No matter how much she tried to fight it, the truth was undeniable: she couldn’t paint. In fact she hated everything about it…at least before her first coffee of the day, of course. On a good day, that was at eight or nine in the morning, provided she could bother to climb out of her slumber and pick up the kettle and the coffee, and even that was dependent on whether she’d cleaned out the mug the night before. If she woke in the afternoon…

She groaned and peeled herself away from the couch. The television mounted on the opposite wall had already started blurring and fading into the background. To her right stood the easel that had tormented her over the weekend, a looming grey polygon and the paler white figures that surrounded them on the canvas having long dried out. A deep dark blotch that shadowed half of the frame, and as she squinted, Alexa found the little people looking too bright.

But that would have to wait. She kicked the part of the blanket that had crawled off the sofa with her back up onto the cushion as she made her way to the small kitchen, passing by the images of a drenched long-furred dog, gaunt in its solitude; a dark cloud over a hamlet sequestering the silhouette of a spacefaring vessel contained within; and the view from under an arched bridge, the tracks of a passing tank just slightly visible at the top of the frame.

To her surprise, her mug was inverted on the wire dish rack, snug between two porcelain bowls she had never bothered to put back in the cupboard. She reached past it, to the small windowsill over the sink, and grabbed the crinkled foil bag of instant coffee that she found the least offensive, unfurling the top and poking a finger in to make a trough. The coffee grounds shimmied down the curve of the foil packet while she hit a button to turn on the kettle.

Through the window, she found the clouds already gloomy, pregnant with the next big storm of the month. It was in the rainy season that Alexa most often counted herself lucky with the arrangement she had with her boss meant she alone determined what days she worked - not that work had been plentiful lately.

Her boss…

Her eyes widened, and she quickly filled her mug up with hot water, likely scorching the coffee, and carried it back to place on the small glass table between the sofa and the daily news, then plunged her hands into the fold between the cushions.

“-eems to have settled down, with casualties still being counted in the districts surrounding the strike. The governor’s office has released a statement reaffirming the state of martial law and urg-”

She hooked a nail around the edge, slowly fishing out her phone from the depths. Once it was free, Alexa briefly removed the clear, yellowed plastic casing, and smacked the dust off before checking her notifications.

There was but one message from her boss. I have to move up the schedule, she read, and looked at the time. 10.38. She scrolled to the next message. I’ll be there at noon. An hour and a half. That was plenty of time to make a few corrections.

“-no official response from MODUS or House Arl as to whether the local should expect another attack, but no additional defense forces have been allocat-”

With a sigh of relief, she sank back onto the couch, only to remember her coffee and lean over to grab the mug for a sip. It was as bitter as she expected, but Alexa hardly drank coffee for the flavour. In the minutes before the caffeine got to her brain, she turned her attention back to the canvas.

“-spite setback, trade to and from Eden II are slated to remain open for the foreseeable future. It remains to be seen whether the security promise-”

Alexa picked up her fallen palette, and flexed the polymer body. Last night’s dried acrylic came off like snakeskin in a single, satisfying sheet before she lobbed the multicoloured shape into the bin. Into a mixing well went white and a tiny dot of black, blended swiftly into a grey paste, which she touched with a fine brush to the people standing in the penumbra.

“‘-not done, no. Edenians just need to hold out a little bit longer while we make sure the streets are safe. But there’s no present danger. It was a military targ-’”

Then came the bottle of Payne’s grey, squeezed in and darkening the mix just a little. With every couple of rows of figures she added a little more, until those at the edge of the canvas were almost as black as the absence of light around them, and-

Alexa mulled it over, blinking hard and squinting to see the way the vague shading gradient had swallowed them whole. They weren’t people anymore just…no. A shiver made its way through her, like pressing an icepack to the back of her neck. She grabbed the rag from where it hung, and lightly dabbed at it with a clean corner. Little by little, the darkness came off in uneven patches, until she could make out the human again.

“-saying that what is approaching might just be one of the most severe rainstorms this summer. Try not to leave home without an umbrella or a raincoat, if needed, it may be better to ch-”

She turned to the television just in time to catch the weather map. Big red arrows simulated the prevailing winds rising against the mountains, and a big circle estimated the range of the precipitation, clearly eclipsing her neighborhood. As if she hadn’t had enough of being cold and miserable in the past weeks.

Alexa slid back, getting a full view of her piece. The shadow, the brutalist shape that dominated the centre of the frame were good, but there were details to add, to turn the ghosts into people with lives and homes and…dread. The thought of it stuck, more bitter and dark than the burnt coffee on her tongue.

Ping. The corner of the screen produced a little notification panel that invaded and suppressed the channel’s programme schedule. A username she didn’t recognise, but it was from her very own page. She pulled the control bracelet from under the glass of the coffee table and snapped it on her wrist, its lights projecting into her palm. With a single flick of her wrist she was on the Q-net, logged into her sales account. She typed out a speedy reply by just twitching her fingers, and then closed the catbox, leaving an image of the wet dog on the screen. Alexa couldn’t help but smile a little. At least some of them were selling. She switched to another screen, with images of various vantage points from across the colonies, each one looking down on people as if they were ants scuttling around the feet of the concrete titans that made up their cities. Most of them didn’t fit her specifications, not exactly, but they were a good start. One she had marked wasn’t even a real photo, but a photorealistic render, almost isometric and just elevated enough that she could make out the shapes of each individual person on the street.

But there was no shadow. That part she would have to imagine.

Thunder rumbled outside, passing through her home like a bout of indigestion. The first sounds of raindrops against the glass of her windows greeted her only moments later, sure to develop into a wall of noise. She curled back onto the couch, pulling the blankets in to build a fortress of her own body heat.

Alexa switched the big screen to her exchange with her boss, and started typing. It’s raining here now.

It took him several minutes to reply. I will be there.

Bus?

My car.

She typed idly within her blankets, looking up the weather forecast. The rain would last into the mid-afternoon. If she was lucky, there would be enough clear sky afterwards to maybe go to the shop, perhaps find a high spot somewhere that wasn’t an overpriced chic cafe or an office building.

The chat lit up again. Almost there.

She fought the urge to react to it, cozy in her blanket. It wasn’t like she hated her job, but there was an order to things and she liked it that way. All of this, out of nowhere, was a tad too unorthodox.

The more she thought about the state of the living room with its piles of unsalvageable canvases and the modest layer of dust on everything, the more she cringed at the potential shade he would throw her away. Motivation came from the strangest places as of late. She shambled to the bathroom, relishing the idea of a hot shower on a cold, damp day.

When her phone buzzed beside the sink, Alexa was barely done drying her hair. She certainly didn’t hear it over the roar of the wireless dryer, but rather felt it vibrating through the granite countertop she was leaning on.

251/2 Globi Street?

“Shit.” She hooked the dryer back onto its wall charger and tossed her towel into the basket at her feet, then leaned out of the bathroom and opened the closet-turned-wardrobe right outside. She paused as she grabbed the handle of the undergarment drawer, before deciding against it and simply selecting the plain grey hoodie and sweatpants, faded from regular washing, slipping them on and walking as fast as she could to the front door directly at the opposite end of the corridor. The phone buzzed again, but she had a feeling he was just asking for confirmation.

Alexa opened the door to a dark green sedan parked on the street, battered by the storm, familiar to her by the number of times she’d seen it in the museum’s underground parking lot. She waved, and the driver got out, hurriedly popping a small umbrella above himself as he made his way through the shower. Maybe it was because she had only ever seen Steven in his usual tweed and tie, but the way he moved, hunched over and with tiny steps to avoid slipping, made him look like a turtle with the dome of the umbrella as his shell beelining for her porch. She moved to the side to let him on, watching his strange new breathlessness pasted over the analytical calm he normally wore. Stranger still, he was in a yellow-and-cream plaid button-up and jeans, which was positively alien in her mind.

“Morning,” he said simply, shaking the water off his umbrella before pulling a tab that collapsed it into a canister shape smaller than a thermos. He tossed it onto the wooden bench under her front window.

“Are you…going somewhere?” she asked, looking him up and down.

“I’d rather talk inside.” He glanced past her at the open door. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

She hadn’t even realised that she was leaning on the doorframe. Alexa stepped back. “It’s a bit messy.”

“Everybody says that. Don’t worry, I’m not here to get a resale value.” He slipped off his loafer onto the porch just short of her sparse shoe rack, and slipped into the house, closing the door behind him. Steven let out a sigh.

“You want something to drink?”

He shook his head. “Just water would be good.”

“There’s a seat in here.” She stepped into the kitchen, and opened the cabinet to get out a glass she might have used thrice in four years. The tap filled almost to the brim in a second, and set it on the small dining table that was up against the wall.

He sat. “Thank you.” He took a sip. Then, feeling its temperature, took a big gulp. “You know, somehow I thought your home would be…uh…”

“Bigger?”

“Different. But it’s exactly like I imagined, inside and outside.”

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on it. Instead her eyes were drawn to his left, non-dominant hand as it kept slipping in and out of a pocket.

“Do you have your phone?”

She held it up. “If you sent me something it didn’t go through.”

His hand emerged from the pocket again, but this time, it had a small plastic keyfob in it. The material was matte black with a single button on its face, and it was attached to a keyring, on which were two keys: one older and machined, and the other geometric, precisely engineered. “Can I trust you?”

“I-what? Yeah, of course.”

Steven nodded, more for himself than her. “Where I’m going, I’m not sure I’ll be back this month. Or next month.”

“So you’re away for two months?”

“Unfortunately yes, but there’s an issue I need you to handle.”

She bit her lip so as not to scoff at the idea. “Not Frau, or Hector? Why me?”

“This is important.” His blue eyes met hers. “Not just to me. I don’t think anybody will take this as seriously as you.”

She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat, her back straight. “What is it?”

“Tomorrow there’s cargo arriving. From Palix Four. Someone will bring it straight to the loading bay in the back.”

Alexa found herself frowning. “This isn’t some illegal thing is it?”

Steven chuckled, though it was uncomfortable for him by the way he looked down. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you. My friend on the other end will explain it, but you should keep it as quiet as you can. All I know is that it’s a painting. That should be up your alley.”

“Ah.” She licked her lips. “What’s so special about this one?”

“It’s been through the wringer. No offense, but I would do it myself if I didn't need to go. It’s likely been restored before, and if she’s to be believed, not very well. Can you handle that?”

“I guess? What time?”

“Very early morning, I suspect. Just do your best, and report progress to my colleague.” He pushed the keyring towards her. “This will get you into my own studio, in the basement. That key’s for my office, and this one-” He pointed to the laser-cut one. “-is for the vault.”

She stared at it for a moment. “I’m keeping it in there?”

“Preferably.”

“Where are you going?”

“Eden.”

Alexa blinked. “Didn’t that just get hit?”

“I wouldn’t be heading there if it wasn’t necessary.” His fingers drummed on the edge of the table. “My…” His eyes darted around the room before settling on her face. “My daughter lives there.”

“Oh…”

“She’s more stubborn than her old man, I’ll tell you that much. My flight’s in a couple of hours. Only one I could get on short notice. Do you have paper? I’ll get the contact details for you.”

“Uh, yeah.” She hopped up and moved back into the living room, grabbing the pile of sticky notes she usually slapped on her canvases for display. A pen was scavenged from where it had fallen behind the hamlet painting. She handed it to Steven, in the doorway.

He rather absently received the implements from her, his gaze sweeping over her living space. “Are you doing alright?”

“Hmm?”

He nodded at the paintings as he started writing against the wall. “You know people don’t really want to be reminded of what’s happening.”

“I know.” She crossed her arms.

“Eating normally?”

“Yeah. It's just hard to go out when it’s raining all day.”

“Right.” He handed her the note, with an address and a Q-net identifier hastily scribbled on it. “I trust you can take care of yourself.”

“Of course.” Alexa folded it in her hand. “You?”

“First order of business when I’m back will be reviewing your work.” He smiled, backing out into the corridor. “Good luck, Miss Romilly. I hope to see you in…two months.”

She pursed her lips, watching him open the door to let himself out. She replied not with words, but with a friendly wave and a sincere, sad smile.

The door closed behind him.

“Good luck,” she breathed.

Alexa stepped back into the kitchen, and after a long stare at the empty glass, snatched the keys off the table.