He glanced over at Buton, who was still working on his interface and hadn’t yet broken a sweat. Something about that just wasn’t right. No one should be that calm under this much pressure.
Jarod returned to his stakeout by the window. He goggled as Dr. Weigner helped the soldiers set up a wicked scary looking device. It appeared to be some kind of hybrid laser and battering ram that had crossed with the jaws of life. The thing practically screamed “door basher inner thingy”. No, he didn’t like the look of this at all. But at least something was finally going down.
Time to light a fire under Buton.
“Dr. Weigner’s got some hardware out there. He looks close to opening the door.”
“Patience.” Buton spoke without even glancing up from what he was doing.
“Okay, Buton, you really need to understand the ‘time sensitive’ concept.”
“Just a few more seconds.”
If Buton would join reality for a second here, he might see that they didn’t have any more seconds left. The monstrosity outside was working overtime, pulsing with a rhythm that was kind of hypnotic in its own evil scientist way. The metal door began to scream under the strain, the glass of the window spider webbing into a thousand flashing eyes, refracting the image from outside in a hideous kaleidoscope of colors.
Buton continued to type away at his keyboard, unperturbed. This was so beyond ridiculous at this point. Jarod watched as the door begin to buckle under the strain.
He leapt back and yelled, “It better be now!”
Buton pushed a few more buttons, but was forced to back away as the soldiers stormed in. Buton raised his hands over his head, his head down. This did not look good.
“You had to pick this time to be wrong.” Jarod sighed and followed suit, lifting his hands above his head.
Buton refused to meet his eye.
Dr. Weigner stepped around his military goons and eyed Buton up and down. “I see the greater intellect proved triumphant.”
Jarod wanted to punch the look off of the arrogant doctor’s face, but really, what could he do at this point? The guy had won; they were surrounded. Time to call the fight.
Buton continued staring straight at the floor.
“We have Haster and Desei.” Weigner spoke into his wrist-set, while the soldiers clapped gelcuffs on Jarod and Buton.
A crisp military voice answered back. “Rendezvous at the diamond mines.”
“Is it secured yet?” the doctor probed.
“It will be by the time you arrive.”
Not too tough to figure out what they were talking about. But how had anyone known about the mother lode? Jarod racked his brain, trying to figure out some kind of solution. And then it came to him.
Gil.
Somehow that bastard always knew when Jarod was on the scent of something big. That slime sack had made his career following Jarod find after find, snatching them from Jarod’s clenched fists while Jarod was still trying to figure out what had happened.
At least this time Jarod had figured it out. Not that it helped much.
The trip back up through the garage levels and on up past the lobby felt even worse than the walks of shame Jarod had taken in his life. At least those walks said, “Sure, I may have woken up with a Wookie, but last night was a wild ride”. This one just said, “I’m not good enough, smart enough or fast enough”. And that really chapped Jarod’s hide.
As Jarod and Buton were frog marched out to the waiting hovercraft, Weigner spoke to the air above Buton’s head, as if he weren’t worth looking straight in the face. “Your escape vehicle is being surrounded as we speak. I will have that crystal.”
Really, the only thing missing from this scene of shame was Gil’s gloat. Jarod knew Gil was gloating somewhere, but for Jarod’s humiliation to be complete, he really should be seeing it. Up close and personal. Jarod turned to Buton.
“I can’t believe it’s going to end like this.”
“Karma requires patience, Jarod.”
That was it. Jarod had had it up to here with Buton and his platitudes.
“Okay, you’re so lucky I’m restrained, because I’d slap the karma right out of you.”
They were pushed and prodded into the hovercraft, where they found themselves strapped down in between two very muscular military men with little to no sense of personal space. It wasn’t bad enough they had lost. They now had to be cramped.
The hovercraft lifted off and began skimming the surface of the moon, zipping along at speeds beyond the capabilities of any of the vehicles Jarod had piloted since arriving. At the speed they were going, they would arrive at their destination in next to no time.
Several uncomfortable minutes into the trip, the hovercraft began vibrating…enough that Jarod could feel it through his gravity boots. The screen on the dashboard showed them rapidly approaching the diamond fields.
Buton broke the silence, leaning in to Jarod. “You might want to hold on.”
Jarod made a face and snapped back, “I’m strapped down.”
The hovercraft gave an abrupt lurch, and all the instrumentation in the craft sparked. The straps and restraints holding everyone in place snapped off as one, and Jarod went flying forward on the inside of the hovercraft, along with Weigner and the soldiers.
Jarod groaned as he eased his way back to an upright position. He scanned the inside of the craft. The soldiers were all unconscious, but Weigner was still grasping on to the steering wheel for dear life. He had a gash over his eye, his lip was split and he was sporting a bloody nose. The doctor was attempting to keep the vehicle under control with no visible success.
“Only I know the override.” Buton spoke with admirable calm.
Weigner cursed. “You Ivy League, pseudo-intellectual—”
“I would prepare for your departure.” Buton tossed the irate doctor a helmet. Jarod ran to take over the controls.
The doctor sneered. “You think this is M.I.T. again?”
Buton’s eyes widened slightly. “No.” He leaned in toward the doctor. “This time I intend to get rich.” Without taking his eyes off of Weigner, Buton spoke to Jarod. “Fly low.”
Jarod was only too happy to comply. He took the craft down as close to the surface as he could, slowing down just enough for what he thought Buton had in mind. Moments later, Weigner and the soldiers were tossed overboard like so much excess baggage.
As far as Jarod was concerned, that felt about right.
* * *
Buton looked up to see a fast approaching ridge. He spoke with some urgency to Jarod.
“The coordinates Mia gave us are just over that ridge.”
“Yep.”
“That would require an upward trajectory that we have not yet achieved.” Buton did what he could to maintain a sense of decorum as he stated the obvious.
Jarod glanced up from his flying for a brief moment. “Yeah, you want to try flying this puppy?”
Buton gazed up at the protruding edge of the ridge. He sighed.
“We’d best brace ourselves…again.”
The hovercraft hit the ridge head on, bursting through the rock and coming out on the other side at ground level, bouncing along the surface of the moon. Explosions ripped through the hull as Buton and Jarod pushed their way to the door and ripped it open. They leapt from the ship, just as the entire craft exploded around them.
After bumping and rolling to a bruised stop, the two dragged themselves up to standing and brushed themselves off, checking for major injuries. Finding none, they looked at one another for a long moment and began trudging up the rest of the hill.
After about a hundred yards, Jarod stopped and planted his feet. He squared off with Buton, a look of befuddlement on his tanned face.
“How in the hell did you do that?”
“I told you, I hacked into their system.” Poor Jarod. Even when Buton explained in detail what was occurring, he just was not quite fast enough to keep up.
“Wait. So you hacked in but neve
r even tried to deactivate the force-field?”
“Oh dear, no. What would that have accomplished?”
“Hello. We could have just stolen the ship, without the whole kidnapped part in the middle.”
Truly, these were the types of things that should require no explanation whatsoever. Buton faced Jarod, then pointed at the wreckage behind them.
“I let you fly for ten seconds and look at the result.”
Jarod stared back at the scattered debris that was once a very nice hovercraft. His expression became a bit sheepish as he started back up the hill.
“Okay, but next time, give me the 411 on the full extent of the plan.”
Buton cocked an eyebrow. “As you did me?”
Jarod looked like he had all sorts of things he wanted to say to Buton at this point. For better or worse he was unable to articulate any of them, as an angry group of squatters rushed over the ridge, pushing into the two men. Buton found himself separated from Jarod, the distance between them growing by the second. As Buton tried to push his way against the tide to join up with his colleague, Jarod waved him on.
“It’s just over the hill. I’ll meet you there!”
Buton considered for a moment, not positive that leaving Jarod on his own was a good idea, but the crowd of ‘49ers was not showing any signs of abating. He looked down and over at where Jarod was extricating himself from the crowd, starting up the steeper side of the hill. Buton finally turned and made his way over the top of the ridge. What he saw below gave him pause.
It was the Eureka.
“Oh dear. Maybe Fate does have a sense of humor after all…”
* * *
Jarod was almost to the crest of the hill when he felt his heel slip out from under him. He was about to tumble back down the steep incline, when a hand reached out to grab his own and haul him up and over the top of the ridge.
“Thanks, Buton,” Jarod puffed, winded.
His rescuer backed away as Jarod brushed himself off, catching his breath. He looked up to see Gil, pointing a gun directly at his chest.
Jarod gave a bark of laughter with no humor behind it. This was great. Just fantastic. Really.
“Gil. Great, this pretty much rounds out my day.”
“Where is the mother lode?” Leave it to Gil to avoid the small talk.
“What, you’re not even going to buy me dinner first?”
Jarod put on a smirk. His formal smirk. The one he pulled out for the most important occasions. Gil might have the high ground here, but Jarod was not going down without getting in a few good punches.
“Ah, Jarod, Jarod. Humor. The last resort of a pathetic loser.”
Jarod looked at Gil. He looked at Gil’s smug expression. He looked at Gil’s bad comb-over. And then something just snapped. Jarod began moving toward Gil at a slow but even pace. The weapon in Gil’s hand didn’t even concern him.
“You are going to have to shoot me, Gil.”
Gil started, refocusing his aim on Jarod’s face. Jarod continued his implacable march forward, getting closer and closer with every step. Gil’s gun shook.
“I am not going to run. I am not going to get thrown in jail. I’m not going to be taken captive.”
With each sentence, Jarod’s anger grew. He was now standing face-to face-with Gil—the gun the only thing between them. Jarod put all of the disappointment, all of the betrayal, all of the helpless rage that he had suffered at Gil’s hand into his voice.
“There are no cops to save you this time, Gil. You better fire now.”
“You really don’t understand what survival of the fittest means, do you?” Gil backed up a step and pulled the trigger. The gun didn’t fire. Jarod moved forward and knocked the weapon out of Gil’s hands.
“Perhaps if just once you did your homework, you would know that no one can ignite the firing pin without oxygen.” Jarod threw himself at Gil, knocked him to the ground, and began pummeling him with his fists. Gil squirmed underneath him. Then, using the lower gravity, he flipped Jarod up and over his head. Jarod landed on his feet, but his forward motion threw him down onto his knees. He sprang back up and turned around to find Gil coming to his feet.
The two faced off once more, this time more wary of each other. As they circled one another, Jarod noticed that their fight was drawing a crowd. The crazed ’49ers were forming a loose circle around the two opponents. And off in the middle distance, Jarod saw what looked to be the Black Ops team approaching.
Using Jarod’s brief distraction, Gil fell to the ground and swept Jarod’s legs out from under him. Jarod landed hard, and then found Gil bearing down on him, his hands gripped together into an impromptu hammer. Jarod lifted his arm and turned to the side to avoid the fists connecting with his helmet, where Gil had clearly been aiming. He took the blow to the upper arm. Gil must have connected with a nerve, because Jarod felt his entire arm go dead. His left arm hung useless at his side.
Jarod backed off for a moment, kicking off his gravity boots. Gil sneered at him, pointing at his bare feet.
“Planning on doing an interpretive dance?”
Jarod just started circling again, his neoprene-covered feet gripping the terrain much more securely than the boots did.
Gil charged Jarod, his head down like a bull. Jarod leapt straight up, taking a page out of Mia’s book. When he reached head-level, Jarod lashed out with his feet, striking Gil square in the throat, just below the seam that attached Gil’s helmet to his suit. Gil lurched backward, clutching at his neck. Jarod flew even farther away than Gil, but with much more grace and control. He came down to the ground lightly, launching himself back into the fight. Jarod spun and kicked and slashed like some sort of moon-suited whirling dervish.
And Gil clearly had no idea what to make of it. He would punch at Jarod, only to find nothing there. His kicks did nothing but put him off balance so that Jarod could strike at an exposed limb. He was taking hit after hit, none of them lethal on their own, but the cumulative damage was evident in his heavy movements, his slower reaction times, and his heaving breaths.
Jarod was having a fantastic time. He was punching for every time Gil had fixed things in his own favor, cutting Jarod off at the kneecaps. He was kicking for every humiliation he had suffered while watching Gil’s slimy smile. This fight was his. Jarod’s only real handicap was his left arm, which was still all pins and needles and not really wanting to respond to any directions from Jarod’s brain.
Jarod spun to the side and slapped his open palm against Gil’s helmet, watching the lowlife reel away in confusion, falling to his knees. Jarod started to do the same thing on the other side when Gil stopped and ducked, coming up with a shard of moon rock, catching Jarod on the left arm, just where he had been struck before. Jarod felt the shard cut through his suit and into his arm. The limb burst into fiery pain, causing Jarod to clutch at the arm in agony.
Gil continued to pound at the arm with the sharp rock, each blow compounding the injury and Jarod’s confusion. The tears in were releasing oxygen, and Jarod could feel the dangerous plummet in pressure from the suit.
Grabbing Jarod’s arm and wrenching it up and to the side, Gil then began pushing straight down on the contorted limb, causing Jarod to fall to his knees. Jarod could feel the victory slipping away from him as fast as his failing strength.
Gil lowered his head to Jarod’s level, smiling as he taunted his adversary.
“Admit it, Jarod. I am the fittest.”
Jarod glared into Gil’s eyes, spots swimming across his vision. Jarod was moments away from passing out from the pain and lack of oxygen. He was beaten. He had nothing left to lose.
And, just like that, he found the way out. It was so far away from anything rational that Jarod knew it had to be the right choice. His right choice. Jarod reared his head back and smashed his helmet into Gil’s, cracking both their faceplates.
“Just try and say that without oxygen, asswipe.”
Gil staggered back into his men, who had finally a
rrived on the scene. He gaped at Jarod.
“You are insane.” He then turned and screamed for his men to help him.
Jarod didn’t wait around to see anything more. Feeling a burst of adrenaline from the abrupt ceasing of pain in his arm, he darted up the hill, his faceplate cracking in a spider web pattern. He glanced down at his wrist monitor. The oxygen monitor had dipped down to near-fatal levels. This was not good.
He crested the final ridge, and in spite of his predicament, stood stock still for a long moment in shock.
“This is a reoccurring nightmare.”
His helmet cracking even further broke him out of his daze. He sprinted toward the open hold of the ship, his vision darkening to a narrow tunnel. As he neared the door, his faceplate split completely. Jarod gulped in a quick breath of non-air and fell to the ground, landing just feet away from the open airlock. This was it. He had gotten so close.
As the splintering of the glass in his helmet increased, the actual sound of it in Jarod’s ears grew faint. He was passing out. Jarod clutched at his fading consciousness, marshaling all his resources for one more push to get inside the ship.
And then his vision faded to black.
* * *
The last half hour had been less than pleasant for Gil. The altercation with that lunatic Jarod had not gone quite as planned. That the idiot was willing to risk his own life and limb just to get to Gil was, he supposed, not that surprising. It had taken him off guard, however.
Ruthlessness in his opponents was something that Gil appreciated, and even admired.
But what Jarod had done was pure recklessness. There was nothing admirable in that. Recklessness was a gamble. Recklessness was not something the fittest had to engage in.
Gil rubbed at his left arm, which was wrapped up in an improvised splint. As Gil had stumbled back into the group of his men after the head-butting incident, he had tripped and sprained his arm, which was now giving him a twinge. With each sharp pain, Gil cursed Jarod and his stupidity a little bit more.
Got Thrills? A Boxed Set (A McCray Collection) Page 44
