“Mr. St. John? Is there someone we should notify?”
“No.” He succumbed to the painful truth, allowing the blackness to carry him away. Allowing the painful memories to slip into some dark, nebulous place.
There was no one.
“What’s the status of your latest computer run?” Justice asked.
Pretorius grimaced, peering at the screen from behind the same black-rimmed computer glasses he’d owned for the past twenty years. “Based on the parameters you’ve given me, I’ve found half a dozen possibilities that score at eighty percent probability or higher.”
“Hell, is that all?”
“We’re lucky to have found even that many women considering your list of requirements. I mean, no one with black hair? What was with that?”
Justice grimaced. He had no intention of explaining any of his prerequisites, especially that one. “Well, if my choice is limited to six, then I’ll just have to make do.”
“Make do?” Pretorius swiveled his computer chair in a swift one-eighty, eyes the same unique shade of gold as Justice’s glittering in outrage. “Are you mad? You’re talking about the future Mrs. Sinjin, Incorporated here.”
Justice waved that aside. “Next issue. Are they a half dozen you can handle having here at the estate? There’s no way you can avoid running into them on occasion. It’s not like I can keep them locked up and out of sight. Something tells me they won’t agree to that particular condition.”
Pretorius shuddered. “Well, so long as it’s one at a time and not all of them together in a horde. Can’t handle a horde.” His chair drifted closer, the casters skating freely across the wooden floor. “Justice, are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“I’m positive.”
“It’s because of that car wreck, isn’t it? It caused more than memory glitches. It’s changed you. Changed your long-term goals. Changed how you look at the world.”
Justice retreated behind an icy facade, one that never failed to stop even the most pushy person dead in his tracks. Not that it intimidated his uncle. Damn it all. He’d do anything to avoid this conversation, perhaps because it sliced too close to the heart of the matter.
Without a word, he crossed the generous expanse of the computer room and picked up a silver sphere consisting of small interlocking sections, each one engraved with a mathematical symbol. It was one of his inventions, one he hadn’t released to the general public. He called it Rumi, short for ruminate, since he played with it whenever he needed to work through a problem—which was basically most of the time.
Maybe he should have called it Obs for obsessive.
Pretorius pushed off with the toe of his sneaker and sent his computer chair shooting back toward his endless bank of computers and monitors. “You can’t avoid the discussion, Justice. If you plan to go forward with your plan, I deserve the truth.”
“I know.” Justice’s fingers moved restlessly across Rumi’s surface, pushing and pulling the various sections until he’d transformed the sphere into a cylinder. Instead of smooth and flowing, it appeared jagged and disjointed, the symbols a chaotic jumble. These days the shapes were always a chaotic jumble. They’d been that way for over a year, a full six months before the accident.
He changed the topic, hoping it would distract his uncle. “Will all the women be at the symposium for Engineering into the Next Millennium?”
“Ridiculous title,” Pretorius muttered.
“Agreed. Stay on target. Will they be there?”
“I made sure of it. Two weren’t planning to attend, but I—” He hesitated. “Let’s just say I arranged for them to change their mind.”
Justice knew better than to request specifics. “Excellent.”
“Talk to me, boy. Why? Why are you doing this?”
Justice shook his head, not certain he could put it into words. He attempted to coax the cylinder into a double helix while struggling to give voice to the realization he’d made after his accident. How did he explain the nothingness that had become his life over the past few years? Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt any emotion, whether anger or happiness or something—anything—in between.
With each passing day his feelings, the drive to invent, even his ambition had slowly iced over. While each minute ticked relentlessly by, everything that made him a “normal”—and he used the word in its loosest possible context—living, breathing human eked away. Soon only a cold, hard shell of a man would remain. He tossed Rumi aside, frustrated by its refusal to assume a clean-cut functional shape.
“It’s just something I need you to accept,” Justice finally said. “For my sake.”
“Call and cancel,” Pretorius urged. “Before you do something we both regret.”
“I can’t do that. I’m the keynote speaker.”
Pretorius switched gears. “What in the bloody hell are you supposed to say about engineering into the next millennia? That’s a thousand damn years. It’s impossible to predict whether there will even be a human race in a thousand years, let alone the status of engineering over that period of time.”
“And you claim I swear a lot.”
“What can I say? Your vices are rubbing off on me. Justice, you haven’t made a public appearance in five years. This isn’t the time to change that.”
“I haven’t made a public appearance in five years because I haven’t had a damn thing worth saying for five years. When I do have a damn thing worth saying, I’ll start making public appearances again. Until then, I can manage one little symposium without falling flat on my face.”
“The media will be all over this one little symposium now that your name is connected with it. After such a lengthy absence they’ll expect you to offer something of vital significance. I don’t suppose you have something of vital significance to say to them?”
Justice waved that aside. “Don’t worry about my speech, old man. I’ll make something up. The ironic part is, if I claim it’s possible, some fool in the audience will believe me and go out there and invent it. Win, win.”
“But why? Just give me one good reason why you’re doing this.”
Justice dropped a hand to his uncle’s shoulder with a sigh. He knew going into this would be hard on Pretorius, but something had to change. Now. Before time overcame opportunity. “I haven’t invented anything in a solid year.”
“Your creativity is just blocked. We can find a way to unblock it without going to such extremes.”
“I don’t see how it’s possible for my creativity to be blocked since I don’t possess any. I’m an engineer.”
This time Pretorius sighed. “Inventors are creative people, Justice.”
“That’s a damn lie and you know it. Now take it back.” It was a running joke between them, but for some reason it lacked its usual humor. Maybe because he found it more and more difficult to laugh about his current situation.
“I understand that you need a woman. I don’t object to that. Go … go find someone.” To Justice’s