MoonRush (41 page)

“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.
V
ery 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
p
hysics
d
epartment. Buton was starting his tenure process as a professor in
m
athematics.

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 justifie
s
the means. No matter what the means were.

Jarod interrupted Buton’s reflection
s
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 designed 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 ge
t nervous. No, that was not completely accurate
. He
had been nervous for a while
.
Now h
e 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.

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 soldier
s
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 screa
med “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.”