Space Wrangler (27 page)

But Sensie persisted. “Captain Angelus claims he has hidden contraband in the Titan many times. He is confident it is secure.”

Rick pressed his palms against his eyes and promised his computer, “I'll strangle him with my bare hands.”

“Unless his plan works. And it very well might. The D-side authorities have never detected the secret compartment. Captain Angelus himself only found it by mistake. It was one shot in a million that triggered it to open.”

“One shot in a million? Because this idiot only wrangles thugs in the trudging fields? Where's the sport in
that
?”

“If he hadn't discovered the secret compartment, Alexia might be in peril.”

“She
is
in peril! That's my point.” He downed a cup of broth, then strode back to his ACT. “Let's do another ten hours, Sensie. Push it to the max this time.”

“You are not thinking straight, Captain. This will be your fourth ten-hour stint in two days. The human body cannot withstand such punishment. You need to supplement my efforts with natural stimuli. Eat real food. Drink real liquids. Pump your circulatory system through physical exercise, not stimulants. If you do not take care of yourself, you won't be of use to Alexia when you arrive.”

“Alexia will be
dead
if we don't keep moving. Don't argue with me. Just help me.” He paused, waiting for the obnoxious computer to correct him. To insist Alexia would be fine. But no such assurance was forthcoming.

Instead, Sensie said in a mechanical voice that scared him to death, “You must take care of yourself, Captain. Alexia will survive. Or she will not. But in either case, she would want
you
to carry on.”

As the icy coldness of her second night in bio-metal hell descended, Alexia stood in the center of the chamber, which she assumed was also the center of a
thigh
, and tried to remember Zeke's instructions. He had repeated them one last time when he ushered her into these accommodations, but she had been too stunned to listen. Even when he had apologized, saying he wished he could have done more than hiding her in a robot leg, she had barely been able to thank him.

Her only clear memory of their goodbye was him murmuring, “Can you do something for me? When Gabby asks, tell her I didn't flirt with you.”

Alexia had smiled at that. “You've been a perfect gentleman. Except for the part where you stranded me in a big blue tomb.”

“You'll be fine,” he had insisted with a cocky grin. “I do this for a living, remember? And I've never lost a shipment.” Kissing her right on the mouth, he had dared to add, “Thanks for the video, Lexie. I'll never forget it.”

She had almost begged him to stay, or take her with him. Anything but this. But at that moment, his on-board computer had alerted him to thugs heading their way, and he had bolted out of the compartment, slamming the door behind him, abandoning her to this craziness.

A chemical toilet, an air filtration system and a lamp. And she wasn't supposed to use the lamp at night! Even with her oxygen mask, goggles, and an insulating blanket, she knew she was being poisoned. It was boiling hot by day, freezing by night. Her eye socket and cheek had merged into a chasm of pulsating pain, her toes and fingers were numb, and she couldn't even think about sleeping. The only thing keeping her alive was rage toward David Seaton.

Now that her second night was just hours away, she imagined she would either die—blessedly—or be sustained by a desire to kick Zeke Angelus in the balls.

Pacing the pitch blackness, she tried to look at this experience from Trent's point of view. Or even her father's. They would find it fascinating, wouldn't they? Why had the Destroyers designed the Titan this way? What was the purpose of the secret compartment? Why was the trudging motion so perfectly even, so symmetrical and rhythmic that the booming sound resembled a human heartbeat?

Alexia honestly didn't care. She just wanted out. She was tired and cranky, she had a slight but definite fever, and around the edges of her brain, delirium was gaining ground.

Zeke had cautioned her to keep her mask and goggles in place despite the filtration device, which hummed along nicely, hiccupping only three or four times a day. But the gear prevented her from finding a comfortable sleeping position on the bedroll. She had an overwhelming urge to curl up against the wall of the leg and doze off, but the mask made that impossible too.

You already have a filtration system. As long as it's working, you're fine without a mask. And if it ever
stops
working, you're dead anyway. So why worry?

This unassailable logic pleased her. Of
course
she should take off the mask. And the goggles too. In the name of scientific discovery if nothing else. She might get a metal taste in her mouth, but since there wasn't any palatable food, what did it matter?

Out of nowhere, a familiar voice spoke to her. “Drink some water, sis.”

She whirled around, shocked. “Trent?”

“If you get dehydrated, you'll die.”

“Trent…” She moistened her ointment-coated lips. “Am I delirious?”

“That's a symptom of dehydration. So yes, you probably are.”

She grimaced. “It's also a symptom of D-side poisoning. That's what Dr. Meg said. Am I poisoned?” When he didn't answer, she glared in frustration. “I did everything Zeke told me to do. Goggles, mask, icky lubricant.”

“Drink water.
More
water.”

She knew he was right. She had subconsciously limited her fluid intake because the prospect of using the chemical toilet disgusted her. Which was silly, since every drop of moisture in her aching body was engaged in the production of sweat, tears and phlegm. Urine was not a priority at this point.

“I wish you were here,” she told her brother sadly. “I mean,
really
here.”

“I am here. Never doubt it. Ask me anything.”

She smiled into the darkness. “Clever game. But I'll play. So answer me this: where are you?”

“Here. In this robot. With you.”

“Where were you last week?”

“With you. Always with you.”

Her patience ebbed. “Be serious, Trent. Are you in the sinkhole? Suspended in time? Or did you end up in a completely different location? Are you alive? Or—well, dead? That's what everyone else thinks, you know. Everyone but me and Rick. And Rick's just humoring me.”

“I will answer all your questions.
After
you drink a bottle of water.”

“Ugh.” She cracked one open and downed it quickly.

The liquid coursed through her body so vividly, she felt all its destinations. Her heart, which swelled; her lungs, so needy just moments before, but now expanding gratefully; even her skin.

In other words, you really are delirious
.

She had never asked Dr. Meg the pivotal question: whether D-side poisoning could be fatal. Zeke the Angel had assured her the filtration system would last a full week, more than enough time for her handsome cowboy to rescue her.

But what if the poison got her first?

Walking to the copper unit, she leaned down, listened intently, and was reassured by the steady, rhythmic hum.

Trent confirmed her assessment immediately. “It's functioning well. You don't need the mask or goggles.”

Alexia's radar went up. Was this a trick? A delusional attempt to kill herself? Why would her own brother give her such dangerous advice?

But it would be
such
a luxury. To breathe on her own again. To view her surroundings through ungoggled eyes.

And the filter
was
humming. She could
hear
it. And Trent—a genius—had just promised her it was safe.

Impressed with the logic—the
science
—she stripped off her gear, then breathed normally, in and out, with no need to hurry and replace the mask. It felt good. Safe. Right.

“Okay, Trent. Where were you last week?”

“I don't know,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness.

“What? You promised!”

“I promised to answer your questions. And I'm telling you, I don't know where my body is. What I
can
tell you is I'm not dead. And neither are you.”

She licked her parched lips, intrigued. She hadn't even thought of that. Was
she
dead? Probably not. Which meant Trent was telling the truth. Which meant, Trent was alive too.

Relieved, she grabbed her thin blanket and cuddled against the dull blue wall. To her delight, it felt good. The heat from her injured face reflected back at her, warming her eye socket. Soothing it for the first time in days.

You should have brought a few pain pills
, she scolded herself.
But this feels good. Feels right. Even if Trent isn't really here, at least you know he wanted to be. He wanted to die in a Titan leg. But instead the sinkhole got him. It's so sad. So ironic. So Montoya.

The least she could do was die in a Titan leg for her brother. For her father, even. So she nestled closer to the comforting bio-metal, ignoring its hardness and reveling in its blueness, as consciousness—and life itself—drained out of her.

By the time the planet Destry came into view, Rick's heart was a jackhammer in the walls of his chest. Four days had passed—nearly ninety-six hours. And he had spent ninety-one of those suspended in his ACT in the throes of a fusion drive barely tested on humans.

And for what? Could she possibly be alive? After four whole days?

“What kind of freak hides a human in a Titan leg?” he growled. “I'll personally tie his balls around his effing neck and throw him to the thugs.”

“You are not yourself, Captain,” Sensie murmured. “You are unstable and malnourished. Perhaps even delirious. We are proceeding as quickly as we can, but if you would just eat something—”

“I ate something yesterday,” he snapped at her. Then he winced. That actually
did
sound delirious, didn't it? “Okay, make me some soup. And remind me what comes next.”

“Your plan is simple, sir. We will alert the recycle unit that we are bringing them the largest thug they have ever seen. We will explain—”

“Right, right.” He nodded, gulped down the steaming broth, and grinned. “That behemoth is our ticket. Our excuse for coming home early.”

The recycle guys would love the giant thug. They'd put him on display and pay Rick a fortune. And since the behemoth took up sixty percent of his main cargo hold, they wouldn't question why he had detoured back to Destry to dump it off.

Brilliant.

“Shall I send the message, Captain?”

“Yeah, but tell them we're checking out the trudging fields first. To see if we can snag another thug with the tow beam while we're at it.”

He expected Sensie to argue. To tell him it might arouse suspicion. And when she didn't, his blood chilled. “You think she's dead already?”

“Of course not.”

“If
she's
dead, Angelus is dead,” he swore angrily.

“You must not blame him, Captain. His plan was logical in its own way.”

“Logical? He hid her in a
Titan leg
.”

“Yes, but other than that, it was logical.”

Rick tried to glare, but instead, had to nod. It was so insane. He wanted to blame Angelus, but Angelus hadn't left Alexia behind. That was on Rick. Angelus had tried to take care of her. Rick had fucked her, kissed her, and flown away.

So who was the bigger asshole?

“I have sent the message, Captain. They are aware of your cargo and are anxious to see it.”

“Good. Give me a visual on the Titans. The sooner we figure out which leg that maniac hid her in, the better.”

Sensie focused the monitor image on the trudging fields. “If only we had a way to signal her.”

Stung by the implied accusation, he muttered, “Thanks a lot, Sensie.”

“I was not referring to the beacon, Captain. I was referring to our strobe lights.”

“We can't risk the strobes,” he agreed, mollified. “Just fly low and hope we don't run into any thugs.”

They circled the fields twice before the computer announced, “I have detected something, Captain. On the fourth Titan in the center column. He is larger than those around him. And there is something on his thigh. A flaw in the metal. Do you see it?”

“Fuck.” Rick stared at the faint line on the giant's leg, imagining how Zeke Angelus must have felt when he fired at a thug and hit a Titan instead. Ordinarily, that kind of mishap didn't make a mark. But according to Angelus, a compartment had popped open.

Of course, Angelus was a known liar and cheat. But his claim that he had hidden contraband in that particular leg without detection didn't seem as farfetched as it had four days ago.

“I'll gear up, Sensie. Get me as close as you can. If she's alive—” He corrected himself quickly. “She
is
alive. But she'll need medical attention. So I'll get her into the shower and then right into the ACT. Agreed?”

“Yes, Captain. I will care for her after that. You will need to bring Captain Angelus's equipment on board so it's not discovered later. We gave him our word—”

“I remember. And I'll get it. But I'll get Alexia first.”

“Agreed.”

He was already wearing his decon suit, and took less than a minute to don his gloves, mask and goggles as Sensie positioned the
Drifter
alongside the Titan. There was no sign of life, which was understandable.

But there was no
sense
of life either, and Rick swallowed that feeling down, refusing to acknowledge it. The bond he had with this woman was so strong, so vibrant, he was sure he'd be able to feel her. Even through a wall of bio-metal.