MoonRush (12 page)

Buton backed her up. “We have equipment checks. Procedural drills
—
”

“I need to figure out a cool call sign!” Rob interrupted.

Jarod tossed down a newspaper that he
had
been holding under his arm. Buton scooped it up and began reading. “Prospectors Panic! Rumors run rampant that Moon
R
ushers only have until Friday’s
p
residential special briefing to claim their stake
s
before the moon is closed to new prospectors.”

Jarod spread his arms wide. “See?”

Cleo searched for someone to agree with her, but Buton and Rob were back to their toilet paper. She glared at Jarod, daring him to spill the rest. She was
100
percent positive that there was more to the story. “Anything else you want to share with me?”

Jarod put on a look that Cleo knew
all
too
well. It was his how-could-you-possibly-doubt-me
?
look. He only used it when he was hiding something truly serious. “It’s fine…Trust me.”

“
Trust
me? This from the man who just came in with a roll of toilet paper?
Really
?”

CHAPTER 5

Pecos, Texas

March 27, 2049

0748 hours, CST

Buton stepped into the middle of the junkyard launchpad with the rest of the Rogues and gazed upon the sight of their ticket to the moon. It was
not
a Kodak moment. The sun was shining, spreading beatific light over the hull of what might have vaguely resembled a craft capable of interstellar flight. The whole effect might have been better if it were overcast. Or raining. Or during a solar eclipse.

Logic dictated that
,
after climbing through the cab of a dilapidated pickup truck to arrive at their present location, surprise
should
not be the primary response. However, Buton
was
unprepared for the sight that assaulted him at this moment. After several long moments of silence punctuated by the possibly rabid canines populating the yard, Buton spoke. “I think
that
we should take a moment to evaluate the life choices we made that brought us this…karma.”

Cleo found her voice next. Buton watched as her jaw hinged up and down in several unsuccessful attempts before croaking out, “We’re gonna
en
trust our lives to this pile of…of…junk?”

Jarod pulled himself up to his full height. He also covered his tanned face in the snake
-
charmer smile
that
Buton had come to know so well. “Come on, guys. I’ve done my homework.” He gestured to the yard around them. “This is a certified launching facility, and all our paperwork’s in order.”

Even Rob, ever ready to leap before he looked, seemed
to think that
this plan of action left something to be desired. “We’ve got until Friday. Maybe we should spend a little more time shopping around.”

“There’s no shopping!” Jarod blurted out. Everyone
swiveled in his direction. He hemmed
and hawed
a moment, clearly bracing himself. “I paid cash.”

Cleo went rigid. She looked
exactly
like a panther prepared for attack. Her voice slithered out of her mouth in little more than a whisper. “You did
what?
”

“
Paid c
ash. Up
-
front.” The smallest hint of an apology
sounded
in Jarod’s voice.

From all that Buton knew of Cleo, he was more than impressed by her current restraint. It was also a distinct possibility that the restraint she appeared to be exercising was actually the beginning stages of shock. “You were supposed to
lease
a ship.”

At that, Jarod’s back went up, as well as the pitch of his voice. “Listen, I said I’d get a ship. I got it.” He continued with no little amount of heat, “Hell, the price even included a pilot.”

As if to punctuate his statement, a little person sauntered across the launchpad, giving a nod of his disproportionately large head to Jarod. He was whistling, as far as Buton could ascertain
, “Heigh
ho. H
e
igh ho. It’s off to work we go.” The little man arrived at the ship, and after trying and failing several times, managed to clamber aboard. Silence reigned supreme amongst the Rogues.

After many long moments, Cleo cleared her throat, her voice radiating quiet menace. “Jarod?”

“Hey, c’mon!” Jarod retorted. “Since when do we Rogues judge a book by its cover
?
” He looked around, seemingly seeking support
,
and got a few dropped gazes as recompense. He continued, “Look at us! Who would’ve guessed we’re like the double-oh-sevens of treasure hunters?”

Buton admitted to himself that, in spite of his misgivings, Jarod was correct in his assessment. The group surrounding him was indeed the cream of the crop. He could think of no team that had more of the specialized skills to achieve their interstellar goals than the Rogues.

And if Buton were to be fully accurate in his own self-analysis, his skill set would be even more fully utilized in space than it was out in the ocean. His background in astrophysics, while an interesting topic to break the ice with visiting reporters with whom he did not really care to speak, had been…underutilized up to this point. Yes, it was only one of his seven degrees, but it was one of his most favored.

And while theoretical knowledge was fine for the classroom, Buton had secretly harbored a desire to test himself against the vastness of space. This was the perfect opportunity.

Additionally, Jarod spent the money. It was gone. Mourning its loss was the idiomatic equivalent of crying over spilled milk, an activity Buton could not condone. It was time to move forward with a choice
that
they had all made already. He broke the lingering silence.
“I’ll run
quick diagnostic
s
on the computers and make sure our equipment can integrate.”

Buton’s gaze went to Cleo, whose furrowed brow clearly stated that she was not ready to give in at this point. Having seen the futility of further arguing, Buton looked for another answer. How did others deal with similar situations?

A glimmer of an idea came to him. A roguish smile always seemed to work for Jarod. Perhaps it would do the same for Buton. The idea felt ludicrous, but nothing of more worth was forthcoming. He locked eyes with Cleo
,
stretch
ing
muscles unused to the effort
,
into what he hoped was a good approximation of a grin.

Cleo kept up her glare a few beats longer before Buton could see the corners of her mouth twitch upward. Fascinating. This was actually working. Cleo huffed and hid her mouth behind her hand. “Then I guess I’ll check the medical facilities.” She glanced at the misshapen form in front of them,
and
then gave Jarod a wry look. “From the way this ship looks, something tells me we’re gonna need it.”

Buton watched Cleo’s retreating form moving toward the ship with a mixture of relief that she had decided to go with them
—
and another feeling he could not quite identify. It was, however, quite pleasurable.

Rob ran off toward the ship, his prosthetic “feet” kicking up dust. He called over his shoulder, “I’m checking out the cockpit
!
”

Buton moved in the boy’s wake, the warmth in his face not fully attributable to the he
at of the sun in the Texas sky.

* * *

Jarod jumped into the copilot’s seat, glancing over at the little man running through his launch prep
and
muttering to himself. Simon flicked a look at Jarod and held out his hand. “My fee?”

He winced and inhaled through his teeth. This was physically painful. Quite a bit more than he had thought it would be. So many memories
were
wrapped up in that car. So many memories
were
inside
that car, come to think of it. And to just hand it over…

Jarod plopped the keys into the small man’s hand, using more force than he had intended. Simon wrung his hand in pain, the grin plastered on his face belying any real damage to his appendage. Jarod couldn’t keep the pout off his face, or out of his voice, for that matter. “Crew’s just about ready…”

Simon huffed. “What are they waiting for?” He thought for a moment,
and
then muttered out of the side of his mouth, “Maybe they want to check a urine sample?”

“I wouldn’t put the idea in her head,” Jarod mumbled back. Then, glancing over his shoulder as Cleo popped her head into the cockpit,
he said,
“Speak of the devil.”

Cleo gave him a smirk with no real humor in it. Her tone was two degrees above zero. Absolute zero. “The supplies are stowed. Everyone’s strapped in…” She trailed off, looking around the cabin. Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s the copilot? Regulations say
that
there has to be a certified copilot.”

Simon snorted and rolled his eyes. Jarod swallowed,
and
then raised his hand with a certain amount of trepidation. “That’d be me.” He did his best to sound apologetic. He was pretty sure it wasn’t working.

“You?” Her eyebrows crawled up her forehead. “You can fly a mean twin-engine, Jarod, but this…” She waved her arm around the cockpit, missing Simon’s head by less than a millimeter. “This is
way
over your head.”

“I passed the test yesterday…” The intensified glare from Cleo forced out the rest of the admission. “…with Simon’s help.” He flipped a few buttons, trying to look like he knew what he was doing. “Hey, I’m as legal as anyone.”

Cleo looked like she was beyond ready to blow her stack. Twice. “How many other surprises are you going to spring on us? What else don’t we know?” She huffed,
and
then drove her point home even further. “How many times am I going to ask that question before we’re done?”

Simon broke in to their argument with some sharpness. “Look. We’ve got a five
-
minute launch window. If we’re leaving today, I need everyone strapped
in
.”

Cleo continued to glare at Jarod, as if she were trying to bore through him with her eyes. The moment dragged
on
, and Jarod squirmed. “Cleo?”