Cleo knew that fire in Jarod’s eyes. Time to intervene. “Jarod, come on. It’s not worth it. Really.”
The other crewmates must have seen exactly what Cleo had, for they rushed to circle the wagons. Buton placed a hand on Jarod’s shoulder. “We will deal with this outrage after a good night’s sleep and the proper amount of research.”
“Besides, we know where the creep lives,” Rob chimed in. “Don’t worry, Uncle Jare. We’ll get him.”
As they guided Jarod toward the shadier part of town, Cleo peered over her shoulder at the greasy, spasmodic man behind them. Dancing like that deserved to be punished. Severely.
She only hoped that she would be there when it happened.
CHAPTER 4
San Andros, The Bahamas
March 18, 2049
2213 hours, EST
The hotel didn’t deserve the name. The establishment’s sign swung, wooden and sun-bleached, from a rusted chain that seemed not long for this world. Under the full moon, rats scampered back and forth across the phone lines sagging between the squat building and the nearest pole. This was the kind of place that the Big Bad Wolf wouldn’t bother blowing down. He’d just wait it out.
And, if anything, the inside was worse.
Jarod paced back and forth in front of the only window in their room that wasn’t taped together. He felt something crunch underfoot and stilled the impulse to check what it was. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to know.
The crew had been bickering constantly for the last…Jarod glanced over to the table and counted bottles…five beers. Gil was off partying, and they were stuck drinking watered-down beer. Poor Rob had to be content with watered-down root beer to comfort him.
Worse, no one could agree on where to go from here. Not surprising, when all of their efforts were currently at the bottom of the deepest trench in the Atlantic.
Cleo lifted her voice above the group to say something Jarod could swear he’d heard her say at least three times already that night. “When the insurance pays up, we’ll head to the Cape Hope site, and—”
And Rob shot back with a slight variation of his standard response. “Three crews have already been out there! It’s picked over.”
Jarod craned his neck to view the only part of the scenery worth the effort. The moon hung large and low in the sky, brilliant and almost blue, every crater precise and clear on its surface. It filled Jarod’s vision, lending a sense of peace where everything else around him had degenerated into chaos.
Buton stepped into the fray once again. “Statistically, we need a small dive.” His tone was measured and razor sharp. “Something we can get into and out of quickly. Like the Tasmanian wreck from last year. A task to build up our resources—”
Rob’s yell was the yang to Buton’s yin. “Bull! We’ve got to go for the prize, can’t you see?”
Cleo acted as the peacemaker once more. “All right. Everyone settle down.” She stepped between Rob and Buton. “None of this needs to be decided tonight.”
The moonlight stabbed a ray of cool fire into Jarod’s eye, igniting a thought smoldering there since the broadcast earlier that day. What had Chad said?
He spun from the window. “Yes, it does. We need to act quickly.”
Buton’s eyebrows crept up his forehead. “You know of a site that we are unaware of?”
“Yes.”
Jarod stabbed a finger at the circle hanging in the window. “We’re gonna shoot for the moon.”
Silence reigned for several long heartbeats before Cleo finally spoke up, disbelief ringing in her voice.
“Oh. Dear. God.” She searched his face, apparently trying to tell whether or not he was joking. “I can’t believe you actually just said that.”
Jarod returned her look with a seriousness that he only pulled out on really important occasions. “Believe it, sister.”
“You want us to pan for Star Diamonds? Are you crazy?”
“Possibly, but I’m telling you, we’re destined to do this!” Cleo opened her mouth to protest, but Jarod shot over her. This was going to happen. “We’re used to working in an alien environment.” He ticked off the points on his fingers. “We’re used to buoyancy, relying on oxygen supplies, and working on instincts even more than instruments. I mean, how different is it, really?”
Buton shifted in his rickety chair, clearly not liking the talk of instincts over instruments. “Those examples are a far cry from fate guiding us to risk our lives on the moon.”
Rob’s exuberance burst out. “Yes, way! We’ve got the skills!” He moved to Jarod’s side, lending his physical support alongside the verbal. “We can totally do this, guys.”
Cleo blew her breath out between her lips in a frustrated buzz. “We’d have to sink all of our money into a spacecraft. We wouldn’t have anything left over. It’s a huge, huge, huge gamble.” Even as the words left her lips, it was clear that she regretted her choice of words. Rob leapt all over them.
“A gamble. Just like Dad would want.”
* * *
Cleo winced. This whole expedition had gone from a crazy idea to something far more personal. It was now Chuck’s dying wishes versus her desire to keep everyone— especially Rob—safe. She’d been losing that battle for a long time.
Jarod charmed and wheedled, in top form. “Look, we can lease the ship. It’ll be no more of a financial risk than tackling that Madagascar site.” He caught her eye and held it. “And I’m sorry, but I’m not staying on this planet and letting Gil take another shot at us.”
That got to her. Gil had been a thorn in their sides for longer than she’d been with the team. He was everywhere they were, either swooping in ahead of them where the risk was minimal, or nipping at their heels after they had risked life and limb.
In other words, he was not just a proverbial snake in the grass. He was a sea snake ready to envenomate.
Buton shook his head. “But the logistics of space travel—”
Jarod seemed more than ready for that one. “Please…Families from Montana are getting to the diamond fields. I think we can figure it out.” He wheeled around to each of them. “It’s doable, guys.”
“Hey,” Rob said, putting his hands up in faux surrender. “Preaching to the choir here.”
Buton glanced up from where he was busy typing away at his laptop, figures and graphs floating up from the holographic display and encircling his head like some kind of bizarre tech halo. “I believe I can use the current statistical data from the Moon fields to correlate a probably high-yield site.”
And with that, Cleo lost her only ally. She could feel that there were things here they weren’t thinking of, things that would return to bite them in their collective asses. But with the enthusiasm and momentum of the group tipping in favor of a moonwalk, she just wasn’t sure where she fit any longer.
Jarod beseeched her with his eyes. “What do you say, Cleo?” His voice dropped to an almost-whisper. “I can’t do this without you.”
Cleo wondered if Jarod knew how much he reminded her of Chuck in these moments. The passion. The vulnerability. The reckless charm. It was well-nigh irresistible.
And Cleo didn’t trust it farther than she could throw it.
“You don’t need a biologist for this one, Jarod.”
“No, we don’t.” Jarod’s intensity yielded to a wry smile that did more to win Cleo over than anything else. “But I’m betting that I need someone to haul my ass out of the fire, or a sinking ship, or an exploding shuttle. Probably a few times over.”
Cleo looked at each of them. Hope reignited in their eyes. But was it false hope? What if they pinned their last bit of money on a wild goose chase? Perhaps she could find another way to rein in their enthusiasm.
“How much profit are we talking?” It couldn’t be that much, right?
Buton answered in his usual calm manner. “Enough to buy that endangered tide pool you are so passionate about.”
“And the island it’s attached to!” Rob enth
used.
She sighed, having the same chance to stop this expedition as to stop the tides. “For the sea life, then.”
Jarod clapped her on the shoulder, and then rushed over to Buton and the laptop. “Find us the best stake, and I’ll find us the best ship.”
Cleo’s only thought was: The best-laid plans of mice and men…
* * *
The thin mountainside air bit into Dr. Weigner’s cheeks, buffing them to a bright apple red. The discomfort of the cold was a distant background noise to the fight between the scientist’s dispassionate intellect and the very real excitement of this moment. Weigner attempted to refrain from pacing as he watched his crew assemble the delicate machinery of the Star Diamond-fueled laser.
The mountain at this level was peppered with grasses that had given up the ghost, leaving behind only a brown and prickly reminder of their existence. Farther up the rocky slope, snow and pine played back and forth with one another in a swirling of white and green. But down here, it was just the grass that at times inserted itself through Weigner’s pant legs and two layers of thick woolen socks. But even that irritation was secondary to the mounting frustration with his technicians.
“When speaking of equipment of this delicacy, you rarely hear me use the word ‘hurry’.” He paused for effect. “Hurry.”
The general would be here in moments. This was the time. After years of fruitless research with inferior minerals, Dr. Weigner had achieved something monumental. It would be a pity to have this accomplishment rendered null and void by a surly general leaving the site before the demonstration could begin.
Sad that genius such as Weigner’s was required to serve such Cro-Magnon specimens that one found in the armed forces. And the testosterone always seemed to find a way to rise to the top. He suppressed a sigh as he pushed his chapped hands deeper into his white lab coat, worn over many layers of clothing. It was important to look the role of the scientist at all times to these military types.
The thwack-thwack-thwack of a military transport helicopter sounded in the crisp, morning air. Weigner looked at his assistant, seeing the burst of additional speed. He barked, “ETA?”
“Three minutes out, Doctor.” The panic in the man’s voice was palpable.
It would have to do.
As the craft settled to the ground, the downdraft from the rotors pushed the brown vegetation into a rippling circle, giving it the semblance of life once more. The general managed to communicate his irritation even in the slight jump for the transport. His support staff swarmed around him like drone bees surrounding their queen. The general reeked of masculinity gone to seed, his stiff, salt-and-peppered hair peeking out from beneath his helmet.
“I do not appreciate being called back from a NATO summit, Doctor,” the commander groused.
Dr. Weigner’s spine stiffened, but then recalled the earlier experiments. He was moments away from watching the distinguished general eat crow.
“I believe my demonstration will change your mind.”
The scientist turned back to find the laser fully prepped, and the demonstration ready. He allowed himself a tight smile.
This was going to be fun.
* * *
The used spaceship lot spoke of seedy deals and under-the-table exchanges. The ribbons and streamers and half-deflated balloons did little to distract from the general shabbiness of the establishment itself. A large banner sagging in the middle proclaimed, “Shoot for the MOON! Low financing available on all models!” Another shouted, “Take her for a test drive! Can you handle zero g?”
It was the seventeenth place Jarod had been to. It was also the last place. He’d run out of pages in the phone book.
Jarod stepped out of his red Porsche, waving his hand over the sensor in the complicated flick-and-twist motion that locked his baby up tight. Closer inspection of the lot didn’t do much to improve his impression. Peeling paint, garish colors, and an overabundance of exclamation points assaulted him at every turn. And where were the ships? The lot appeared empty.
Jarod felt a sudden surge of hope. As he came around the front of his car, one proud and gleaming model leapt into view. It was gorgeous. Last year’s model, Jarod guessed, but probably never off the lot. Pristine condition. Jarod’s heart raced in anticipation. This was fate.
A flash of light branded his eye. He pulled up short, locating the source of the glare. A black-garbed figure exited the office, her sleek form seeming to flow effortlessly through the space separating her from Jarod. A silver pendant swung from her neck—the source of Jarod’s ocular discomfort. He found that he didn’t mind so much. Her sleek, black hair cascaded down her back. Her smoky eyes marked the roadmap of her Asian ancestry.
But the Harley she hopped onto? Pure American muscle.
“Nice bike,” Jarod called out.
“Pretentious car,” was her tart rejoinder. She gunned the motor with a flick of her wrist, fishtailing out of the parking lot, spraying dirt and gravel in her wake.
Jarod wiped a spot of dirt off the hood of his Porsche and muttered, “Bad driver.” He stalked across the empty lot. Maybe there was a reason he hadn’t dated many Asian chicks.
As he pushed open the door to the sales office, the sensor beeped, starting up the welcome hologram. The scantily clad hottie in front of him barely registered before he had walked right through her, getting to the sale agent in the back. The sweaty, greasy, and flabby salesperson sat peeling one-hundred-dollar bills of a large wad in his beef slabs of fists.
“Hello?” Jarod called, announcing his presence.
“We don’t take returns, and we don’t give refunds.” The sales guy didn’t even glance up from his stack.
“Um, no. I was looking for a ship to lease.”
The man snorted into his bills. “Yeah, you and everyone else.”
Jarod had just about had his fill of this. “Look, I’ve been to sixteen dealerships already, and I’m getting a little tired of the attitude.”
The salesman finally tore his gaze away from his greenbacks. “Hey. They can’t make ’em fast enough, bud.” He gestured with his thumb to the side of the lot where the last spacecraft was perched. “Before the Moon Rush, I couldn’t pay somebody to take one of those Yugo Skyrunners. Now? I can retire.”
“Well, what about that one?” Jarod said, pointing to the late model ship. “She looks space-worthy.”
“Just bought and paid for by the young lady who just left,” the salesman said.
Figures, Jarod groused in his head. Hot, sarcastic, and the new owner of the only spaceship left in the surrounding five-state area. Out loud, he pleaded, “Come on. There’s got to be something.”
“Nope. Not so much. You’ll have to wait until some squatter strikes it rich and unloads his ship.” The pudgy man swiveled in his chair, done with the conversation.
Jarod slapped his hand on the desk hard enough to make the change on the surface dance. That got the man’s attention fast enough. He glared at Jarod, who took the attention and ran with it. “You know the rumors as well as I do—that the government’s going to cut off the panning permits soon. Maybe next week. Maybe tomorrow.” The shifty look crossing the guy’s face was proof positive that he had heard the same thing. “I need a ship today.”
The salesman chuckled until he felt the intensity of the Rogue’s gaze. Jarod wasn’t about to go anywhere, and it was pretty clear the man could sense that. The salesman let out a huge sigh, and then glanced to the left and right, as if looking for eavesdroppers in the empty office. He leaned in and spoke just above a whisper.
“Listen, I’m not guaranteeing you anything, but I’ve got a friend who…” He cleared his throat. “Well, his merchandise ain’t exactly factory direct, if you get my meaning.”
At this point, Jarod was willing to try just about anything. “Where is he?
The ship dealer took out an old-fashioned pad of paper and a pen. “I’d better draw you a map.”
* * *
Weigner made
a circuit around the laser, loose rock crunching beneath his hiking boots. Now that his creation was ready for the demonstration, the scientist was drawing out the moment, playing the showman and building the anticipation.
The general didn’t appear to be having any of it.
“If I don’t see something happen in the next five seconds,” the commander barked, “I’m of a good mind to have you court-martialed. Or indefinitely detained.”
The doctor didn’t deign to answer, continuing his circle. He took out a pocket handkerchief, wiping an imaginary speck of dust off the gleaming machinery. He was in his element. No one, and nothing, could touch him here. Certainly not an old warmonger’s bluster.
After a significant pause, Dr. Weigner indicated an unfinished tunnel partially carved out of the mountainside. The encroachment in the face of the cliff seemed pathetic—a reminder of someone’s failure and shame. That would all change momentarily. “It took a construction crew using explosives and heavy equipment over a month to make this much headway.”
The general eyes bored into Weigner’s. “And?”
In answer, the scientist met the glare of the military official who dared to question him. That would end now. He brushed his hand across the sensor pad.
The prismatic ray leapt out of the machine, sliced through the air, and then bored into the mountain. The rock glowed a bright red just before it vaporized. Within moments, the beam cut a hole through the entire mountainside. Blue skies shone through the now-completed tunnel.
“Jesus H. Christ,” the general breathed, crossing himself. Dr. Weigner was relatively confident that the man was a Southern Baptist.
Yes. This demonstration had gone quite well.
* * *
The Porsche stirred up dust as Jarod braked to a halt in front of…well, he wasn’t exactly sure what this was. It was part very used…make that incredibly used…vehicles, part junkyard, and part apocalyptic nightmare. Two mangy dogs scampered around the back of the dilapidated trailer that announced itself as the “Purchasing Offic”, the missing “e” having gone the way of the dodo.
Got Thrills? A Boxed Set (A McCray Collection) Page 27
