MoonRush (10 page)

“Nice bike,” Jarod called out.

“Pretentious car,” was her tart rejoinder. She gunned the motor with a flick of her wrist, fishtailing out of the parking lot, spraying dirt and gravel in her wake.

Jarod wiped a spot of dirt off the hood of his Porsche and muttered, “Bad driver.” He stalked across the empty lot. Maybe there was a reason he hadn’t dated many Asian chicks.

As he pushed open the door to the sales office, the sensor beeped, starting up the welcome hologram. The scantily clad hottie in front of him barely registered before he had walked right through her, getting to the sale agent in the back. The sweaty, greasy, and flabby salesperson sat peeling one-hundred-dollar bills of a large wad in his beef slabs of fists.

“Hello?” Jarod called, announcing his presence.

“We don’t take returns, and we don’t give refunds.” The sales guy didn’t even glance up from his stack.

“Um, no. I was looking for a ship to lease.”

The man snorted into his bills. “Yeah, you and everyone else.”

Jarod had just about had his fill of this. “Look, I’ve been to sixteen dealerships already, and I’m getting a little tired of the attitude.”

The salesman finally tore his gaze away from his greenbacks. “Hey. They can’t make ’em fast enough, bud.” He gestured with his thumb to the side of the lot where the last spacecraft was perched. “Before the Moon Rush, I couldn’t
pay
somebody to take one of those Yugo Skyrunners. Now? I can retire.”

“Well, what about that one?” Jarod said, pointing to the late model ship. “She looks space-worthy.”

“Just bought and paid for by the young lady who just left
,
”
the salesman said.

Figures
, Jarod groused in his head.
Hot, sarcastic, and the new owner of the only spaceship left in the surrounding five-state area
. Out loud, he pleaded, “Come on. There’s got to be something.”

“Nope. Not so much. You’ll have to wait until some squatter strikes it rich and unloads his ship.” The pudgy man swiveled in his chair, done with the conversation.

Jarod slapped his hand on the desk hard enough to make the change on the surface dance. That got the man’s attention fast enough. He glared at Jarod, who took the attention and ran with it. “You know the rumors as well as I do
—
that the government’s going to cut off the panning permits soon. Maybe next week. Maybe tomorrow.” The shifty look crossing the guy’s face was proof positive that he had heard the same thing. “I need a ship
today
.”

The salesman chuckled until he felt the intensity of the Rogue’s gaze. Jarod wasn’t about to go anywhere, and it was pretty clear the man could sense that. The salesman let out a huge sigh, and then glanced to the left and right, as if looking for eavesdroppers in the empty office. He leaned in and spoke just above a whisper.

“Listen, I’m not guaranteeing you anything, but I’ve got a friend who…” He cleared his throat. “Well, his merchandise ain’t exactly factory direct, if you get my meaning.”

At this point, Jarod was willing to try just about anything. “Where is he?

The ship dealer took out an old
-
fashioned pad of paper and a pe
n. “I’d better draw you a map.”

* * *

Weigner made a circuit around the laser, loose rock crunching beneath his hiking boots. Now that his creation was ready for the demonstration, the scientist was drawing out the moment, playing the showman and building the anticipation.

The general didn’t appear to be having any of it.

“If I don’t see something happen in the next five seconds,
”
the commander barked, “I’m of a good mind to have you court-martialed. Or indefinitely detained.”

The doctor didn’t deign to answer, continuing his circle. He took out a pocket
handkerchief, wiping an imaginary speck of dust off the gleaming machinery. He was in his element. No one,
and
nothing, could touch him here. Certainly not an old warmonger’s bluster.

After a significant pause, Dr. Weigner indicated an unfinished tunnel partially carved out of the mountainside. The encroachment in the face of the cliff seemed pathetic—a reminder of someone’s failure and shame. That would all change momentarily. “It took a construction crew using explosives and heavy equipment over a month to make this much headway.”

The general eyes bored into Weigner’s. “And?”

In answer, the scientist met the glare of the military official who dared to question him. That would end now. He brushed his hand across the sensor pad.

The prismatic ray leapt out of the machine, sliced through the air, and then bored into the mountain. The rock glowed a bright red just before it vaporized. Within moments, the beam cut a hole through the entire mountainside. Blue skies shone through the now-completed tunnel.

“Jesus H. Christ,” the general breathed, crossing himself. Dr. Weigner was relatively confident that the man was a Southern Baptist.

Yes. This dem
onstration had gone quite well.

* * *

The Porsche stirred up dust as Jarod braked to a halt in front of…well, he wasn’t exactly sure what this was. It was part very used…make that
incredibly
used…vehicles, part junkyard,
and
part apocalyptic nightmare. Two mangy dogs scampered around the back of the dilapidated trailer that announced itself as the “Purchasing Offic”, the missing “e” having gone the way of the dodo.

Jarod pounded his head against the steering wheel once, hard. This day couldn’t get much worse. He pressed the button that opened his hydraulic door and waited while it slid open. Before he had even exited his car, he felt a layer of grit settle over his body. It even managed to get into his mouth, crunching in an annoying fashion between his teeth.

Leaving puffs of grit behind his every footstep, Jarod made his way across the unpaved yard to the “office
.
” As he entered, a bell attached to the top
of the door
jangled a warning. He glanced around the musty room, finding a lower-than-normal desk with a smaller-than-normal man seated behind it. The man slid off his chair, becoming even shorter as he moved around the side of the paper-strewn table, stretching out his hand to shake Jarod’s.

“Simon Green,” the man introduced himself, pumping Jarod’s hand up and down. “Whatya selling?”

Taken aback, Jarod paused before answering. “Not selling. I’m looking for a shuttle capable of moonflight.” He wiped his sweaty hands against his pant
s
. Desperation wasn’t a great scent on him. Jarod’s need for a ship was battling against everything he was hearing, seeing…and smelling.

Simon took a moment to dislodge a rough-around-the-edges orange tabby that was busy trying to disorganize the already messy reams of papers. The cat landed,
and
then began grooming herself, pretending she wanted to land there in the first place. The little person spoke over his shoulder while he made a halfhearted attempt to clean up the chaos. “We ain’t got nothin’
like that.” He glanced over at Jarod, apparently to see if Jarod was buying it.

He wasn’t. At least not without a fight first. “Big Ernie sent me.”

The little man snorted, his opinion of Big Ernie evident on his face.

Jarod continued, “And I’ve got cash…”

Simon stopped cleaning. He peered up at Jarod, his intent gaze perhaps trying to ascertain if Jarod was on the up-and-up or maybe the down-and-down. He must’ve liked what he saw there.

“Follow me.”

Behind the trailer, the surroundings went from bad to worse. Fast. What were piles of garbage and junk became mountains of garbage and junk. Jarod wanted to find something, anything, that was space-worthy. Something that could keep his hope of finding a ship alive. So far,
not
so good.

One of the tallest of the enormous trash heaps curved around like a bizarre retaining wall. The thought of what kind of “ship” Jarod might find gave him pause. However
,
the thought of going back to the Rogues empty
-
handed made him trudge along after Simon.

As they walked beside the wall, the little man disappeared from view. One second he was there, the next…
poof
.

Jarod stopped. Was this some sort of junkyard hazing? Then he saw the cramped entryway formed from the frame of a ’99 Ford F250. The front two doors had been removed and the opening enlarged with what looked to have been a sledgehammer. Crushed cars piled up around the truck so that it looked just like part of the wall. Jarod could
have
walked right past it without even noticing.

He crawled through, ducking his head to avoid the dashboard. As he exited the other side, he found himself face to face with a makeshift launchpad
—
and
,
quite possibly
,
the ugliest spacecraft
that
Jarod had ever laid eyes upon. Where did he start?

First off
,
the builders of
this…this
thing
didn’t know what the word
“
aerodynamic
”
meant. Second, oh second
,
the damn ship looked like it had been Frankensteined out of the
bad
leftovers from the junkyard.

The thought of this “ship” taking them into space gave him the screaming heebie
-
jeebies. It seemed
like
a house of cards. One good breath
,
and the whole thing would come tumbling down.

As if to mock Jarod, Simon slapped the hull with affection.

“Good as new!” Only an unidentified part fell off with a clank. “Don’t worry
.
T
hat was decorative only. It’s got all the specs.” Simon rubbed at a rust patch without
any
noticeable effect. “Signed off
on
by the FAA. All ready to go.”

Jarod scrubbed at his face. Even for him
,
this was folly. He might as well go get some duct tape and gum and MacGyver himself a spaceship. If only he could. Jarod walked around the ship hoping that perhaps the other side might brighten his prospects
,
but it was equally ramshackle.

“Or hey, go find yourself another ship,” Simon said
,
walking back to the F250 exit.

They both knew
that
there wasn’t another ship. Jarod had tracked down each and every possible lead. You knew you were in trouble when
c
raigs
l
ist didn’t even help. It was this ship
,
or…Or going back to a regular job with a tie.