Buton grabbed his wrist before Jarod was able to execute his maneuver. “What are you doing?” the scientist demanded.
“What does it look like?”
“Inappropriately using a piece of safety equipment to destroy private property?”
“No, creating a distraction, so we can jack their ship.” For a smart guy, Buton was being pretty thick right now.
“This was your plan?” Buton pushed a button on the panel Jarod had almost smashed, changing the polarization of the glass. With the new filter, a force field surrounding the craft was clearly visible. Okay. Maybe not so thick. Buton shook his head, disapproval plain on his face.
“Were you planning on kicking at it until it gave in?”
“Hey, you don’t have to be mean about it.”
“Follow me.”
This was not how their escape was supposed to go. Jarod was supposed to be the one to get their bacon out of the fire. He called out to Buton’s retreating back.
“Where are we going?”
“I have a plan.”
Jarod followed the scientist, shrugging his mental shoulders. Couldn’t be worse than Jarod’s idea had been, right?
But Buton was just retracing the exact same route that had gotten them here. That didn’t seem like such a bright concept. The bad guys were down there. Bad guys with guns. Jarod made it a personal policy to avoid bad guys with guns at all costs.
Jarod called out, “We’re just going back to the garage.”
“No, deeper. Much deeper,” Buton responded in typical cryptic fashion.
And deeper they went. Past the hat-check girl. Beyond the multiple levels of the garage. And then…they were below it all. The walls were concrete. The floor was concrete. The ceiling was concrete. Clearly, no expense had been spared on the décor down here. Jarod started worrying about running into serial killers or clowns or something.
“How did you even know about this place?” Jarod paused for a minute, and then the light dawned. “Never mind.”
“It is a misdemeanor to trespass on this level without prior written authorization from the proprietors.” Buton managed to say all that without sticking his tongue through his cheek.
The hallway up ahead ended in a very large door with a thick glass window. The window read “Control Room” in large block letters.
Jarod immediately started feeling claustrophobic. This could so easily turn into a horror film at the drop of a hat.
“You realize how easily we could get trapped down here?”
Buton just looked at him. “Have I ever been wrong?”
Jarod was getting tired of hearing that phrase. He watched Buton open the huge door, but rather than go through into the control room, Buton started tinkering with the panel beside the doorframe.
“Um, dude. It’s open.”
Buton rolled his eyes. “But we would like it to stay closed once we are inside. Would we not?”
Ah yes, Buton was a regular crack-up. Jarod made a note to start looking for another genius type, if only to take potshots at Buton’s towering intellectual ego.
Who was Jarod kidding? The reason he put up with comments like that was because Buton was that good and then some.
Jarod heard boots on the stairs. He turned to see the soldiers mere yards away from the door. He darted into the room as Buton finished entering the codes on the panel. Buton squeezed through the closing door just as it slammed shut.
From the far side of the door, Jarod saw the scientist…Weigner?…staring at Buton, a look of disdain on his face. Although…taking another look, that might just be the man’s typical face.
The soldiers lifted their weapons and Jarod dropped to the floor, hitting his funny bone. All the nerves in his arm fired at once, his arm jangling. The men fired at the glass, but the window held, slight spider webs stretching out from each bullet lodged in the window. Buton hadn’t moved a muscle. As far as Jarod could tell, the scientist hadn’t even blinked. Jarod faced off with Buton.
“I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”
Dr. Weigner was furiously typing away at the panel outside the door. He glanced up at Buton and spoke through the glass, his voice muffled.
“You think to challenge me, Desei?”
Buton fired back. “And you thought a non-repeating, biphasic interpolator would keep me from accessing the hovercraft’s computer core?”
“And you cognate that this soft-wired pi-based stinger lock would impede my progress?”
Jarod groaned. “Oh, man.”
“What?” Buton looked up from his hacking.
“It’s a geek-off.”
Buton sniffed and turned back to Weigner. “This quasi-porous, hyper-attuned motherboard is putty in my hands.”
The older scientist responded with his own repartee. “Kindergartners will be cracking this code once I get through with it.”
Jarod began beating his forehead against the metal door. It didn’t help any.
“This is more painful than jail.” He paused in his head-pounding and glared at Buton. “And I didn’t understand a thing either of you said.” The words were meant as an accusation, but Buton simply began explaining. Maybe he couldn’t help himself.
“I’m using the café’s microwave transmitters to penetrate the hovercraft’s polarized plating in order to interface with—”
Jarod held up a weary hand. “Translate into not-the-smartest-man-in-the-world language.”
Buton showed Jarod the screen he was working on. It depicted the hovercraft, still parked above—where they had seen it last. Buton spoke slowly and distinctly, as if he were talking to a kindergartner.
“I’m taking control of their ship through this computer.”
“Okay. That’s working for me, except…” Jarod looked around the room. There was no exit. “Um, even if you somehow hack…” Buton stopped what he was doing and glared at Jarod, who decided to backpedal. Fast. “When you hack into the hovercraft’s mainframe. How are we going to get past them?” Jarod pointed at the muscular goons on the other side of the window.
In answer, Buton pushed a button and the wall slid to the side, revealing a door. Jarod just gaped for a moment.
“Let me guess. It’s a felony to trespass through the tunnel that leads to the landing pad?”
“You are catching on.” At least Buton had the grace to keep his face neutral.
Jarod didn’t know whether he should kiss the guy or slug him. Maybe that idea of looking for another genius wasn’t such a bad one after all. Too bad he was family.
* * *
Cleo knew certain things about herself. For instance, she was not a patient woman. Okay. Difficult to deal with at times? Check. Able to handle difficult circumstances where she had little or no control? Not so much. And right now, there was nothing that Cleo could do. She was not happy about it. In fact, she pretty much wanted to crawl out of her skin.
Rob’s legs wouldn’t hold out forever. To be more accurate, they were all but stopped at this point. Rob was still working hard, but with less and less to show for it. The military hovercraft was catching up to them—fast. Cleo didn’t even want to look back to see where they were now.
Not for the first time, Cleo wished they had never come to the Moon. Everything had gone from bad to worse from the moment Jarod had brought up the idea. Then there was another part of her, small but insistent, that was whispering that she should never have joined the Rogues at all. It hissed, that was where your life went from bad to worse. She didn’t love that inner voice, but she was listening to it way too much right now.
Then she looked back at Rob, his young face twisted with the effort he was putting forth to save their collective butts. Even the nasty inner voice fell silent at that. Yeah, they fought like cats and dogs, but for better or for worse, these people were her family. Family might get you into trouble at times, but you never gave up on them. Especially not when they needed you the most.
According to Mia, they just had to get over the next
ridge, and they would be at her ship. But getting to the top of the ridge—just a few hundred meters away—was starting to feel like it might as well be on the other side of the Moon.
And now, to make matters worse, an enormous group of squatters was making their way over to the Jeep. Cleo had no idea what they wanted, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. The closer they got, the shabbier they looked, and the more insane the light in their eyes appeared. These guys had gone space-crazy, and right now the focus of their insanity seemed to have become their little vehicle.
The closest one jogged alongside their Jeep, reaching out a trembling hand to those inside. “Did you find it?” His voice was filled with a strange awe.
“What?” Mia responded.
“The mother lode! Our salvation!”
Cleo had no idea how anyone had heard about their haul, but this was starting to scare her. Maybe this was just a weird cult or obsession that had nothing at all to do with them. That would be strange enough on its own, but they actually did have the mother lode in their backseat. One slip of the tarp, and they would be overwhelmed by fanatics.
In taking a survey of the surrounding squatters, Cleo noticed something. Not only had the Rogues’ progress been slowed, but the hovercraft behind them couldn’t make any forward movement, either. She tapped Mia on the shoulder and pointed it out. Mia nodded as she spoke.
“Great. That gives us a second to breathe, at least.”
“Yeah, but that’s not going to stop them forever.” Even as she watched, Cleo could see the craft spewing forth military men with some kind of cattle prod, backing off the cultists and clearing a path for themselves.
And then the Jeep stopped moving.
Rob dug in, looking like he was giving it everything he had and more. He tried to get them going again, but to no avail. Besides, he could no longer be of any help while they were hemmed in by the crazed miners. And with more and more of the squatters surrounding their craft, it was only a matter of time before one of them noticed the suspicious bulge in the backseat.
Mia glanced around, a gleam in her eye. She pointed back at the hovercraft. “They’re claim jumpers! They stole our diamonds, and now they’re coming for yours!”
Cleo’s respect for Mia shot up by about a thousand points. With that one statement, the complete attention of the crowd was focused behind them at the government craft. And not just their attention. Their hatred.
“Mia, that was brilliant,” Cleo whispered.
Mia just shrugged as she hopped out of the Jeep to help Rob push. Cleo followed suit, and together they were able to get the car moving once more.
Mia panted out, “My ship’s just over the next rise. You can’t miss it.”
They were almost there. Almost there. Cleo put her head down and dug deep.
And then, they were over the ridge. Looking at…
Cleo groaned, hearing her outburst echoed by Rob. This could not be happening. It had to be a hallucination.
She burst out, “You have got to be kidding!”
There, in front of them, was the battered outline of their old ship, the Eureka, looking even more the worse for wear than it had the first time around. Mia glanced from Rob to Cleo and back again, clearly not understanding their reaction to her ship. Cleo just shook her head and started pushing down the hill as fast as she could.
As they neared the ship, they grabbed the tarp, creating a sort of improvised sled to get it up into the ship. Rob ran up ahead, yelling out over his shoulder.
“I’ll get the engines going.”
Cleo looked behind them to see the troops surrounding the hovercraft pushing clear of the crazy ’49ers.
She called out to Rob. “Quickly. We’ve got company.”
This was going to be tight.
* * *
Buton had experienced more than one “hack-off” in his lifetime. Most of them were over within the first minute, with Buton the clear and decisive winner. Very few individuals made it into the second minute. Fewer still beyond the third.
He and Weigner had now been facing off for seven.
Being honest with himself, Buton acknowledged there was something quite invigorating about facing off with a worthy adversary. Buton mentally rephrased. Not “worthy,” but rather someone who was close to being on a par with his own intellectual acumen. Worthy was not a word that Buton would use to describe Dr. Weigner.
They had known one another for years, having met as colleagues at MIT. At the time, Weigner had been the faculty chair of the physics department. Buton was starting his tenure process as a professor in mathematics.
From the very inception of their professional relationship, the two had not played well together. They constantly found themselves on opposite sides of the fence, from a theoretical basis as well as on academic grounds.
Buton looked at the study of math as an art, finding joy in the working of intricate formulas for their own sake. He recognized and embraced the practical applications, and opened himself up to the communicative properties of mathematics that transcended race, country, and creed.
Weigner, on the other hand, was a mercenary to the point of psychosis. In addition to his rabid insistence on the commercial results of research…which Buton could understand and even partially embrace…Weigner pursued and taught that the end justifies the means. No matter what the means were.
Jarod interrupted Buton’s reflections with a sigh that seemed to come up from the very depths of his soul.
“Okay, so something I’ve learned today about geek-offs? They don’t happen very fast.” Jarod pounded his fist against the wall, wringing it out—as he seemed to have bruised his knuckle against the concrete.
“Patience, Jarod.”
An idea began to coalesce in Buton’s mind. Engaged as they were in digital combat, Buton and Weigner were fending off attacks as well as seeking to penetrate each other’s defenses. That kind of interaction revealed intimate information about the psyche of one’s opponent, if one was conscious enough to examine it. And Buton was.
He was getting to know the doctor in more depth in these fleeting moments than he had in years of interaction at the university. And what Buton was finding out was even more disturbing that he ever would have posited.
Small clues from earlier, combined with what he was seeing now in extemis, jumbled about in Buton’s brain, seeking ways to connect with one another. The pattern began to emerge, tumblers falling into alignment. The answer percolated up to the surface.
And that answer shocked Buton to his core.
He wanted to reject it out of hand, but the sense of “rightness” that came with the discovery was too strong. It was enough that for a moment Buton lost the upper hand in his cyber battle. He had to scramble to keep Weigner out from behind the walls Buton had erected and he lost almost all of the ground he had gained in penetrating the doctor’s defenses.
But perhaps turnabout was fair play. His fingers still dancing over the keyboard, Buton faced the older scientist through the thick glass.
“I know it was you.”
The doctor glanced up at Buton, raising his eyebrows. “You seek to distract me, Desei? You will have to do better than cheap underhanded tactics.”
“I saw the first bomb before it went off on the space station. I was right next to it. Examined it in detail. And I know. You designed it.”
“Wait. What?” Jarod’s tone betrayed his shock and outrage. “Are you serious?”
While Dr. Weigner’s face betrayed nothing, Buton suddenly began making headway in getting past the man’s electronic walls. The doctor’s tone was as unperturbed as the rest of his demeanor.
“I see. And this accusation is backed up by exactly what evidence?”
“Please, Dr. Weigner. We are men of science. Lies do not become us.”
“Indeed.” The doctor paused for a moment, allowing Buton to pass even further beyond the defenses Weigner had erected. “Since you put it in that particular manner…certainly. I desig
ned it.”
“So when our think tank at MIT rejected the assignment, you chose to step in and accept it?” While the admission confirmed what Buton already knew, it was difficult to hear the words spoken. Once more, Buton lost some of the ground he had gained.
“Why ever not? The assignment should have come to me to begin with.”
“So many died. Do you feel no sense of remorse?” Buton knew Weigner to be mercenary, but his cavalier attitude was beyond comprehension.
“I should feel remorse for what someone else did? I designed. I did not detonate. If I had not designed that explosive, someone else undoubtedly would have. And the remuneration was…generous.” The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
Buton allowed Weigner’s statement, as well as his attitude, to sink in. It was no longer expedient to discuss the matter. All pertinent information had been exchanged. All that remained was for Buton to share his response with the fine doctor.
“You do realize what this signifies, do you not, Dr. Weigner?”
“I am confident that you will expostulate, Dr. Desei.”
“There will be no quarter given.” Buton’s eyes bored into Weigner’s skull, his fingers still restlessly darting around the keyboard.
“I expected nothing less from you, Desei. I ask for no quarter. I do not need it.” The doctor’s tone was dismissive as he turned his full attention back to his own typing.
“As long as we are clear. No mercy will be extended.” Buton redoubled his efforts, his mind clear, his consciousness focused on his task with the precision of a laser. No lingering doubts clouded his judgment. No desire to hold back a vital thrust persisted.
There was only winning.
Jarod looked at Buton, then at Weigner, and then back again. His look of frustration had been replaced by one of respect, bordering on awe.
“Okay. That was awesome.”
* * *
&Jarod was starting to get nervous. No, that was not completely accurate. He had been nervous for a while. Now he was starting to panic. After Buton had thrown down the geek gauntlet with such force, Jarod had kind of expected something to start happening. It had not. The tension of not being able to do anything was fraying his last nerve. Maybe if Jarod started screaming? Anything to get something moving here.
Got Thrills? A Boxed Set (A McCray Collection) Page 43
