Space Wrangler (3 page)

“Trust me, finding a male date is no trouble up here. Ninety percent of us are males, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“We have so few women, they can write their own ticket. It's mostly nurses—and one female doctor—along with some waitresses and bartenders. Plus five percent of our techs are women. Otherwise, I'm the first to admit we discriminate like crazy in our hiring practices.”

“Why?”

“Because the only thing worse than losing six to ten humans a year in the sinkhole would be losing a significant number of women. As it stands, we've only lost four in the history of the operation. Compare that to thirty-five males.”

“Including Trent.”

“Yes, Lexie,” he drawled. “Including Trent. The best friend I'll ever have.”

She refused to feel his pain. “But now you have a
new
friend. Captain Rick Gage, a.k.a. the wrangler. You said you'd tell me his tragic story, so spill.” She paused to allow Jamie to deliver their coffee, then she patted TJ's hand. “Please?”

He took a quick sip of his beverage. “Just stop me if it gets too gory.”

“Oh Lord, really?”

He nodded. “Before anyone can come through the sinkhole—
legally
—I get a full report on them. Since Rick had an intriguing résumé, I asked my investigators to dig deeper, and what they found was shocking. He comes from two solid families, and should have lived a charmed life. Like me. But instead, it's been a nightmare. Starting when he was eleven years old and witnessed his mother being butchered right in front of his eyes.”

Alexia gasped. “How could that happen?”

“His father was a hostage negotiator for the FBI. When Rick was eleven, the dad drew a rough case. A bank robbery. It involved the Petrini crime family. Have you heard of them?”

“Chaz Petrini, right? He's horrible.”

“Twenty years ago, when all this happened, it was Chaz's father Vigg who was the boss. When Rick's dad arrived at the scene of the robbery, a lone gunman was holding six civilians hostage. When he realized the gunman was part of the Petrini clan, he knew Vigg might try to gain leverage by going after members of the agents' families, so he called home and told the wife to bundle up the kid and wait for the FBI to move them to a safe house.”

“But Petrini got there first? Oh, TJ.”

“Actually, the mom decided not to wait. She put young Rick in the car and started driving to the family's ranch in Wyoming. They stopped along the way at a diner, and while they were eating, two goons showed up. Slit the mom's throat on the spot, then kidnapped the kid.”

“Oh no.” Her spine tensed. “But he's still alive, so that means the FBI got there in time.”

“It was Rick's dad himself who tracked them down, burst into the room, and killed both goons. But obviously—for Rick, at least—it must have been bittersweet, right? He was alive, his dad was a hero, but his mother…well, let's face it, who could ever forget that?”

“No one.” Alexia rubbed her eyes. “I see what you mean, it's tragic.”

“And it's just Act One.” TJ's tone was grim. “The dad took Rick to the ranch and the two of them basically retreated from the world. The dad home-schooled him, and they spent their free time grieving and riding horses and flying a small plane the dad owned. To me,” TJ added reverently, “
that's
what made Rick's father a hero. Not the dramatic rescue, but the day-in, day-out attention. Focus. Affection.”

Alexia winced, knowing TJ was contrasting the cowboy's father with David Seaton—a cold, calculating bastard. And while Alexia's own father had been loving in his own peculiar way, she too felt a pang of wistfulness. Because Roberto Montoya would
never
have taken time off from his career to minister to his family.

Not even when Mom left
…

But at least she had had her big brother Trent. Poor TJ hadn't had
any
one, or at least, no blood relatives to care about him.

What a mess. For
all
of us.

“There's more,” TJ warned. “Can you take it?”

“Do I have a choice? I don't want to make some thoughtless remark at dinner and hurt his feelings.”

“Okay.” He exhaled loudly. “So they spent a couple of years in Wyoming, then they moved to DC so the father could take a desk job—completely out of harm's way—and Rick could go to some private high school. When Rick graduated and was accepted into West Point, the dad finally returned to the field. Just before Rick's fourth year at the Point, the dad was lured into an ambush by Vigg Petrini, who had apparently been holding a grudge.”

“An ambush? Don't tell me—”

“Yeah, Rick's father was gunned down.”

Alexia shuddered. “It's so unfair.”

“The only shred of justice was that Vigg got hit by a stray bullet from one of his own goons. The dad never knew it, but at least his son did. Small comfort but better than nothing, right? Anyway, Rick graduated with all sorts of honors and went straight into the jaws of death by leading a search-and-rescue squad in the Six Year War. He was a highly decorated hero. Just like his dad.”

Alexia bit her lip, confused by the naked envy in TJ's voice. She had always known of the rivalry, bordering on contempt, between him and his dad. But in her wildest dreams she hadn't imagined TJ wished he'd been born to a different father altogether. And not one like Roberto—an absentminded genius who truly loved his family. But a gun-toting hero like Rick Gage's father.

And like Rick Gage himself, apparently.

“And then when he got out of the Army he decided to come here?” she asked, but the bad news in TJ's eyes made her regret the question. “Oh no, don't tell me. His squad had casualties? Or they lost someone they were trying to rescue?”

“They made it through their whole tour—together and intact. It was a miracle. When it was time to go home, they were loading onto a hyper-chopper when word came that their replacement squad had a complicated situation on their hands, especially given their limited experience. So Rick decided to stay for one last mission. He watched his old squad lifting up into the sky, then a surface-to-air missile exploded out of nowhere and immolated them—”

“No!” Alexia wrapped her arms around herself in an instinctive, protective hug. “Oh TJ, no. He
saw
that? With his own eyes? It's so unfair.”

TJ's tortured gaze assured her that was exactly what had happened.

“And so he came here?” Alexia whispered. “Who could blame him?”

“Actually, he went to the ranch for a couple of years. Retreated, like his dad taught him. But I suppose it wasn't enough. Some things—or an accumulation of many things—can't be denied. So he sold a huge chunk of the family homestead, built himself a semi-sentient computer—a clone of the prototypes, and a pretty good one, or so I'm told. Then he commissioned a ship over here, and came through the sinkhole. He planned on exploring—staying away from us here on the platform and planet—but he underestimated the cost of fuel, so he takes wrangling contracts to defray expenses. He's the best we have, and possibly the best pilot this side of the sinkhole. And his ship…” TJ's mood brightened a bit. “You should see it, Lex. He must have spent a fortune, because it has more bio-metal than any vessel I've ever seen. From a distance it actually shimmers blue. A crazy expense, obviously, but still, it's impressive.”

“Why is it crazy? Trent used lots of bio-metal in his designs too.”

“His computers. His robotic inventions. But the hull of a spaceship? What's the point?”

She nodded. It did seem extravagant considering how rare bio-metal was, and how sought-after. In less than a decade it had become so indispensable, Earthlings were willing to brave the sinkhole and colonize the D-side—the only place in the known universe where the rare alloy had been found.

She eyed TJ curiously. “Has Sea-Mont made any progress turning blutanium into bio-metal? Or are we still just salvaging debris from the Destroyers?”

“Our scientists are brilliant, but so far, no luck. Your father could have figured it out eventually. And Trent? He would have cracked it for sure. But at least he discovered how to recycle the old bio-metal machines before he died. Without that, the company would have gone bankrupt by now.”

“Before he died?” Alexia glared. “You never saw proof of that. No corpse, no wreckage. Yet you're so willing to write him off. Declare him dead and move on—” She caught herself and asked more gently, “Don't you
want
to believe he's still alive?”

“Just every fucking day. So get off my back, or get off my platform.”

She sat back, stunned at the violence of his reaction. She had never even heard TJ raise his voice before today, and now this?

“Sorry.” He stood and pulled her into a contrite hug. “You're the lucky one, you know. You've never had to face the grief. The loss. The empty fucking space. Not to mention, the guilt.”

“Guilt?”

His eyes had misted over. “It should have been
me
, Lex. The company would have been fine. No one would have missed me, and the tremendous discoveries would have continued. And
you
would have been happy—”

“Without
you
? My other brother? Don't you know the truth?” A wrenching sob escaped her chest. “I would have looked for
you
forever too. Don't you know how much I love you?”

His smile was shaky. “Seriously?”

“You're such an idiot.” She kissed his cheek, trying not to let him see the second part of this tearful equation. Yes, she would have searched for him forever.

And she wasn't the only one. Trent Montoya would never have abandoned his best friend—his soul brother. And even if he had eventually believed TJ was dead and gone, he would never,
ever
have gone to court for a death certificate just to maximize Sea-Mont profits.

“You'll never know how much this means to me,” TJ was murmuring. “It's like I've been in a coma, and suddenly, you're here. Waking me up.”

She forced herself to smile. “Well, at least you got some rest. Meanwhile,
I've
been through hell today. Can't you find me a hotel room or something? I want to look decent at dinner.”

“You can stay in my guest room—”

“Try again.”

TJ laughed. “Dad's penthouse, then. He hasn't been here since May, and won't be back until next spring at the earliest.” When she grimaced, he reminded her gently, “It was originally supposed to be Trent's. So in a way, it's yours. Right?”

“It was Trent's? And you let his arch-enemy have it?”

“It sat empty for two years—”

“Two whole years?” She rolled her eyes in mock dismay. “Your father was a saint to wait so long before he
stol
e it from us, like everything else.”

“Where are those armed guards when I need them?” TJ muttered. “Are we okay or not? I'm getting whiplash from these mood swings.”

Alexia bit her lip. “We're okay. I was just hoping—”

“Let me guess: you aren't here for a romantic reunion. You want access to my sentient computer, right?”

She winced.

“I've heard the stories,” he drawled. “About how you tried to get into the prototype at NASA but they blocked it.”

“Your
father
blocked it.”

“And he'll block this one too. I can guarantee it. So if that's the only reason you're here today—”

“It's not!” she lied. Then she added more sincerely, “I've missed you. A
lot
. If we can be close friends again, that alone would be worth the trip. But yes, I also want access to the computer. My brother designed it and my family's money helped pay for it. So shoot me if you want, but I came here for both. You
and
the Sea-Mont Prototype. Please?”

“You're such a pain,” he muttered. “Come on, I'll walk you home.”

Chapter Three

Two hours later, as Alexia knelt in the middle of the penthouse living room, she rocked back on her heels and surveyed the place, still amazed at how the faux-wood floorboards—stained in dark cherry—and the stainless-steel tables and cabinetry evoked memories of Trent's laboratory back on Earth.

Why hadn't David Seaton redecorated when he moved in? Surely he couldn't feel at home here, but maybe that was the point. It
wasn't
home to him. By his own admission he hated D-side and feared the sinkhole, never venturing down to the planet, and never staying on the platform for one minute longer than necessary.

It was something he and Alexia had in common. She didn't want to stay either. She just wanted to access the Sea-Mont computer, mend fences with TJ and go home to continue her work. If TJ wanted to pursue a full-fledged romance, he could return to Earth and be with her there.

She had shooed him away when he dropped her off, insisting she needed to nap in anticipation of her three-way dinner. But instead she had been searching the penthouse, desperate to know if David had hidden a gateway into the sentient computer, a.k.a. the Sea-Mont Prototype. And even if such remote access didn't exist, maybe David had hidden passwords or access cards on the premises.

It was a long shot and she knew it. David was the paranoid type, and probably used the same security precautions for the D-side prototype as NASA used for its Earth-side counterpart. She knew from bitter experience how the space agency protected its prize with a combination of retinal scans and handprints, bolstered by voice recognition patterns and an ever-changing password. As a result, only five people on Earth had access to the NASA sentient.

Five people—and not one of them a Montoya.

It was a travesty. Sentient computers wouldn't even
exist
without Trent's genius in designing them. If only Alexia had inherited similar brilliance from their father, she might have gotten Trent back by now. Or at least, she could hack the penthouse's
non
-sentient computer and see if it provided a path to the prototype.

It was the first thing she had tried after TJ dropped her off at the penthouse, managing to get past the first layer of passwords, only to be stymied by the second.

Still, it was a tribute to her transformation from lighthearted student—majoring in linguistics to please Trent, while dreaming of marriage and children with TJ Seaton—to an agenda-driven zealot who gobbled up computer science classes, mathematics and astrophysics. Not in hopes of true comprehension, but so she could at least converse with the experts who could help her find her lost brother.

Trent would be impressed
…

She sighed, knowing he would be less impressed by the other aspects of her transformation. Given that virtually
all
of the top-tier female scientists on Earth worked for a rival company and refused to interact with Alexia, she had turned her full attention to the males. To the extent she could exploit their respect for Roberto and Trent, or bribe them with huge salaries, she had used those means. But for insurance, she had learned to dress more provocatively and to flirt.

And occasionally, to follow through on that flirting.

But the scientific community had failed her, and now her only hope was the sentient computer. If necessary, she could use her vamping skills to seduce TJ, but it would be so much better if she could figure out how to access the prototype on her own. There had been a time when she would have turned to TJ first, not last. But now—

You've got ten more minutes. Then you need to shower and dress for dinner. Don't waste it reliving the past or fantasizing about the future. Use it for Trent.

She scanned the floorboards, hoping to spot some irregularity that exposed a hiding place. She and Trent had each built such caches in their bedrooms—Alexia by crudely prying up a loose plank, Trent by inventing a sophisticated system of triggers and counterweights.

Too bad he never actually lived here. Then you'd know for sure you'd find it
.

She doubted David Seaton had the imagination for such whimsy, but as her gaze swept along the floor under the windows, she realized she might have misjudged him. One board seemed higher than the others—just a micro-sliver, but still…

Crawling over to it, she ran her finger along the edge and grinned in satisfaction. Old man Seaton would be livid if he knew his secret had been discovered by none other than “that Montoya bitch”.

The board was wedged so firmly, she couldn't possibly pry it up. But then again, she didn't need to, did she? The integration with the rest of the floor was so complete, there had to be an external mechanism, so she studied the wall above it. Then the baseboards.

She was over-thinking it. And so in a burst of inspiration she reached for a remote control on the stainless steel coffee table and began entering codes. First, David's birthday. Then TJ's, then Trent's, then her father's.

Nothing.

But there was one more date—the day Roberto Montoya and David Seaton had launched an unmanned probe through the sinkhole, proving once and for all that their “folly” was actually the discovery of the century.

08-21-2051.

In an instant, the board popped up.

“Yay!”

Elated, even though she couldn't imagine what she hoped to find, she lifted the plank. David wouldn't actually hide a key card or password in the floor, nor could the sentient computer be accessed by such simple means. But in some ways, this was just as good—finding out what really
mattered to a greedy bastard like David, and getting her hands on it.

Priceless.

Reaching into the shallow cavity, she discovered two glass jars. Pulling out the first, she stared at the contents: three tiny, pock-marked rocks, bluish-gray in color, protected by a temperature-controlled lid.

Blutanium—the mineral that had made Seaton's investment in Roberto's crackpot ideas worthwhile. Not that her father had lived to see it. That honor had fallen to Trent—the first Earthling through the sinkhole. And soon thereafter, the first one to explore the planet Destry. Its bombed-out landscape had seemed unprofitable, but Trent had noticed how certain charred remains had a distinctly bluish cast. Thereafter some digging—literally—had revealed the existence of a brand-new metallic element.

It would have made a fortune for Sea-Mont all by itself, but Trent soon discovered an even more impressive phenomenon—bio-metal. Somehow, the civilization that had built—and then destroyed—an empire on Destry had learned to infuse blutanium with biologic properties that made it stronger, more responsive, more malleable, infinitely versatile and virtually indestructible.

Before Alexia even bothered pulling the second jar out of its hiding place, she knew what it contained. Still, she felt a twinge of awe when she finally laid eyes on it. Unlike the dull blue of the source metal,
bio
-metal dazzled the eye with its luminous beauty and depth. Living metal—not sentient, yet clearly organic and bizarrely self-healing.

She remembered what TJ had said about Rick Gage's spacecraft—he had used so much biotanium in the hull it actually shimmered. Even if TJ had exaggerated a bit, she could understand why it impressed him, because just this small sample in her hand—probably less than an ounce—produced a mesmerizing glow.

Why did David hide these here?

Bio-metal was invaluable, of course. No one on Earth knew how to make more of it, so the supply was limited to the scraps recovered on and around Destry. Trent had taken the first step by learning to recycle—or rather, “re-purpose”—the debris, but had disappeared in the sinkhole before cracking the code for creating more.

Nevertheless, David Seaton's company possessed the exclusive world-wide licenses for mining and selling blutanium and for repurposing biotanium. He hardly needed to hoard samples in his floor!

Maybe he's more nostalgic than you knew. Maybe these jars are his link to the old days, when he and Dad were pioneering the sinkhole.

As much as she hated David for declaring Trent dead and stealing control of Sea-Mont, she hoped he truly did have a nostalgic, non-greedy side. For TJ's sake. Being raised by a monster had been a terrible fate, but it would be a relief to know the monster had shown some small spark of love or respect to his only son.

He certainly hadn't shown it to the daughter of his old friend and partner.

With a sigh, she returned the temperature-controlled samples to their hiding place. This treasure hunt, while instructive, hadn't gotten her any closer to finding her brother. Apparently she would need to bully—or seduce—her old crush after all.

After finishing his chores, Rick dressed for dinner with half an hour to spare. More than enough time to get his shaggy hair trimmed at the Trading Post.

“You're wearing the jacket again?” Sensie asked.

“Alexia asked me to.”

“It's such an honor to dine with her.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Can you do some research for me?”

“Certainly, Captain. What is the subject?”

“One of the enforcers made a crack about Alexia. That she only owns forty-five percent of the company. I didn't really follow the lawsuit, since I had other things on my mind at the time.” He winced at the oblique reference to the annihilation of his comrades. “Anyway, see what you can do.”

“The information is readily available if you want to be briefed now.”

“Great. I didn't want a haircut anyway.” He took a seat facing the computer's console, then leaned back and stretched in his black leather pilot's chair. It was one of his truly extravagant expenses—built to his personal specifications. But unlike the other semi-practical luxuries on the
Drifter
—the bio-metal in the ship's walls, the sentient computer, his state-of-the-art shower—this chair had no purpose beyond making him feel like a king. And aside from Sensie, it was the one thing he would never even
consider
giving up.

“Let's hear it, Sensie.”

“It is a long story, beginning almost twenty years ago when Roberto Montoya theorized the existence of the sinkhole—”

“I already know
that
story. I want to hear about the lawsuit.”

Ten seconds of stony silence ensued. Then the computer agreed, saying, “You know about Roberto Montoya's contributions to the company, but you don't know about David Seaton's.”

Rick glared at the overhead monitor, then recited the list. “Roberto Montoya discovered the sinkhole, designed the mission to prove its existence, and sent the first unmanned probe to see what was on the other side.
Trent
Montoya piloted the first
manned
probe, discovered Destry, discovered blutanium, discovered
bio
tanium, learned to recycle it, designed the space platform, and then designed the first sentient computers, including
you
. Those are just a few of the Montoya contributions.” He paused to glare again. “Compare that to David Seaton. All he did was provide financing, and he's gotten a humongous return on his investment. He'd be nothing—no one—without the Montoyas.”

Once again, Sensie was silent for a few seconds, then spoke with detached authority. “Yes, Roberto discovered the sinkhole. But it was just a theory, and one greeted with worldwide scorn. His superiors at NASA rejected his request to study it, and no one in the scientific community lent their support. So he turned to the private sector for financing, but they treated him like a crackpot. The existence of the sinkhole would never have been confirmed, and the rest of the discoveries never made, if David Seaton hadn't heard about the project and agreed to finance it. That isn't just money. That's vision.”

Rick winced. “True. But it made him richer than ever.”

“And if the project had failed? David Seaton dedicated his family's considerable wealth—every bit of it—and then exhausted his credit. He would have been a pauper. A laughingstock. Even when the unmanned probe made its first transit, there was no
product
to sell. No patent to exploit. There was fame, but no fortune. It wasn't until Trent discovered how to recycle bio-metal that Seaton could recoup his ten-year investment.”

“Okay, okay, Seaton's the unsung hero of the story.”

“Not a hero,” Sensie told him quietly. “But a very bitter, very
angry
man. You need to understand the depth of his emotional investment, Captain. Otherwise, the rest of the story makes no sense.”

Rick tried to fathom what she was telling him. Did David Seaton actually believe he deserved a larger percentage of the company than the Montoyas? It was ludicrous!

“Okay, so he's pissed and he took it out on Alexia. But in the beginning, it was a fifty-fifty proposition, right?”

“Of course. Roberto Montoya and David Seaton each owned fifty percent of nothing. Even ten years into it, when Roberto died, the company was operating at a loss. But on paper Roberto owned fifty percent, and he left it in trust to his two children.”

Rick sat up, surprised by the logic of that statement. He had always thought of Trent as the heir—the owner of the family's interest, benevolently caring for his little sister. But of course Alexia had inherited too.

“So she owned fifty percent of the Montoya share even before Trent disappeared?”

“The undivided Montoya interest was in trust with both of them as beneficiaries. Since Trent was twenty-four years old—an adult—and Alexia was only sixteen, he became trustee as well as guardian when the father died.”

Rick leaned back and closed his eyes, recalling a bizarre fact. Roberto Montoya had died the same year as Rick's own father. Rick had just turned twenty-one—an adult by technical standards, but he hadn't felt like one that awful day. Had twenty-four-year-old Trent felt lost too—abandoned and angry and confused? Or did three more years of life and the existence of a younger sibling provide fortitude in the face of overwhelming loss?