “True. But, well, it’s perfect. The cover, the title of the album, the songs. Just a complete package. That’s why this one—Interpol, Our Love to Admire—made the final cut.” She held the record up next to her face and swept a demonstrative hand across the cover with a smile on her face like a prize girl. “Anyway, nature is brutal.”

  Watson watched her carefully pull the large sky-blue disc from the sleeve and place it on the portable record player. She flicked it on and dropped the needle onto the record, picking a spot in the middle to begin the music.

  She sighed and closed her eyes as the tinny tones rose from the player. “This is the best song on the album. But the whole thing is very good.”

  They listened quietly. It was difficult at first, maybe because the singer’s dark, almost monotone voice wasn’t interest
ing to Watson. It was a bit annoying, actually.

  But he wasn’t going to get what he thought they’d come to her room for.

  So he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the terribly unsubstantial cushion of the seat, letting the words paint a picture on the underside of his eyelids. There were lines about starlight and lionesses, violence and destruction, the hunter and the hunted. They were metaphors for romance, which was really simply predatory, according to the lyrics.

  True. And yet, an oversimplification.

  Or at least something that caused a twinge of guilt to form inside him.

  He sank deeper into the song.

  In his mind, colors swirled, forming into images like ghosts on a stage, perhaps fired up by the drinks he’d already consumed. He saw a woman, a beautiful redhead, at a party. At the suggestion of the music, Watson became a man on a balcony, smoking a cigarette in the darkness. He looked up as the redhead passed the sliding glass doors leading into the penthouse suite. She glanced his way just as he took a long drag on his cigarette.

  Sally, the redhead, held a vodka martini in her hand, deep in thought, distracted. Oh, it’s Sally, she’s the redhead. As she sauntered aimlessly past the sliding glass doors, she caught and held his gaze with her own. She grinned faintly at him, taunting him with her half-smile, with a challenge in her ferocious eyes.

  He wanted her.

  He moved toward her, dropping his cigarette to the balcony floor. She tossed her red mane, saw him come for her, and led him away from his lonely perch. He caught his breath, taken with her beauty once more, desire to possess her surging through him. She stayed just ahead of him, sinking into the crowd, and finally, she turned to stare back at him, surrounded with a group of women who encircled her and began talking with her, absorbing her into their ranks, a pride of lionesses.

  Protection from his advances.

  But her wild gaze of brilliant blue-flecked jade never left him.

  Watson stopped, staring at her in his mind as the song dwindled and the stage and its ghostly actors faded.

  The cover of the album made sense now. It was a reflection of the song he’d just listened to. He opened his eyes, and sat forward, stretching the pang out of his neck from the awful seat. Sally turned the volume down and leaned back on her hands.