MoonRush (9 page)

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
moon
light 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 enthused.

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.