MoonRush (26 page)

They passed through a doorway wide enough to accommodate an entire army without anyone falling into rank and file. The ceiling opened up, and a graceful curve of stunning aerodynamics confronted Dr. Weigner. He traced the curve up, the first curve joining with another and yet another, swirling up to meet close to the ceiling, which looked to be at least five stories high. Where many ships merely lurked in their place until launched, this beauty was poised and ready to spring at a moment’s notice. The color of the craft appeared to be stark white at first view, but upon closer inspection, pulses and flashes of color surged under the surface. Was this some kind of new cloaking technology?

This was not a shuttle Weigner was seeing. This was a city with wings. And the largest, sleekest, meanest looking city with wings he had ever laid eyes on. Weapons bristled from its sides like some kind of techno
-
porcupine, somehow without losing any of its smooth aerodynamic feel. This was a craft designed to move fast and blast any obstacles out of its way.

Dr. Weigner was, to put it in the vernacular, royally pissed off.

Why had he not been called in to consult on this project? Any sense of wanting to keep the military at arm’s length to allow him to work in peace vanished as he soaked in every detail of this culmination of creativity and technology. It was magnificent.

It would have been better if Weigner had worked on it.

In spite of his awe, Weigner began mentally ticking off flaws. The slope leading to the doorway could have been integrated more fully, allowing for even less disruption of its aerodynamic flow. The creator clearly valued aesthetics above sound design principles. Weigner could easily have achieved both. Oh, and the logo on the side was tacky.

He admitted to himself that the last criticism might have been petty.

“She’s a beauty,” the general remarked. “Quite the
engineering
feat. This shuttle does away with the staged flight models completely. Notice any tanks?”

That had been one of the first details Weigner had noticed. One that, despite his superior intellect, he had been unable to explain to his own satisfaction. He kept all admiration out of his voice as he queried the general.

“How did you overcome the weight issues?”

“Well, it’s all geek talk to me, but basically, this sucker’s made from a new alloy that’s lighter than balsa wood and stronger than titanium. I’m afraid your clearance isn’t high enough for me to even tell you its name.”

Weigner’s eyebrows competed in trying to climb up and off his forehead. He had never heard of a clearance higher than what he held. He cleared his throat.

“I see.”

“What this means to you is, you don’t have to stop at the space station. The
Eclipse
can get you there in one uninterrupted flight. Actually,” the general leaned in close enough for Weigner to catch a whiff of cigar and peppermints, “she can get there and
back
on one fueling.”

Weigner’s eyes dilated. He did not deign to respond to the general as the man leaned back and chuckled at the doctor’s stoic response.

The hovercraft drifted to a stop
just
steps away from the walkway that
led
into the depths of the shuttle. At the entrance to the catwalk, a stoic man in a pressed uniform was saluting his superior officer. “We’re ready to launch, General.”

“Very well, Captain Stavros. Meet Dr. Weigner.”

The two men faced off, each sizing the other up in a brief glance. Stavros extended his hand to shake Weigner’s. Weigner winced at the strength the captain put into his grip, but did not drop his gaze.

“Captain. What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am gratified to add my acumen and prowess to this endeavor.” The captain’s nostrils flared slightly
.
W
hether at the profusion of multisyllabic words or the implied insult, Weigner neither knew nor cared. The moment stretched out until the general stepped forward and clapped his hands on each of their shoulders.

“Now, you two. Go find me my ‘peacemaker
.
’
”

Perhaps up until now this had all been an exercise in intellectual curiosity for him, but Weigner now found he was quite anxious to get into the shuttle. It
was time to go diamond hunting.

* * *

Finding a ship to get him and his crew to the dark side of the moon was proving to be not quite as simple as Jarod hoped. He had started off in a completely reputable company, discussing deals in well-lit establishments. Somehow, that always seemed to lead to him ending up in a strip club.

Not that Jarod would normally mind. He’d seen, and even enjoyed, his fair share of seedy clubs. But this? The scene playing out on stage right now would make the Marquis de Sade blush. He had seen snakes used in strip routines, but never in such a way that made him want to call PETA. If this wasn’t cruelty to animals, he had no idea what would be. And how exactly had she managed to get her leg up behind her head with the snake still…?

Jarod shuddered and turned away. It may have been a couple of hours…and a couple of social strata down the ladder…since he had eaten lunch, but something down there was threatening to make a reappearance. What was happening here would turn the threat into a certainty.

What was truly frustrating was that he had struck out in finding a ship once again. The promised contact was missing in action, and after asking a couple of people where he could find “Crunk
,
” Jarod started getting some suspicious looks from the patrons. This had been the last of the leads. He was at the end of his rope. And after seeing the display here, he wasn’t so sure that selling his body to get them all home was such a great idea.

At least he hadn’t taken anyone with him. Cleo would be doing her best to convince the strippers that this life wasn’t really for them…well, after scrubbing her eyes with rubbing alcohol, at least. Jarod could imagine Buton calculating the exact angle the snake was forming with the raised leg
,
and exactly why that wasn’t such a good idea for the woman’s reproductive system.

And Rob? Well, having Rob with him would’ve gotten Jarod arrested, even here. And really, there were certain things that
no
fourteen
-
year
-
old kid should see, at least if he ever planned on having sex with the lights on in his lifetime. Jarod made the mistake of glancing at the stage once more and reassessed. Scratch the “with the lights on” part and plug in “ever, ever, ever.” His stomach lurched and sent him heading toward the door
—
just in case.

Near the entrance, a bouncer stood like a pillar of gneiss. He must have been at least six-foot-five, with muscles bulging out of his muscles. The guy’s arms had tattoo sleeves of intertwined women who would twist and lurch every time he flexed his biceps. The burly man gave Jarod a disinterested glance and snorted.

“Can’t take it?” the bouncer yelled over the music.

Jarod took a second to keep from retching before answering. “You can?”

“Meh. After a while you get used to it. I dunno
,
though…Misty and her Mysterious Marmot still gets to me.” He shrugged,
and
then looked a little closer into Jarod’s face. “You the guy
who
was looking for Crunk before?”

“Aha. Well, that depends. I kinda got the feeling
that
maybe asking was a bad idea. I’m not looking for trouble
—
just a ship.” Jarod watched the big guy, ready to dart out the door if the man made any sudden moves.

The pillar nodded sagely. “Yeah, I gots ya. The guys
who
come here don’t much like questions.” He leaned in and lowered his voice to a mild roar. “Crunk got pinched two days ago. Got lots of folks on edge.”

Jarod heaved a huge sigh. “Well, there goes my last hope.”

“For a ship?” Off Jarod’s nod
,
the big man leaned in even further. “I might know of a place you can go look.
’
Slong as you don’t mind getting dirty.”

Dirtier than this? Jarod almost said “no
,
” but then pictured
his crew’s
reactions when he told them
that
there was no ship. He took down a name and directions from the bouncer and hightailed it out of the club as fast as his feet could take him. He should’ve known no good would come from visiting a place called
“
Ass-teroids.
”

As he headed toward the new location, Jarod did everything he could
not
to
think about how anyone at that club could refer to some other location as “dirty
.
”

Transportation on the moon was fascinating. As much as possible, the builders had linked every location they could so that as little time was spent out where helmets were needed as humanly possible. In addition, most of the structures had been built during the
M
oon
R
ush, so they went up incredibly fast. What this meant in practical terms was that the habitable areas of the moon were a warren of labyrinthine mazes, with passageways and tunnels and twists and turns.

What Jarod noticed most about his route
was
that it
took
him into darker, deeper
,
and dirtier tunnels than any he had experienced so far.
N
ooks and crannies along the way
were
all filled with the down
and
out…those upon whom the
S
tar
D
iamond gods had not smiled. And here they camped out, rotting in their own filth. Jarod picked up his pace as he passed by the ramshackle huts built out of abandoned drywall and cardboard with the occasional dull gleam of aluminum.

After three more turns and several more tense minutes, Jarod found the place the bouncer had
recommended
. It was called the Honeycomb
,
and
it
had been around for longer than most of the structures on the moon
—
close to twenty years. According to the big man at the club, it had started off with a crazy billionaire who had decided to house a call center on the moon. He had built this structure to mimic the cubicles of call centers back on Earth, but carved out of rock or built up with plasteel. In other words, pretty much permanent.

Not that it looked all that permanent at this point. Wherever possible, poor prospectors
—
and sometimes their families or crews
—
would come in
.
U
sing their mining tools,
they would
carve out niche
s
for themselves. The effect was one huge human beehive
,
with less privacy than a high school locker room. The Honeycomb.