Search & Recovery: A Retrieval Artist Universe Novel (25 page)

So the regulations required signature after signature, identification processes involving background checks, DNA investigations, and delayed delivery of the materials. Plus, each user had to guarantee that the explosive material would be used for a specific job, and in some of the domes, spot inspectors had double-checked to make certain the users had done what they said they would.

The only place to find unregulated explosives on the Moon were the unincorporated areas between the domes. The mines owned by corporations, the new building developments outside of the domes, places like that.

And even those places generally followed regulations on explosives—primarily because they couldn’t easily purchase the explosive material outside of the domes, where they would be on record.

Still, not every place used explosive material from inside the domes. Some of the shadier operations had private landing strips. These were generally far from Armstrong, some near the south pole, and Deshin had checked those.

And he couldn’t get them out of his mind.

Because they’d all lost explosive material, sometimes in large quantities, and sometimes in small. They told him something he had known from his own businesses: explosive theft was common.

He’d actually gone to regulated explosives because they were less likely to be stolen. And he’d put major protections in place at any operation that needed explosives.

He had also tried to phase out explosives in as many businesses as possible, taking the longer, harder, and more costly route of having nanobots disassemble things at the cellular level—or was it the subatomic level? God, he didn’t know, although Paavo would. Down to its smallest parts.

Deshin had been doing the math the entire trip back to Armstrong—not for zoodeh this time. The math for zoodeh had led him on this trip.

No, the math he’d been doing was for the explosives.

And even if his estimates were high for the amount of explosives that destroyed the domes on Anniversary Day, he still came out with a number that unnerved him.

Fifteen times the explosives used to destroy all the domes on Anniversary Day were still missing. Fifteen times the destructive power, missing and unused.

And most of it, to his surprise, had gone missing—not two weeks before Anniversary Day, or even the month before. But five years before. Before the Armstrong bombings. Before any inkling that these attacks would happen.

Five years, and many, many, many metric tons of missing explosives.

He wasn’t sure he could chalk that up to simple theft.

He needed to find out what had exploded the domes, and then track it by type.

He had a large network of employees, investigators, and security.

It was time to put them to use.

THIRTY-TWO

BERHANE WAS LATE for dinner—again. She should have canceled, but Donal so rarely got nights free. He was working as hard as she was—harder really, because he had a regular job (some engineering thing that she didn’t entirely understand) and he had to parent Fiona full time. He still found two days per week to volunteer for Search & Rescue, although he usually did in-house stuff because he didn’t want to put himself in any danger. As he said, he had Fiona to consider.

Finding time to spend with Berhane alone was nearly impossible for him, yet he was making an hour here or an hour there.

Their relationship had progressed beyond the coffee, past the first few dinners, and into the first stages of something physical, but they hadn’t had sex yet. They would, she knew, as soon as she finished moving into her new apartment. They certainly couldn’t do anything at his house: As he said, he didn’t want to give Fiona hope that the relationship would be something more than it actually was.

Berhane hadn’t even seen Fiona since Anniversary Day. Berhane suspected Donal would want Fiona to know that he and Berhane were involved when he felt like the relationship had some permanence.

And on days like today, Berhane wasn’t sure what permanence was.

She had come directly from the Littrow site. She was exhausted. She had taken two showers—one at Armstrong’s S&R facility when she removed the last of her environmental suit, and the other at her father’s house before she set out to the restaurant.

It hadn’t felt like enough.

She wasn’t even sure she could eat.

Beneath that debris pile, she had found parts of at least five people.

At least.

Not for the first time, she was relieved she had had an environmental suit on. Not because she didn’t want to touch the remains, but because the smell—in an oxygen rich environment—would have been overwhelming.

She had no idea how her counterparts did this kind of work on Earth.

It was discouraging, debilitating, and necessary.

She stopped just outside the restaurant door, giving herself a moment. She wore one of her favorite dresses—a white chiffon thing that billowed around her when she moved. She had put on just enough makeup to feel pretty—or what she would have normally felt as pretty—but today it just made her feel like an imposter.

She felt like she had put lipstick on over sweat and dust.

Still, she knew Donal was inside. He had sent her a message when he arrived, and she had asked him to order since she would be a few minutes late.

She smoothed the soft material of her skirt, took a deep breath, and entered.

The restaurant smelled faintly of garlic, red wine, and coffee. Large flower displays near the entrance added some perfume to the mix. The restaurant was an Earth chain, and didn’t have any human greeters at the door.

She didn’t mind. She had had her fill of “impressive” restaurants, with each detail laid out. She had left those behind when she tossed Torkild’s ring across the departure lounge.

Donal sat near one of the windows, his chin resting on his fist as he looked out onto the street. An appetizer of fried gyoza steamed on a plate in front of him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Berhane said as she sat across from him.

He turned toward her and smiled. That smile made her heart jump every single time. She couldn’t ever remember feeling that particular emotion before she met him.

“The appetizer just got here,” he said. It wasn’t a complaint about her tardiness, nor was it a criticism. Just a fact.

She liked that about him too.

“We probably shouldn’t schedule on days when you volunteer,” he said.

“Then we wouldn’t see each other,” she said.

She slid a plate toward her and picked up chopsticks. They felt big and clunky in her fingers. Even her hands were tired.

He nodded. “You just look so exhausted.”

“It’s emotional,” she said, although she was certain she was physically exhausted as well. “Our team found—well—”

She didn’t want to tell him exactly what they had found.

“I don’t mind hearing,” he said.

“Oh, it’s not dinnertime conversation,” she said. “We did find DNA of at least fifty people.”

“Excellent,” he said.

“It’s not,” she said. “At least a million are dead, and so many more missing. We didn’t even make a blip.”

“You helped fifty families,” he said softly. “That’s more than a blip. It’s the world to them. You know it.”

She did know it. She just got overwhelmed. So much rubble. So many missing people. So much to do.

He was watching her closely. He hadn’t picked up his chopsticks.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s eat.”

She took two dumplings off the appetizer plate and poured some sauce on them. She made herself take a bite, getting a hit of ginger, onion, and garlic with the soy sauce.

Her stomach rumbled. She had been hungry. She just hadn’t realized it.

“I ordered a lot of food,” he said, “so go slow.”

It was as if he could read her mind. He actually cared about her.

“Tell me about your day,” she said. “Tell me about Fiona.”

He did. He told some cute story about a dance recital for four-year-olds, about what it was like, negotiating his way through tutus and ballet slippers and tiaras.

He had Berhane laughing by the time the second entrée arrived.

They talked and flirted and laughed and enjoyed.

And as they waited for the baobing he’d ordered with a side of strawberries, he leaned forward.

“Now,” he said. “Tell me about your day.”

She shook her head. “You know what happened out there. You’ve been through it.”

“You’ve done it before too. Each day is hard, but today seems to have upset you even more than the others.”

He was astute about her. No one had been for four years. It still startled her.

“It’s been a month,” she said. “The investigations are continuing, as best they can, but there’s so much to do. And people like my father want to rebuild right away.”

“I know that disturbs you,” Donal said. “But the problems inside the shattered domes right now are serious, even with the temporary tops in place. For example, every environmental system has to be routed around. The domes weren’t designed for the problems we’re facing.”

She looked at him, feeling a bit disoriented. What had he just said? This was a side of Donal she hadn’t seen before.

“I’m a structural engineer,” he said. “I told you before. That’s my training.”

One of the serving trays tipped the bowls of baobing onto their table. The shaved ice had sounded so good earlier, and now it seemed decadent. The strawberries glistened on top, the richness of the food showing just how lucky Armstrong had been to have been spared on Anniversary Day.

“I’m not agreeing with your father,” Donal said. “I am saying that the attackers caused a lot of problems, and not all of them are visible or obvious to most people.”

She nodded. She understood that. And she was beginning to understand how much her father’s callousness affected her. The last thing she wanted was Donal to be like him. She’d had that kind of relationship before; she didn’t want another.

“We were talking about how you felt,” Donal said. “I interrupted.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said. “You’re right. Life moves forward whether you want it to or not. You and I both learned that four years ago.”

“But…?” he said.

“I just wish that we had more money and more help, and the ability to focus, not just on the organic material we find, but on a true DNA search, so we can help the families of the missing. They’re going to be hoping forever, and we can’t do anything about that, not at this pace.”

Donal frowned. “What would you do? We have to rebuild.”

“We do,” she said. “And it’s not the mission of Search & Rescue to continue past the initial crisis. I know. I read the charter.”

She wanted to add
have you?
but stopped herself. She realized in that moment how charged she had become.

“Everything will shut down and debris will pile up and someday some future generation will bury it or something or people like my father will recycle it, and on it will be—”

“DNA from the dead,” Donal said softly.

Berhane nodded. “It bothers me so much I can hardly sleep.”

“So why don’t you do something about it?” Donal asked.

She snorted. “I
am
. I volunteered.”

“No,” he said. “Your father is one of the richest men in Armstrong. Have him fund a foundation or something as part of the charitable work his company prides itself on, to do the recovery of the dead.”

“I already asked,” she said. “He laughed and said I needed to get over Mother at some point in my life.”

Donal closed his eyes, his cheeks reddening. He took a deep breath, then nodded. She’d never seen him quite so upset about anything.

“Your father’s a real treat,” Donal said after a moment.

She shrugged. “He is who he is. He’ll never fund something like that.”

“Can you fundraise?” Donal asked. “There have to be a lot of people with money that you’ve interacted with who would be willing to fund something like this.”

Halfway through his comments, her stomach flipped over.

People with money.

She never thought of herself as someone with money. It had been her parents’ money, and then it was her father’s money.

But she had inherited from her mother, and she also had her own trust. She had more money than she could ever spend. She had said that a million times.

She
had the money. Maybe not the capital she would need to run a company that would search for all of the dead on the Moon, but she would have enough to start something that could handle Littrow.

Or start something that would then encourage others to invest.

Because Donal was right. She knew people with money. She knew non-humans with money, and all the heads of the charitable giving arms of the major corporations that operated in Earth’s solar system.

She could raise charitable funds. She’d done it before. She even knew who to hire to help her and how to go about it.

“Donal,” she said, “you’re a genius.”

“I am?” he asked.

She nodded, and smiled.

“We’re going to make a difference,” she said. “We’re going to help families, and help the Moon itself heal.”

He took her hand. She loved his touch.

“Tell me how,” he said.

So she did.

The thrilling adventure continues with the fifth book in the Anniversary Day Saga,
The Peyti Crisis.

Blurb TK

Turn the page for the first chapter of
The Peyti Crisis.

FIFTY-FIVE YEARS AGO

ONE

THE VOICE ON her links, so faint she almost didn’t hear it.

Jhena, I need you. Oh, God, I need you
.

Jhena Andre sat in her tiny office in the back of the administration suite. She was comparing the approved list of names for the morning’s trial to the list of names vetted by the Earth Alliance Prison System. She had already compared the approved list to the list vetted through the Human Justice Division. She had five more lists to compare, and then she had to confirm that the DNA associated with the approved list of names for the morning’s trial actually belonged to the person with that name.