Space Wrangler (19 page)

“Fuck the sentient,” he told her, his eyes blazing. “You're delusional if you think that's the answer.”

“Just give me one week with it—”

“He'd
fire
my ass. Aren't you listening? We'd both be deported. And for what? A fantasy that will never, ever happen?”

“TJ—”

“Goddammit, Alexia.” Pain and anguish erupted in his eyes like waves of hot blue lava. The effect was mesmerizing, maybe even a little scary, and so she stared even though she knew she should be comforting him.

Then without warning he grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to her feet. “We're gonna settle this once and for all.”

“You're hurting me,” she whispered, trying not to attract attention from the diners and bio-girls.

“
I'm
hurting
you
? That's fucking hilarious,” he said, his tone bitter and unfamiliar. “Let's go. You wanted to see the fucking computer, so here's your fucking chance.”

With her heart pounding, she followed him out of the Trading Post and toward Sea-Mont headquarters. No matter how sweetly, plaintively, even stridently she scolded him, begging him to slow down, to stop bullying her, he didn't respond. By the time they approached the guard's desk, she gave up and just tried to look casual. The old guy was so sweet she couldn't bear to alarm him.

More importantly, TJ was taking her to the sentient. As ugly as the circumstances might be, it was still a dream come true.

Once in the elevator, TJ spoke into the holo-screen of his pulse band, saying, “Security, this is TJ Seaton. I'm going to use the sentient, and I'd like some privacy. Disarm all surveillance in the third-floor hallway and make sure no one disturbs me. If you don't hear from me within an hour, activate the cameras and re-arm all alarms. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Seaton,” a voice replied, its tone so even she assumed this request was standard operating procedure. But she had a feeling it was more than that this time. TJ didn't want to leave a trail for his father to discover. A trail that would tell David his son and his nemesis had visited the sentient together.

She couldn't agree more with TJ's strategy.

They exited the elevator, then he strode ahead of her, down a side hall and then to a long, wide passageway across the back of the building that dead-ended with a brick wall. Halfway down the hall on the right was a single steel door.

Oh my God
…

She could barely breathe. Barely think. Was this really happening? After all these years?

“TJ—”

“Not a word,” he told her, his voice menacing. “Let's just get this the fuck over with.”

As Alexia held her breath, TJ stepped up to the sensor pad on the wall and placed his palm firmly against it, while simultaneously looking into an eye scan and speaking his name slowly and distinctly.

“Is this really happening?” she whispered, numb with anticipation.

The door slid open, silent and efficient, and then TJ stepped aside, his expression now calm. Almost gentle. “Go on.”

She wanted to thank him. Maybe even agree to marry him. But she couldn't spare the time, so she touched his jaw with her fingertips, then slipped by him. Every inch of the room was white, save for a border of blue lights around a huge monitor, also pure white. Despite the absence of color, the place seemed to shimmer an ethereal shade of blue, as though bio-metal lurked there, just under the surface, straining to burst into the light.

“It's gorgeous,” she whispered reverently.

“It's a computer,” TJ corrected her. Then he raised his voice. “Computer?”

“Welcome back, Mr. Seaton.”

“I've brought someone with me. Alexia Montoya. The most important person in the world to me, so treat her accordingly.”

“Welcome, Ms. Montoya,” the computer said, its tone mechanical and soothing. Not unlike a highly efficient customer service robot.

“Hi computer,” she replied, silently congratulating Rick Gage for imbuing personality into something which, by design, should have been mechanical. If Sensie's “glitches” had made her a robust, vibrant entity, then wasn't
she
the most successful of the four prototypes?

“How can I serve you?” the computer asked.

“Ms. Montoya thinks you can help her rescue her brother from the sinkhole,” TJ replied. “Any thoughts?”

Alexia exhaled sharply. This was it. Or at least, the first step toward “it”. And she wanted to get off on the right foot, so she told the computer, “I want you to share any and every thought or theory, computer. No matter how far-fetched. We're brainstorming here, okay? There's no wrong answer, just infinite possibilities.”

A moment of silence ensued, then the computer told her flatly, “Trent Montoya perished in the sinkhole six years, two months and eighteen days ago by Earth standard measure.”

“That's the rumor,” she agreed. “And I know it's the prevalent theory. But there are other possibilities—”

“There are no other possibilities, Ms. Montoya. Your brother is dead.”

“That's enough, computer,” TJ murmured. “She gets the point.”

“No! Let him talk. We're brainstorming here,” she repeated, trying not to panic. “Okay, computer. You're saying there aren't any other possibilities, but let's talk theory. Parallel planes, intersecting sinkholes, time suspension—”

“Your brother is dead,” the computer repeated. “The only question is, did he die instantly? Or did he suffocate slowly—”

“That's enough!” TJ barked, pulling Alexia into a protective embrace.

She was sure he would escort her away now, but he surprised her by addressing the computer again. “Computer?”

“Yes, Mr. Seaton?”

“When was the last time you and I ran scenarios about Trent Montoya's disappearance? Ms. Montoya thinks I abandoned the search too quickly, so be precise.”

“It was eleven days, four hours, twelve minutes ago, Mr. Seaton.”

Alexia's knees weakened with confusion. “What? Explain that, computer.”

“Mr. Seaton asked me to re-run the parallel plane scenarios. It was accomplished quickly, since they were discredited years ago by Trent Montoya himself.”

“Parallel planes?” Alexia turned her grateful gaze toward TJ. “You did that
after
Rick's computer made the suggestion?”

TJ's eyes were bluer than ever, thanks to a misting of tears. “He was my best friend.”

“Oh my God. Poor wonderful you.” She covered his face with kisses. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“You never asked.”

“Oh God,” she repeated, wrapping her arms around his waist, then resting her cheek on his chest. Emotions clashed in her tortured heart. Gratitude to TJ. Fear over the computer's dismissive attitude. Confusion as to what she should do now.

“We need to go, Lexie,” he murmured into her hair. “Every minute we spend here puts you in jeopardy. Puts
both
of us in jeopardy.”

“You asked security to give us an hour. I have more questions, TJ.”

“You're going to get me fired.”

She could see from his expression that he was honestly panicked, and probably regretting having trusted her to this extent. So she nodded. “We can come back later. Maybe after dinner.”

He stared down at her, his expression wistful. “I don't know how to respond to that. You promised you'd give up if I let you talk to it—”

“Not just
talk
to it. Work with it. Brainstorm—”

“Ms. Montoya?”

The computer's interruption startled her, but she took it as a good sign. Maybe it wanted to keep talking too. “Yes?”

“Your only logical choice is to listen to Mr. Seaton.”

She stared at the monitor. “How dare you say that. My brother
built
you and this is the thanks he gets?”

“That's enough, computer,” TJ warned. “Not another word.” He turned weary eyes to Alexia. “Let's get some dinner, shall we?”

They reached the elevator in silence, and she wasn't surprised when he pushed the button for the fifth-floor penthouse. He didn't want anyone at the Trading Post to see them this way, and she agreed. They weren't fighting, or at least not exactly. But they reeked of exhaustion and disharmony. Hardly the right mood for management to project.

Once inside the penthouse, she flopped onto the couch and told him, “I'm not hungry, but I guess we should eat. And that soup they were cooking smelled good. Maybe with some crusty bread?”

“I'll have it sent up.” He studied her for a moment, then surprised her by reaching for remote control and activating the photographic array of Trent, bizarrely immortalized in holographic and digital form.

She had loved it the first few times, finding it inspiring and optimistic. Now it felt lifeless, almost maudlin. “Not now, TJ,” she murmured without thinking.

His expression hardened. “You can be a brat sometimes.”

Surprised, she tried for a soothing tone. “Leave it on if it makes you feel better.”

“I took you to the sentient, and it told you what you needed to hear. You said the truce is over and I agree. It's time to settle this thing between us before we start backsliding.” He walked over to her and sat at her side. “We made a commitment to each other, didn't we? To mend the rift, and make sure it stayed mended. There's only one way to do that. You need to marry me. We'll build a new dynasty together. One that will feel like a memorial to Trent and Roberto. What's so wrong with that?”

Before she could respond, he took her hand in his own. “Marry me. Get rid of the nonprofit. I'll convince Dad to give us back your five percent as a wedding present. We can be happy, Lexie.”

“TJ—”

“We'll go home together. Find someone else to run this stupid platform while I manage the company from New York. Or San Francisco if you'd prefer that.”

“Wait!” She gripped his hand tightly. “I have a better idea. I'll give you my share of the company. All of it.”

He drew back as though she had zapped him with a taze stick. “I never asked you for that.”

“I know.” She moistened her lips, stunned by the magnitude of this idea, which had sprung out of nowhere but now seemed so right. “You can have my forty-five percent, but only on the condition that you give it back to Trent, if and when he comes home. Until then, it's yours.” She felt her pulse begin to race. “Don't you see? Your father would
have
to respect you then. He wouldn't dare fire you. Maybe he'd even be so grateful to you for getting me out of his hair, he'd retire and sign everything over to you.”

His words were hushed. “Where is this coming from?”

“It was your idea in a way.” She steadied her voice, hoping for the perfect blend of affection and business acumen. “Remember when you said we could sell my part of the company and build a new one of our own? I could never do that. Never sell Trent's birthright to a stranger. But to
you
? It feels so right, TJ.”

She could see the haze in his eyes, and knew his mind was reeling. But once it all sunk in, he'd be thrilled, wouldn't he?

Then he drawled, “Let me guess. You'll do this in exchange for unlimited access to the sentient? Nice move, Lexie. Maybe you're the real genius of the family after all.”

“TJ, don't.” She stood and walked to the wall of windows, then looked out over the platform, her heart aching. “I want to talk to the sentient one more time. If I can't get him to brainstorm with me, then I'm not sure what I'll do next. It's—well, it's a setback.”

He came up behind her, his voice warm in her ear. “A setback? In other words, even when you hit the ultimate dead end, you won't stop? Are you listening to yourself?” Turning her toward him, he gave her a forgiving smile. “I'm offering to marry you. Build a life with you. Make love to you, raise kids with you, give you everything in the world. I don't want your forty-five percent. I want
you
.”

“And I want you too. As my best friend. My rock. Now that we're back together, I'll never let you go.” Her voice caught in her throat. “But I can't marry you. I was crazy to think we could even have sex after all this time. I've grown up. I love you, but like a brother, not a lover.”

“Like a brother?” His upper lip curled into a snarl. “When was the last time you gave your
brother
a hand job?”

She pulled away, horrified, and wrapped her arms around her torso, feeling unprotected. Almost naked.

“Lexie—”

“Don't. Just
don't
,” she repeated sharply when he reached for her again.

“I'm sorry, Lex. I swear it.”

She choked on an indignant sob. “I can't do this now. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“I'll walk you home.”

“Just stay away from me.” She strode to the doorway, praying he wouldn't follow.

And to his credit, he stayed put, but called after her mournfully, “I'm sorry, Alexia. Please forgive me.”

Tears were streaming down her face, and without turning around she knew he was weeping too. She couldn't bear to look at him, not yet. But she managed to assure him, “I already forgive you. Because I
love
you, even though you're a stupid jerk. So try to get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning.”

Until now, she had found comfort in Trent's penthouse. The clean lines, the Spartan ambience, the complete absence of clutter. But tonight there was no trace of her brother here. It was a cold, dark, deserted world, much like Destry, and exactly like David Seaton. The coldest, darkest, most deserted human on either side of the sinkhole.

Her words to TJ rang in the air.

I already forgive you.

How could she not? He had been raised by a hideous, soulless demon who never gave his son even a
taste
of what he needed. Love. Family. Some connection to the pure, meaningful core of humanity. Sensie—a glitchy computer—had called that one right, hadn't she? TJ needed to fill the void, but it could never really be filled. Not completely. But if he hoped for even a semblance of a rewarding existence, he needed Alexia.