CHAPTER SIX

“I said, ‘Search Clive Spooner.’”

Again, Brad refused. 

They’d been at this for a half hour, and after Andrew’s strange departure and her ominous chat with the mystery caller, Chloe’s nerves were fried. One or the other would have weakened her; both together cut her at the knees. 

She was on fumes — and interestingly, her current questions for Brad weren’t even the ones that bothered her most. She was asking because she felt she was supposed to. 

What Chloe really wanted to know was what had been wrong this morning, when Andrew left. She wanted to know what he was up to, why he was bothered, why he’d looked regretful and sad.

What wrong had he crusaded off to fix?

Or for that matter, what wrongs did he feel he had perpetrated against Chloe?

She could get the answers to at least some of those questions. She could get Brad to plug her into City Surveillance, if necessary. She actually didn’t know too much about Andrew. He didn’t talk much about himself beyond his work, and she knew almost nothing of his past. 

Of course, Brad could tell Chloe all sorts of things about Andrew. She could get his whole history.

But no. She wouldn’t do that. She trusted Andrew. She loved him. It didn’t matter that he’d left her frightened and fragile this morning. It didn’t matter that he’d upset her, then gone off to places he wouldn’t divulge … 

… to do who-knew-what with who-knew-whom.

Stop it. Stop it, Chloe. You need to learn about you, not him. Trust. This is all about your decision, right here and now, whether you trust him or don’t.

Brad, in his usual chair in her apartment, gave Chloe her predicted reply. 

“We’ve talked about this. There is no way for me to provide the information you keep requesting.” 

She snapped like a twig. “Stop playing both sides, Brad! Either you’ll help me or you won’t. Don’t do that bullshit where you tell me you have a secret, then refuse to tell me. It’s cruel. And not fair.” 

“‘Cruel’ and ‘fair’ have little meaning to The Beam.”

“Oh, but sympathy has meaning? You said you were loyal. Does loyalty have meaning to The Beam? You said you’d protect me.” 

“I have.” 

“I know that in your robot way, you get jealous. I’m a friend, right? As much as you can have friends? You were a bitch when we started working together. Your holographic body inhales and exhales. You get pouty. And proud. I’ve seen you defensive and angry. I don’t believe for a second that it’s all just programming, Brad. I know you by now, and I can tell the difference. You’re observant, like me. You take best guesses. And you know when to bend the rules.” 

“This isn’t a rule I can bend, Chloe.” 

“Bullshit!” 

Brad waited patiently until Chloe, more frustrated than ever, felt calm enough to continue. 

“I told you what that man said. He had his own research or data somewhere — something from twenty years ago. Something he and Alexa were working on, though I guess he decided to go over her head. He confirmed a lot of what I already knew, from a totally different direction. It all starts with Clive Spooner. But I can’t get further without you. That’s why I’m spilling it all. I’m choosing to trust you with all of this. Because I believe you’re on my side.” She laughed. “And hell. Because you probably already knew everything I said about my mystery man before I said a word.” 

“I actually didn’t. There was a rogue feed in Andrew’s apartment that I could not access — something encrypted — but it stopped broadcasting at around the time you claim this call came in. Maybe someone somewhere could say what happened before Andrew left — but after? It’s like there’s a blind spot.”

“The caller said he had some sort of priority access. Maybe he was able to block other signals so there would be no record of our chat.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Which makes me telling you about it all that more meaningful, Brad.” 

Chloe gave him a long, serious look. She understood that Brad didn’t have real eyes and that the holographic ones across from her couldn’t be stared down like a person’s, but his sensors had to be somewhere … and if he could be annoying and righteous and jealous, maybe he could understand aggression, too.

“I can’t tell you non-public information about Clive Spooner, Chloe. It is literally impossible, in the same way it’s impossible for you to turn your head all the way around without breaking your neck.” 

“Then what can you tell me?”

Brad sighed. Like a human. 

“I can tell you that your suspicions sound grounded. That the bits you’ve assembled stand up to my analysis and agree with what I’m able to access, both on The Beam beta and the searchable regions of Crossbrace.”

“Which bits?”

“What you discussed at the end, with him asking about your childhood? You said you thought his questions weren’t really blind — that he was asking to confirm things he already knew.” 

“Yes.” 

“And the questions themselves … you’re relatively sure you’ve conveyed them correctly?” 

“Word for word, Brad. I’m sure of it.” 

“Have you always been able to recall conversations verbatim?” 

Chloe stopped. It was a strange question, and one she found suddenly interesting. Most memories and facts and chats and happenings went into and out of Chloe’s awareness the same as anyone else she knew, but the most important ones were photographically clear. She remembered her first sex talk with her mom that way, as well as her first meeting with Barnes. And yes, she’d bet money that she hadn’t forgotten a single nuance of her earlier call. 

Without waiting for Chloe’s answer, Brad said, “It’s not really that different from seeing numbers and music as shapes and colors.” 

“What are you getting at?” 

“I don’t know, Chloe. What are you getting at? If you think he knew something before asking his questions, what do his questions lead you to believe that he knew?” 

“It sounded like he knew I was at least a little unusual as a kid. That I had a quick mind.” 

“And an extremely precise mind, capable of perfect recall, without being overwhelmed. An ability to read those around you better than anyone else.” 

“You mean like my clients at O. The way O is so interested in the things I can tell about them without needing to be told, just from watching them. Like I’m psychic.” 

“Not psychic,” Brad said. “Intuitive.” 

“You say that like it means something.” 

“Maybe it does.” 

“Will you just speak straight for once?” 

Brad almost snickered. Asshole. “I wonder how you were so smart right from the beginning. I wonder how you were able to not only know your mother’s favorite and most tragic love song without her ever playing it for you, but also reproduce it on your xylophone.” 

“Do you know the answer?” 

“I have a guess.” 

“And?” 

“It’s restricted, Chloe.” 

“Because it relates to Clive Spooner?” 

Brad shrugged. 

“Or because it relates to my father, whose information you said is also restricted?” 

“Either. Or both.” 

Chloe threw one of the pewter salt shakers. It soared from her breakfast table through Brad’s chest then landed on the carpet, unbroken. 

“I’m not trying to be difficult.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Brad.” 

“If only I could. It’s lonely in here.” 

Chloe blinked. “Was that a joke?” 

Brad gave her a holographic smile then said, “What else can you ask? Come on, Chloe. You’re smart enough to figure this out.”

“Then tell me about the call I got earlier, at Andrew’s. You said it was blocked, but can you see anything about it at all? Anywhere on Crossbrace?” 

“That’s not how it works, Chloe.” 

“Then analyze his voice. I know I’ve heard it before.” But then she realized how stupid that was; the call was off-record, so how would Brad know which voice to analyze and compare to others on the network? She sighed, not bothering to tell Brad never mind. “He said he’d been involved with Alexa since the twenty-teens. I already gave you the details. Can you match any of those patterns? The company Eros? Trevor’s Harem? Anthony Ross?” 

“Information on Alexa Mathis is restricted.” 

“Alexa is restricted?” She huffed. “Parker Barnes?” 

“His records are private but not restricted in the same way as the others.”

A window! 

“What’s his earliest venture with Alexa?” 

“Information on Alexa is restricted.” 

“Without her, then. Give me his rundown.” 

Brad did. It took fifteen minutes, and Chloe scrutinized every word. There were obvious missing spots around the time of the fall, but she heard all about the doctor’s notorious past: dashing psychologist on the edge of scientific limits, experimenting with patients in his sex practice the way other doctors learned on cadavers. Patients were always willing, but rumors and accusations about Barnes had always abounded. Much of what followed involving Alexa was public, and Brad read through it all. Nothing was helpful.

“You didn’t mention Eros,” she said. 

“Maybe it was an unofficial board position.”

“Possibly. There is also a spot on the board occupied by a blind spot — someone I can’t tell you about.” 

“Alexa?” 

“I can’t say.” 

But this could be wrapped two ways. Blind spots weren’t truly invisible; their vacuums marked the past. 

“Are there other associations with blind spots during that era? Not on the board, but elsewhere? More … casual deals, maybe?” 

“It’s unclear.”

Chloe eyed Brad, increasingly able to read him. “There is … and you’re not telling me.” 

“I can’t say.” 

“Maybe the guy who called me. He said he was involved during that era.” 

Brad said nothing. This felt like another dead end, but she could poke a bit later. And yet there was something, somewhere, about the past that mattered — maybe a lot. 

A pattern was emerging. Brad had shown her O’s history through time, as it snaked tendrils of influence through the past. There was subtle political lobbying and the socially swaying works of Georgia Bernard, the Wellness Initiative, the penetration of sexuality into the mainstream. 

O had engineered the present to create the future in order to capitalize on it; of that, Chloe had no doubt. But what itched at her was that the theme kept recurring, over and over again. 

Parker and Alexa’s collective work— extending to before the turn of the millennium, evidently. 

Alexa and her old friend and foe, today’s mystery caller. He was someone of influence, someone who’d once been big and was bigger today. 

This Syndicate. 

The Trillionaire Boys’ Club — a subset of Syndicate members. 

She’d searched for both and come up with a fascinating history that did not seem to bear on her current questions at all. 

Maybe Spooner had been in the Syndicate and maybe he hadn’t been. 

Maybe Alexa had been and maybe she hadn’t. 

There were blind spots in both the Boys’ Club and the Syndicate, and although Chloe’s caller had suggested a connection, she had yet to find one. 

She’s always been searching, Chloe. Always been wanting to find something that would be her one-and-only.

Her caller’s words, crystal clear in her mind. 

He’d said that in their discussion of the Syndicate. Following an exchange about Anthony Ross, whom he’d mentioned only in passing. 

Always with the past. Always with history. Always with arms that reached back through time to pull yesteryear into today. 

And Slava’s words, also flawlessly recalled:

She said they hadn’t spent sixty years on you just to lose everything because of some goddamn kid.

Sixty years. 

Since the turn of the millennium. 

Since around 2000, when Alexa might already have been working with Barnes to find her “one-and-only.” 

Since before the Syndicate. 

Since before Trevor’s Harem, whatever that was — her searches had come up empty.

“Some goddamn kid.” 

Was this about Andrew somehow? 

How could it be? Why would it be? 

Andrew wasn’t much older than Chloe; she’d watched him long enough to know that his apparent age, unlike her O clients, wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t been around sixty years ago any more than Chloe or her mother had. 

But of course, Slava’s recounting of Alexa’s words didn’t suggest Andrew had been around that long at all. They merely implied sixty years of work. They implied a long investment destroyed because Andrew had somehow gotten in the way. 

How?

Why? 

And why did Chloe get the sneaking suspicion that Alexa hadn’t been angry that Andrew had appeared as a problem … but that he’d become one instead? 

“Brad,” Chloe said aloud. 

But Brad was gone.

“Brad?” 

He reappeared in a blink. 

“I’m sorry, Chloe. There was an inquiry I needed to attend to.” 

“An inquiry? From where?” 

“I can’t say.”

But the inquiry could only have come from O if it hadn’t come from Chloe.

“What did your ‘inquiry’ want?” 

“You misunderstand. I was the one making the inquiry, on your behalf.” 

“On my …” She shook her head. 

“Search restrictions on Alexa Mathis, subject to certain windows and limitations, have been temporarily lifted.” 

Chloe’s mouth opened, her face confused. She couldn’t have heard that right. Why had Brad inquired about that? Who had he asked? And how the hell had he gotten permissions he’d previously held carefully at bay?

But she couldn’t get distracted. There were a million questions she planned to ask about Alexa, but her newest inspiration was still under her skin like an itch. 

She let it go. Dropped it like a hot potato, no matter how urgent that thread had so recently felt. 

Shame on me. I’ve already disrespected Andrew enough by doubting him. Already ruined too many of our dates with my worries. I love him. I trust him. I won’t sneak around behind his back, siccing The Beam on him. Like Mom said: vulnerability goes hand-in-hand with love. Of course he’s been strange. 

But I trust him.

And I love him. 

“Fine,” Chloe said. “What can you tell me about Alexa? What are the ‘windows and limitations’ you mentioned?” 

“Ask and see.” 

There was only one place to start. Not with the endless past, but with now. 

Now her questions formed a crossroads. 

Now she’d hit her crux, unable to move for lack of insight. 

Insight Alexa, who had sixty years of apparent history, seemed to know already. 

“Then tell me what she’s doing right now.”

Brad nodded curtly.

Now she’d get her answers. Now she’d learn another swath of the truth.

“There is video,” Brad said, “tunneled through the new permissions.” 

“Great.” 

Brad looked back at her, his facial expression conflicted. 

“And Chloe?”

“Yes, Brad?” 

“I’m sorry.”