The panoramic view of the space platform from the Sea-Mont offices never ceased to amaze TJ Seaton. Not only was it remarkable in its own right—a triumph of man over nature, over space, over gravity and common sense—but the glimpse of planet Destry, with its swirling poisonous cloud cover, truly staggered the imagination. This platform, floating forty-thousand miles above its host, had begun as nothing more than a supply station for the real action on the surface, but had grown into so much more. A self-contained world. A home for two hundred humans. A modern miracle.
And more than anything, a source of pride and contentment for TJ. Or at least, until today.
Today, he struggled with uglier emotions. Jealousy, anger, hatred—all directed at one loathsome, despicable man.
David Seaton.
Rick Gage had asked if TJ had received feedback from the old man about Alexia’s arrival on the D-side, and TJ had reported a two-word answer: Deport her. But in actuality, it had been a bit longer. Nine words to be exact.
Deport her or I’ll find a CEO who will.
“Fucking asshole,” TJ muttered, still seething from the impact of that message. His father had made similar threats before, but only in the early days of the space platform. Since then the son had proven himself again and again, to the point where the old man—a semi-retired figurehead—would have to be crazy to make a management change.
But the old guy could make that change. And that was the point, wasn’t it? After all these years—all this work, this commitment, this combination of tragedy and triumph—TJ still had zero power. And he certainly didn’t have an ownership interest. His father had seen to that. And so, while Alexia mourned the loss of control due to her reduction from fifty to forty-five percent ownership, TJ didn’t own any of it. He could barely protect his own future, much less hers. After tireless efforts to do everything right for everyone concerned over his first thirty-five years of life, he had made three monumental mistakes.
First and foremost, he had failed to marry Alexia the day she turned eighteen. Worse, he hadn’t even considered it back then. She was still a kid. Sure she had a crush on him, and sure, he had responded to some of her antics. What guy wouldn’t?
But she was Roberto’s daughter. That alone rendered her untouchable. Add to that her status as Trent’s sister, and the closest thing to a sister—or any kind of sibling—TJ himself had ever known.
Definitely Mistake Number One, especially since she had already owned a virtual twenty-five-percent interest in the company back then, albeit in trust. And unbeknownst to TJ at the time, she would soon inherit another twenty-five percent.
If he had just married her when he had the chance, it would have made him an official part of the Montoya clan. Maybe he would even have a Montoya-Seaton child by now. Alexia had been hot for motherhood, hadn’t she? Playful, sure. Even flirtatious. But only with TJ. Not like now, when she would happily sleep with any physicist in sight.
Being an honorary Montoya had meant everything to him in those days. Even when Roberto died he had felt secure. Trent, as trustee, had been in the driver’s seat, especially since David Seaton recognized him as the goose that would keep laying the golden eggs, and thus had shown him enormous respect. And because TJ was Trent’s friend, he too had been given a certain degree of deference.
But Trent and TJ hadn’t been fooled. They had even talked about leaving Sea-Mont. Selling off Trent and Alexia’s fifty percent and starting a new company of their own. A huge middle finger to David and his tyrannical ways. The monster would have had to contend with a new partner, and the odds that such a buyer could supply even half of Trent’s brainpower or TJ’s management skills had been laughable. And so, Sea-Mont would have crumbled. Not immediately, but eventually. And by the time the old fucker died, it really wouldn’t matter if he actually left his half of the company to his only son or not.
AKA Mistake Number Two: not cutting the filial cord that was actually more of a noose.
And the most damning mistake of all? TJ should have killed David Seaton when he had the chance, either as a child or even as a teenager. He had wanted to do it—had stood over the monster’s sleeping figure more than once with a cold steel blade in his steady hand—but had allowed conventional wisdom to subvert natural instinct, despite the raw reality of his mother’s horrific suicide.
There had been whispers about it at the time. That David was so cold. So distant. Maybe even heartless. And for a beautiful but timid woman like Marissa Seaton, the lack of affection had been too much to bear. They had judged David, but also Marissa, noting with fake concern how weak she must have been to abandon her four-year-old son that way.
But even at four years old, TJ had understood. Because words like “heartless” and “distant” didn’t begin to describe the monster or his cruelty, both mental and physical, all behind closed doors on the remote Seaton estate, cut off from any source of love or assistance.
Marissa had never stood a chance. Neither had TJ.
He knew what everyone thought: that he was either afraid of the old man or desperate to earn his love. No one understood the truth. He just wanted to kill the fucker. And as a child, he could have gotten away with it.
Sadly, his options in adulthood had grown more limited. And after Trent died in the sinkhole, and Alexia turned her back on him, his only option had been to wait things out. To suffer in silence until the old man’s death. To make himself invaluable on the space platform—managing the company brilliantly by day, banging bio-girls by night—until the monster’s heart gave out and TJ inherited fifty-five percent of the most valuable entity on either side of the sinkhole.
His strategy from that point forward would have been simple. Cremate David and scatter his ashes over the most disgusting, decrepit bog on Destry, then give Alexia back the five percent David had stolen from her and hope she’d forgive him his part in all that.
But she had accelerated the timetable by showing up unannounced. Now TJ had to deal with that. And not just with the event itself but with the emotions it unleashed.
He couldn’t reverse mistakes number two or three. Couldn’t go back in time and murder the monster, or start a new company with Trent. But he could marry Alexia, effectively erasing the first one. At the very least, it would allow him to take care of her, and would re-establish his status as a member of the Montoya family.
And at best? Well, he hadn’t figured that part out yet. But he had confidence it would work out. That was his genius, wasn’t it? Roberto had been born with phenomenal math know-how, Trent had had the science gift, and TJ had been given the ability to make money from all those Montoya talents.
“Mr. Seaton?” his assistant said sweetly from the doorway. “Captain Angelus is here for his appointment.”
“Excellent. Put him in the small conference room. And Barbara?” He turned to smile at the pretty, dark-haired woman. He had pulled her from the pool of bio-girls when his affair with former assistant Gabby Rousseau ended, and it had proven a smart move. Barbara was competent and discreet, serving him faithfully. And in turn, TJ had respected her by keeping his hands off her during work hours.
Best of all, Barbara wasn’t clingy or emotional the way Gabby had been. She just did her job and made TJ feel damned good about himself, the way she had done just twelve hours earlier when Alexia had left with a headache and Barbara had stepped in to efficiently meet his needs.
Almost as if to prove that point, she arched a sexy eyebrow. “Yes, Mr. Seaton?”
“Did you arrange a medical appointment for Ms. Montoya?”
“Dr. Meg will see her at ten a.m.”
“Great. Make sure I get a full report. And if Meg pulls any crap about doctor-patient confidentiality, just let me know.”
Barbara’s smile was reassuring. “We all waive those rights when we come through the sinkhole, don’t we? No one knows that better than Meg.”
He cleared his throat, knowing that Alexia hadn’t signed any such waiver. She had come through illegally, hadn’t she? With all the attendant risks and privileges.
Annoyed, he muttered, “Just tell the smuggler I’ll be there in a minute.”
Once Barbara had nodded and disappeared back into the reception area, TJ exhaled sharply, disgusted at the prospect of talking to a punk like Zeke Angelus.
But it had to be done. If he really wanted to reconcile with—and marry—the only remaining Montoya, he had to take care of some loose ends first.
Especially Rick Gage, the loosest end of all.
Striding into the conference room, he gave a brisk nod to the smuggler, who didn’t bother standing, but rather just grinned as though they were old friends. Or worse, as though they were equals.
TJ had never seen this nuisance up close, and could barely hide his disdain as he studied him. Not yet twenty-four years old—a full eleven years younger than TJ—he seemed immensely pleased with himself despite his reputation for carousing and law breaking. He reeked of anarchy and disrespect from his scruffy face to his rangy body, clad only in jeans, boots and a black leather vest over a tattered black shirt.
Rumor had it women loved this kid, but TJ suspected Angelus had started those rumors himself. Why would anyone be attracted to a self-styled buccaneer who obviously hadn’t bothered shaving for an important meeting with the CEO of Sea-Mont? And in addition to the heavy five o’clock shadow—at nine o’clock in the morning, no less—the kid was dressed like he was going to a rumble.
No weapons, at least, although TJ suspected it was because the guard, assisted by a team of enforcers, had confiscated a bevy of knives and blasters.
Trying for a no-nonsense expression, TJ took a seat at the head of the table. “Thanks for coming on such short notice, Angelus. This should only take a few minutes.”
Barbara stepped into the room and asked, “Did either of you want coffee? Or tea?”
The smuggler chuckled. “You know what I want, but it’ll have to wait till you’re off duty.”
Flushing, Barbara murmured, “I’ll just be at my desk then. Mr. Seaton? Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Barbara.”
As soon as the secretary left, the punk gave TJ a smirk. “You’ve got good taste in females. I’ll give you that.”
“Cut the crap,” TJ advised him. “You know why you’re here. You smuggled Alexia Montoya through the sinkhole. I could prosecute you for that.”
“Except you’d have to prosecute her too,” Zeke reminded him.
“Fine. Then I’ll just bar you from D-side completely. I have that authority, you know, with or without cause. You don’t have any rights over here—”
“Correction: your employees don’t have any rights. Luckily I don’t work for you. And it’s all moot because I’ve never even met Alexia Montoya. I’ve seen pictures, and she’s hotter than Laredo in summer. But smuggle her? In my wet dreams.”
“Shut up and listen,” TJ growled. “I’m offering you a deal, so be smart. You can clear yourself of these charges—and of all charges up to this point—if you do one simple thing for me.”
“You’re offering me immunity? On every crime I’ve allegedly committed up to now?”
“Exactly.”
The smuggler sat up, clearly intrigued. “And in exchange, you want me to sneak something through the sinkhole for you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I want you to investigate something for me. Confidentially.”
“Something?” Zeke smirked. “Or more likely, someone?”
TJ winced, annoyed by the punk’s perceptiveness. “I need your word you’ll keep it confidential.”
“Done. Who’s the mark?”
TJ wanted to assure him that the “mark” was ten times the man either of them could hope to be, but what would be the point? So he said simply, “I’m not investigating the man personally. Just his activities. He’s one of my wranglers. My best, actually.”
“You’re talking about Rick Gage?” Zeke gave a long, low whistle. “You suspect him of doing something illegal? Who’s next? God Himself?”
When TJ just glared, the smuggler grinned. “I’ve played cards with Gage. The guy’s so effing honorable, I cheated once just to get a reaction. And yeah, he almost killed me, but it was worth it.” Sitting up straighter, he insisted, “Whatever you think he’s doing, you’re wrong. Rick Gage wouldn’t break a law to save his own life.”
“So you’re saying you’d rather be banned from D-side than help me with this? Because that can be arranged.”
Zeke moistened his lips as though conflicted. Then he explained. “I don’t want to piss Gage off. He carries laser weapons for fuck’s sake. So unless you’re willing to make it worth my while…”
“Your record will be cleared. And if you find anything—any dirt on him—I’ll give you twenty-thousand credits.”
That kept the rip-runner’s attention. “What exactly do you think Gage is up to?”
“Probably nothing,” TJ admitted, mostly to himself. “But he doesn’t just wrangle thugs. He goes after infodroids, and he’s good at it. We pay him a fortune for the data in their memory banks, which means he gets paid when he brings us the droid’s head. But he never brings the rest of the body, even though we’d pay for that too, since it can be re-purposed like any other bio-metal. That’s suspicious, don’t you think?”
Zeke shrugged. “How does Gage explain it?”
“He says—and obviously it’s true—that droids are different from thugs.” TJ stood and began to pace. “Thugs are dense, but droids are gangly, like octopuses. So he claims he doesn’t want to waste precious cargo space by storing the entire droid body. He just harvests the head—for the data—then discards the rest into space and loads up with thugs.”
“Makes sense.”
“Does it? He still has to expend time and energy—with the attendant risks—to catch the additional thugs. Why not keep the droid carcasses? Less bio-metal, maybe, but overall, a net gain.”
“So you think he’s not really throwing the bodies back? You think—what? He’s recycling them illegally? Getting a better rate of return on the black market?”
“That’s one theory,” TJ said carefully. “And that’s where you come in. You operate in that world, so you can find out if he’s circumventing Sea-Mont and selling droid carcasses to some illicit processing facility.”
“Do such facilities even exist?”
TJ eyed him coolly. “You tell me.”
The smuggler chuckled. “If I knew, I’d tell you. But it doesn’t really matter, because even if there is a black market in bio-metal, Gage isn’t the type to profit from it. He doesn’t even buy chocolate from us, for fuck’s sake.”
“I hope you’re right. Rick’s a valued wrangler, not to mention a friend.”
“A friend?” Zeke burst out laughing. “Seems like we define that word differently.”
“Shut up and listen.” TJ stepped closer to the smuggler, hoping he noticed which of them was bigger and more powerfully built, and could probably break a scrawny pirate’s neck if he felt so inclined. “I want you to look into this for me. Is that a problem or not?”
“No problem. Especially since you’ll pay me twenty-thousand credits if I find something, right?”
“Right. And…” TJ resumed a casual tone. “Even if he’s not selling droids on the black market, I want you to confirm that he’s actually throwing them back into space, rather than—well, sending them elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?” The smuggler eyed him curiously. “What does that mean? Who else would want them?”
“None of your business.”
But a glimmer of understanding had appeared in the young man’s eyes. “You think he’s sending the bodies E-side for scientific study? Is that it? You’re crazy, Seaton. Gage isn’t stupid enough to cross you like that. It’s not just illegal—it’s dangerous. And there’s no profit in it.”
TJ wanted to retort. To remind this fool that the profit in such an enterprise could be mind-boggling. If someone other than Sea-Mont discovered how to create new bio-metal, rather than just recycling the existing supply, the payoff would be so great, it wouldn’t matter that they had technically violated Sea-Mont’s patents and licenses. The world would worship at that person’s—or company’s—feet the same way it had worshipped at Roberto’s and Trent’s.
And for a multitude of reasons, TJ didn’t want the world worshipping at Rick Gage’s feet. It was bad enough Alexia found the guy so heroic. Calling him “cowboy” for fuck’s sake. But at least when it came down to power and influence, TJ had more than Gage. Or at least, TJ’s asshole of a father did.
“Find out about the recycling,” he said finally. “And look into whether he’s really throwing the carcasses back. That’s all I want to know. And frankly, I hope you discover he’s doing exactly what he told me—throwing them back to save cargo space for thugs.”
“No,” Zeke murmured. “You hope he’s doing something illegal. What the hell did he do to you, anyway?”
“Do we have a deal or don’t we?”
Zeke leaned back as though pondering the question. Finally he flashed a conciliatory smile. “I can find out about the black market easily. But someone will have to physically trail him to know if he’s jettisoning the carcasses. Do you know where he is at the moment?”
“On his way to Sector Fourteen.”
“What?” Zeke’s eyes widened. “My guys don’t go there. And Gage shouldn’t either.”
“He likes exploring new sectors.”
“He likes it?” Zeke laughed. “You’re the one sending him into the snake pit. He’s your wrangler. Man, you must really want him dead.”
TJ forced himself not to react to the punk’s outrageous suggestion. “It’s my job to protect Sea-Mont’s interests. That’s all I’m doing. Personally, I hope to clear Rick’s name. He’s a friend, like I said.”
“Makes me glad I’m not your friend.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Do we have a deal or not?”
The smuggler stood and stretched out his hand. “For twenty-thousand credits? Yeah, we’ve got a deal.”
TJ ignored the attempted handshake and gestured toward the door. “Barbara will show you out.”
“Why not? She’s shown me everything else,” Zeke said with a laugh. Then he turned and ambled into the reception area.
“Fucking pirate,” TJ muttered.
He already regretted the bargain, not just because Angelus was a criminal, but because TJ knew in his heart that the kid was correct. There was no way Rick had lied about the droid carcasses. His explanation that the thugs were a better use of cargo space was completely credible, while the idea he would do something underhanded or greedy was preposterous.
Wasn’t that the problem? Rick was incapable of deception. He had always been honest with TJ, not just about the droids, but about whether he and Alexia had had sex during the trip to the Titans.
Rick Gage was exactly what Alexia thought him to be—a decent, honorable man.
But so was TJ. Or at least, it was what he aspired to be despite the slimy example set by the monster. So wasn’t it time to convince Alexia that her schoolgirl heartthrob was every bit as worthy as the emotionally damaged drifter who preferred sex with bio-girls and life in Sector Fourteen?
Alexia would have happily slept until noon had her pulse band not buzzed at eight a.m. She knew it wasn’t Rick—she didn’t even want it to be Rick, did she?—yet still she grabbed for it, then smiled when the display opened before her eyes with a message from TJ. As crazy as it seemed, she had missed him a little, and was anxious to get on with their reunion. She wanted that for sentimental reasons. And she needed it if she hoped to find Trent.
But two things had changed, hadn’t they? She wasn’t going to lie to her former lover from this day forward, nor would she promise sex or marriage.
Those possibilities were off the table now, and the sooner she broke the news to TJ, the better. He might be upset or even furious at first, but she’d make him understand. And somehow, even without sex or lies, she would convince him to share the Sea-Mont sentient with her using the most powerful weapons at her disposal: love, trust and history.
Inspired, she opened his message, which read: G’morning, Lex. Hope you’re feeling better. You have an appointment with Dr. Margaret Bodin at ten this morning in the infirmary. If you need help getting there let me know. Otherwise I’ll see you afterwards. It’s great having you here. Love, TJ
“Ugh,” she muttered aloud. “So much for being honest.”
She would have to lie about the headache for a day or two more, just enough for a transition between sexy Alexia and the more sisterly version. And if he asked about Rick, she might have to lie about that too, just to protect the wrangler from his employer’s wrath. Rick needed fuel cells, and Sea-Mont was the only source. Or at least, the only legal source.
TJ won’t ask, she assured herself as she showered and dressed in jeans and a black tank top. Rick’s miles away by now, and won’t be back until long after you’ve gone home.
To her surprise, she didn’t miss the cowboy at all, or at least, not yet. She just felt great in body, mind and spirit. Even the platform looked better today, to the point where she couldn’t wait to grab a latte in the Trading Post before her appointment. And when she wandered into the bar and saw Jamie, the waitress from her first day, she felt a sense of calm wash over her, almost as though she were just where she belonged.
Jamie was off duty but still insisted on serving her, bringing them both coffee drinks and scones. The bio-girl wanted to talk about Trent again, and while it was usually Alexia’s favorite topic, she still felt guilty for bringing up sinkhole percentages during their last conversation, so she insisted her new friend talk about herself instead. She quickly learned Jamie was a super student who had been admitted to Harvard and Yale with excellent but not full scholarships. Being a bio-girl for three years would take care of that, and since she planned on becoming an economist, she loved having the inside track on Earth’s most profitable and productive colony.
A second bio-girl—a freakishly tall blonde named Lana—joined them. She was friendly, but also projected some sort of rivalry with Alexia, asking pointed questions about both TJ and Rick. Apparently Lana had seen the wrangler buying her a drink and had imagined something erotic was transpiring.
In other words, Lana was perceptive.
“I’m a flirt,” Alexia admitted. “And let’s face it, that cowboy is gorgeous. But it was just good, clean fun. My actual date was with TJ.”
“Are you planning on marrying him? TJ, I mean?”
“Lana,” Jamie said with a laugh. Then she explained to Alexia, “She has a crush on Captain Gage so obviously, she wants to be sure you’re with TJ.”
Lana laughed too. “It’s true. Of course, I also have a crush on TJ, so it’s okay either way. It’s not like either one of them wants me for anything but—what did you call it? Good, clean fun?”
Jamie giggled again. “Or maybe you’ll be the next Barbara.” She sent Alexia a conspiratorial glance. “Have you met her yet? The new Gabrielle?”
Alexia’s radar went up at the mention of TJ’s old girlfriend and current communications director. And rumored to be sleeping with a smuggler. “There’s an old Gabrielle?” she asked carefully.
“Little Miss Perfect,” Lana interjected. “We like her but she’s tough competition, so we also hate her.”
“It’s true. Gabby’s perfect,” Jamie explained to Alexia with a grin. “Barbara’s just a bio-girl with delusions of grandeur.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s been TJ’s mistress ever since he broke up with the last one. And she lords it over all us because of it.”
“Jamie…” Lana shook her head, then told Alexia, “She’s just kidding. We like Barbara a lot. I’m sure you will too. Just don’t get jealous, because I’m sure he stopped sleeping with her the instant you stepped foot on the platform. He’s been pining for you, you know. We’ve all heard about the biggest mistake he ever made waah, waah, waah. Right, Jamie?”
“The biggest mistake?” Alexia murmured. TJ had made so many of those, although to be fair, so had she.
“He should have married you years ago. Or so he says. Anyway, enough gossip,” Jamie insisted with a breezy smile. “We don’t mean any of it. And we’re actually a close-knit family. When one of us has a problem, we all rally. Like right now, our friend Kai is heartbroken because she fell in love with one of the—”
“Jamie!” Lana glared at the bio-girl. “She’s management, remember?” Turning to Alexia, she added coldly, “Sorry, but I just had to say it. We like you but you’re our boss, not our friend.”
When Jamie started to dispute this, Alexia raised her palm and smiled. “I guess it’s true, at least in a way. I never think of myself as part of Sea-Mont management, but it’s a fair criticism.”
Lana’s glare receded and she explained, “We get crushes on the guys, and even possessive about them. But if we ever really got hung up on someone, to the point where it interferes with our job, the Seatons would deport us in a heartbeat. For our own good, according to TJ, because he doesn’t want any babies running around the platform. Or something like that.”
“And if we get deported, we lose our bonus,” Jamie added. “So please don’t tell him about Kai.”
Alexia shrugged again. “Kai, Barbara, Gabrielle—I can’t possibly keep these names straight, much less rat anyone out. Plus, I’m off to the infirmary for my appointment. Any gossip about Dr. Bodin?” she added teasingly.
“You’re sick?” Lana’s entire demeanor changed. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s got D-side poisoning,” Jamie explained. “But it’s mild, right, Alexia?”
“Just a headache. And this latte tastes like blutanium. But I’ll survive.”
When she stood up, the bio-girls did so too. Then Lana said, “Jamie has to get ready for work. But I’ll walk you over. No arguments. I already feel like shit for giving you shit when you’re sick.”
Before Alexia could protest, the blonde linked arms with her. “Come on, metal mouth. I’ll give you the dirt on Dr. Meg while we walk.”
The dirt on Dr. Meg proved fairly benign. According to Lana, the physician had been here since the early days when the platform was just a layover between the sinkhole and the planet. She was fiercely loyal to the Seatons, especially TJ, and always took their side in a dispute over fitness for work or severity of injuries.
“And Meg really is a rat,” Lana finished as they stood in the doorway to the clinic. “It’s in our contracts, believe it or not. So for example, if I accidentally got pregnant, she has my permission to tell TJ, and boom. My illustrious career would end.”
Alexia felt a stab of indignation, which she assumed was a bolt from beyond the grave from her activist mother. “You’re saying there’s no doctor-patient confidentiality?”
“We sign a waiver before we transit.”
“That doesn’t sound legal. If you ever want to fight it, I know some great lawyers.”
Lana grinned. “There’s a reason they styled this place like the Old West. No law in these parts except David Seaton, the hanging judge. He’d execute any lawyer who dared come through the sinkhole.” Her smile faded and she touched Alexia’s temple. “How’s the headache?”
“Almost nonexistent.”
“Don’t be brave. They’ll give you excellent pain meds. If you don’t want them, give ’em to me.” The blonde arched a teasing eyebrow, then she barked toward a young man at the reception desk, “Hey Carlos, get over here. My friend’s been poisoned.”
Carlos hurried over, a look of concern on his face. “We’ve been expecting you, Ms. Montoya. Do you need a wheel chair?”
Alexia laughed. “Lana’s joking. I’m practically fine. You’re Carlos? Call me Alexia.” She studied his tall, slender form, huge brown eyes, and long dark hair pulled into a ponytail. She had a second cousin in Colombia who looked a lot like this guy, and it reminded her that except for Christmas cards filled with generous money orders, she hadn’t had any contact with the extended family in years.
Six years, to be exact.
“Take good care of my friend,” Lana said with a warm smile. “And don’t flirt with her. She belongs to the boss man.”
Carlos flushed. “Go away, Lana. And Ms. Montoya? Just follow me. The doctor will see you in a minute.”
Once they had settled into an exam room, Carlos pulled out a light tablet and read off a checklist of possible symptoms. She almost embellished her condition but decided to stick with headache and “metal mouth”. And meanwhile, she felt a sense of dismay that the real poisoning victims apparently suffered from severe cramps in the lower back and stomach, dehydration, tingling in their extremities, sore throats, nightmares and for the worst cases, full-on delusion.
“I guess I was lucky,” she told the nurse solemnly.
“I can’t believe you took your glove off and actually touched a Titan.”
“It was worth it.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” a cheerful voice announced from the hall, and a short, smiling woman who looked to be fifty-five or sixty stepped into the room. She had bright, inquisitive eyes and wavy gray hair pulled into a ponytail much like that of her nurse. And like the nurse she wore a traditional white lab coat over black pants and a white shirt.
Uh-oh, she looks tough.
“I’m Margaret Bodin, but everyone calls me Dr. Meg. And you’re Alexia Montoya. Let’s have a look at you. Carlos? You can go. I’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
The nurse gave Alexia an encouraging smile, then hurried out of the room as though the clinic were jumping, when in actuality, there didn’t appear to be any other patients on the premises.
Deciding to make this quick, she told the doctor, “It’s just a little headache. And a sensation of metal in my mouth.”
“On your tongue?”
Uh oh.
Alexia had no choice but to bluster through. “It’s faint but icky. Like in the olden times when they used metal to repair people’s teeth. It probably tasted just like this, right? So barbaric.”
Meg nodded. “Tell me about the exposure.”
“It couldn’t have been longer than ten seconds. I was all bundled up, then just briefly took off my goggles and one glove, ran my hand along the Titan’s shoulder, and then the captain rushed me to the decon shower.”
“And by captain, you mean Captain Rick Gage of the Drifter?” Meg arched an eyebrow. “Mr. Seaton’s secretary gave me some background.”
“Is it relevant?” Alexia asked, her tone unintentionally challenging.
“Actually, yes. I’m told the Drifter is advanced, even for D-side. When I heard your exposure was brief, I wondered if the headache came from the new ACTs. They’re supposedly safe, but they also allow the ship to go faster than usual. I firmly believe our bodies are being stressed beyond their limits with this endless craving for faster travel.”
“Actually, I slept like a baby in both of the ACTs I tried so far. I didn’t feel any difference in the Drifter from the one in the Venus transporter.”
“And the headache didn’t start right away? That’s unusual.”
Alexia winced. “It came and went. I didn’t take it too seriously until—well, after dinner. And I thought the metal taste was just my imagination. How long do you think it will last?”
Meg pursed her lips. “Another day or two at most. I can give you something for the pain, but the only real cure is time, rest and lots of liquids.” She pulled a clear bottle of pink pills from her coat pocket. “One every twelve hours. They’re potent, so don’t overdo it.”
“Great, I really appreciate it.” Alexia slid off the exam table, anxious to get out before the doctor discovered her scam.
But Meg deftly blocked her exit. “We’re not done, Alexia. I have a few more questions, then you can go.”
“What kind of questions?”
Meg smiled. “We’ll get to that. But first, you should know Mr. Seaton wants a full report of your exam.”
“You mean TJ, not David, right? That’s fine with me. I don’t have any secrets from him.”
She must have said that too quickly, because Meg’s eyebrow quirked. “Really? None at all?”
“I’m an open book.”
“Well then, hop back up on the table,” Meg said, this time in a no-nonsense voice. “And to clarify, I will be giving TJ a report of the physical exam, but not the rest.”
“The rest of what?” Alexia tried not to panic. It hadn’t even occurred to her that the doctor would want to do a full physical. Maybe even a GYN work-up. Which could mean the “full report” to TJ could include details about her recently used and undoubtedly still glowing female parts.
Meg seemed to sense her unease and explained quickly, “We’re just going to have a little chat. Because I care about you, and it’s time someone in my profession talked straight with you about your brother.”
For the next five minutes, Meg channeled every doctor Alexia had met since the day Trent disappeared in the sinkhole. It was always the same lecture, beginning with gentle condolences then moving to assurances that everything she was feeling was normal but, if taken to an extreme, could be dangerous.
“I appreciate your concern,” she told the physician. “But it’s under control, I promise.”
Meg’s voice grew syrupy sweet. “Like it or not, you belong to all of us. Because we all love you. The last remaining Montoya.”
Alexia bit back a retort. She was so tired of hearing that. Doctors, shrinks, scientists, professors—they were all so sure they had the right to speak up. So sure they could set her straight.
So sure Trent was dead and gone.
Without warning, Rick’s parting words rang in her ears: When you see your brother, tell him I said hi.
He had said it casually, almost as if he believed it was possible. And even if he was just humoring her, it had meant so much at the moment, and now seemed even more important. A lifeline, in fact.
“TJ Seaton loves you too,” Meg continued with another, more patronizing smile. “He wants to help you come to terms with your shared loss.”
“If he wants to help, he’ll give me access to the sentient computer. And if you really want to help, you’ll convince him to do that.” She eyed Meg sternly. “It’s my right as a Montoya. My brother designed it. And I’m part owner of the company.”
“That’s why you’re here?” Meg frowned. “And what happens when he gives you access to the prototype and you learn the truth yet again? That your brother could not have survived the sinkhole for more than two weeks. Will you give up the search?” Her eyebrow arched in creepy condemnation. “I don’t think so. You’ve heard this before. You know it intellectually, but refuse to accept it. You’re not just hurting yourself, you’re hurting everyone around you. Especially TJ.”
“TJ?”
“He’s lonely, Alexia.”
She refused to be manipulated so lightly. “Lots of people are lonely.”
“True. But TJ Seaton is the loneliest man I’ve ever met.”
“That’s because you’ve never met Captain Gage. He’s lonelier than anyone, ever.” When the doctor just stared, she explained. “He lost his entire family. All his friends and comrades. And now he’s living in exile in the far reaches of an alien solar system, millions of miles from the closest living soul.”
“It’s tragic,” Meg agreed with a shrug. “But don’t you see? Isolation is Captain Gage’s choice. And from what I’ve heard, it’s probably the healthy one. He chose to be alone. That’s not the same as being lonely.”
“TJ made choices too,” Alexia retorted, her voice more strident than intended. “He turned his back on my brother and me. He can change that any time he wants.”
Meg seemed shocked again. “TJ grieved for your brother. His friend and partner. Then he moved on with his life. A life without you, his only link to happiness. In that sense, you’re the one who’s turning your back. On him.”
Alexia jumped off the table and strode to the doorway. “Thanks for treating my headache, Doctor. Feel free to share our conversation with your boss. Like I said, I’m an open book. Especially since everyone in the goddamned world is so goddamned sure they know what’s best for me.”
“Alexia!” Meg grabbed her arm and spoke fervently. “You need to move on. Don’t you want to have a family someday?”
Tears rushed to her eyes. “I have a family. His name is Trent. What’s wrong with you? All of you! What gives you the right? I hate you all!”
“What’s going on in here?” TJ demanded from behind her. “Lexie?”
She spun and threw herself into his arms, sobbing against his chest. “Help me find Trent. Please, TJ? Please?”
“Dammit, Meg,” he growled over her head. Then he pulled Alexia closer. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. We’ll work this out somehow, I promise.”
She raised her face to his. “You’ll take me to the sentient?”
His blue eyes sparkled. “I’ve got something better than that.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” she said, pulling free and glaring.
He chuckled. “It’s not that. Give me some credit. Although there was a time when it impressed you, remember?”
A laugh bubbled up inside her. “Don’t be an idiot. Dr. Meg thinks you’re a nice guy. Try not to ruin that.”
TJ grinned, but his expression grew cold when he turned to Meg and said, “We’ll discuss this later.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Seaton.”
“Just send the report to my secretary. Although I can see with my own eyes that Ms. Montoya is fine. Or at least, she was before this appointment.”
Alexia winced. “Dr. Bodin gave me some pain pills. I’m grateful to her for that.”
He patted her cheek, then asked Meg, “Just a headache, then?”
“And some mild dysgeusia,” the doctor said, explaining quickly, “That’s the sensation of metal they get so often. She’ll need rest and hydration but she’ll be fine.”
“Well then…” His expression warmed. “Thanks, Meg. Try to resist playing psychologist in the future. We’ve got a chaplain for that, don’t we?”
“He’d give the same advice,” Meg began, then she stopped herself and gave Alexia a sincere smile. “I apologize for upsetting you. Get some rest. Let Mr. Seaton take care of you.”
“Now that,” TJ said, wrapping his arm around Alexia’s shoulders and leading her down the hall, “is what I call good advice.”
“I agree,” she admitted, snuggling close to his side. “Pamper me to death. But first, we need to talk.”
“I agree.” He paused in mid-step to tilt her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “I’ve got something important to say to you, Lexie. Something long overdue. But not here. So come on, let’s go to my penthouse.”