part0034

Rockets rumbled in the sky, and despite the distance, Go felt the power in his head. The spaceport was busy, maintenance vehicles speeding from one building to another, technicians and crew members hazy in the afternoon sun, the concrete cooking through the soles of his shoes.

He shifted the weight of the environment suit from one arm to the other. It smelled of sweat and rocket exhaust, grease and heat. Heavy as it was, it couldn’t possibly be shielded enough to walk around on the moon. There had to be pinprick holes that would leak atmosphere and let radiation in. One of the seams he’d examined must be ready to tear with just the right amount of stress.

Rosario turned from where she’d been talking to Jason, who was busily inspecting the underside of the orbital shuttle Raul had rented. She crossed to Go, smiling. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just this suit. It’s worn. I’m worried about it having a hole.”

She lifted the shoulders and twisted the material around to inspect both sides. “A little wear and tear is a good thing. It means it’s proven.”

“This ain’t me looking for a wife, love. I don’t want to suffocate.”

She cringed and let go of the suit. “You’ll be fine.”

“Hey, now.” He grabbed her elbow. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what? A little worn around the edges? Is that too frightening? Maybe you need someone who’s been pampered?”

Go pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest. “You’re exactly what I’d want if I settled down.”

She pushed against him, realized she couldn’t break his grip, then glared at him. “Let me go.”

“Can’t do that, love. Not until you tell me you understand.”

“I—” The anger left her eyes, and she looked away. “It’s your demon. I understand.”

He kissed her cheek, and after a moment, she wrapped her hand around the back of his head and pulled him in tight and returned the kiss even more passionately.

When Jason approached, she pushed away. Go released her, but her taste was still on his lips.

The driver held up a palm-sized, clear plastic slab that had lines of glowing text and checkboxes. “It’s space-worthy. Not sexy, not fast.”

Rosario took the plastic slab. “Will it get us there and back?”

“As long as I don’t push it too hard. These SFI orbitals are workhorses. They might go into orbit and back twenty times in a week.”

“But you think we need something faster?”

“No. It won’t make enough difference to matter.” Jason winked at Go. “Just don’t expect a comfortable ride.”

Go pulled the environment suit closer. “Comfort’s the last thing on my mind right now, mate.”

“Then you’ll be fine.”

Jason strolled to the back of the craft, where a ramp awaited them. It was the same dull, scuffed gray–white as the orbital’s outer hull, the sort of look easily associated with something reliable and proven. The ramp ended at the entry to a small airlock, which was open into the cargo area. Beyond that, there was a small forward cabin with seats installed.

It was a tight squeeze for someone of Go’s size. He fought the urge to complain about all the space given over to cargo. The arguments made sense—emergency medical supplies, spare environment suits and oxygen, batteries, and tools were a necessary part of the plan.

That didn’t make squeezing into the cramped seating area any more pleasant.

Hunched over, twisted, constantly banging his elbows and knees against the walls, he pulled his environment suit on. His helmet was already stuffed beneath his chair. When he squeezed into the seat, he checked once again just to be sure everything was secured and easily accessible.

Then he pressed back against the seat and closed his eyes.

Rosario squeezed his hand. “You’re going to be okay.”

There was nothing to do but nod. She wouldn’t understand the anxiety gnawing at him. With only a few hours before departure and him being pressed into assisting with the cargo loading, there hadn’t been time to search for Pardis. She still wasn’t responding, and there was still no hint of where her earpiece was.

Offline. It could be anywhere in the galaxy for all he knew.

Rosario secured herself to her seat. She didn’t complain about her knees being pressed against the wall before her. She didn’t even seem to care about the way the environment suit made her look fat. Her focus was on the mission.

Just like his should be.

Go leaned as far toward her as he could and stole a look into the cockpit. Jason was busily cycling through systems checks, while Ash fiddled with his shoulder holsters. They looked ridiculous on the outside of his environment suit. Unlike their pale blue suits, his was a firetruck red. The holsters and guns were a glossy black that immediately caught the eye.

Using firearms in near-vacuum, low gravity environments took training. Ash apparently believed he would be fine, so long as he looked badass enough.

Jason seemed to reach his limit, turning to stare at Ash. “Are you planning to take your gloves off to shoot those guns?”

Ash pulled one of the weapons with a little effort, then dramatically removed the trigger guard. “Nope.”

“How about you help me with the last of the flight check?”

“You’re the pilot, right?”

“Just run the diagnostics on the computers. That green button to your right.”

“Why don’t you check it yourself. You seem to be pretty good at accessing things you shouldn’t.”

Jason shook his head. “At least you’ve got your guns.”

“At least I do.”

For all the good those guns would do. If they were flying into trouble, Go didn’t hold out much hope. Only Rosario had 0g combat training, and from what she’d said, it was minimal. The United States military believed in having its soldiers combat capable, but the military also believed that battles were best fought on the ground.

It was certainly cheaper that way.

Finally, Jason disappeared, leaning back in his seat. He and Ash hadn’t spoken since their earlier, chilly exchange. It was the worst time for infighting, but that’s how things worked with Ash.

The engines whined as they spun up.

Rosario sent a connection request to Go; he accepted. Her voice was loud and breathy in his ear. “You want to see it?”

Go twisted in his seat and caught the mischievous glow on her face. “See what?”

“Not what you’re thinking. The contract.”

“Yeah. Is it sweet as you wanted?”

“Sweeter.” She sent him a link.

They had Raul over a barrel. He knew it; they knew it. But he’d fought to the end, trying to haggle her down a point here, ten thousand dollars there. And looking the contract over, it had all been pointless.

She cooed. “Better than we had before.”

“All expenses covered. Same rates we had before. A big fat bonus upfront. And an extra…five percent?”

“On the net. But it’s still better than we had before.”

Go closed the contract. “Assuming they’re still alive up there.”

“They’ll be fine. That facility ran for years without a single incident. It’s all automated, and they have so many safeguards, anyone could stay up there for a year.”

The orbital shook as the engines powered up the rockets. They had minutes now, minutes where they would be pressed against their seats with G forces that would test their hearts and lungs. But even that was automated. Jason was there for emergencies only.

A deafening roar, and they were off, squeezed and pushed. Go tried to level off his breathing, not from the physical strain but from the fear, the sense of helplessness.

He focused on the case—the way things had been simplified, the suspects shifted around or eliminated.

He thought about Pardis and where she might be. Hiding, he told himself. Healing.

And he thought about Noelle, who had sent him an update while he was loading equipment into the orbital: Her lawyer had approved moving forward with the case.

As if he might find Christopher and Lilly banging away in a storage closet somewhere on the moon.

Maybe Noelle would want video for her own needs.

None of those were enough to distract Go from his big concern: Most of their money was tied to RPC succeeding and selling their OMI at a substantial price. If everyone on the moon was dead…

His gut churned. He was putting money over human life. He was focusing more on the RPC case—on Noelle’s case—than on what mattered: Pardis.

Go dictated a message for Donnell: Still can’t contact Pardis. Please have one of your constables swing by to check on her.

But Go knew it was pointless. Donnell was the chief constable, not a babysitter. That’s what he would say.

No one cared about a prostitute, about a young woman struggling to get by.

That was how monsters like Robbie got away with murder, maybe literally: No one cares.

It would have been different if Pardis were wealthy. She would have mattered. But she was poor and working the streets satisfying the dark kinks of a select segment of society.

So she mattered less.

The pressure in Go’s chest lightened, and it became easier to breathe. He leaned out from the seat, knowing from the lack of force keeping him in place what he would see when he looked out the front windscreen: the black of space.

They had escaped Newcastle. Now they were headed for the closer moon, and before long they would be at the facility.

His earpiece chimed: Jason. He was requesting a shared connection with Rosario.

“It’s just time now.” The driver’s voice was different, almost hollow. He had his helmet on. “Maybe four hours at full thrust.”

Rosario smiled at Go. “Four hours. We can handle that. Any problems?”

“You mean other than the usual?”

Go caught the frustration and annoyance in the other man’s voice. Ash was pushing the limit again. Go cleared his throat. “Not much help up there?”

Rosario massaged her forehead. “Can it wait?”

Jason clicked his teeth together. “You want to pass on the perfect opportunity to correct this problem? An airlock accident or an environment suit breach…” He chuckled. “Seriously, he’s psychotic. I’ve done everything I can to avoid conflict, but he seems determined to start something.”

“He’s part of the team.”

“I know. I saw the contract—oh, and nice work locking that down.”

“The team got us that contract. Remember that.”

“I will. I’d advise catching some sleep while you can. There’s no telling what we’ll find out there.”

The connection ended, and Go kept an eye on Rosario for a few minutes. She seemed to be taking the advice to heart, adjusting in her seat and closing her eyes. It was a good idea, but he couldn’t just turn his mind off. So many things could still go wrong—so many almost certainly had gone.

Yet the boredom caught up with him at some point, and he nodded off while thinking of solutions to problems he couldn’t fully frame.

And then his earpiece chimed again. “We’re approaching the facility.” Jason sounded fully alert.

Go straightened and rolled his neck. He felt stiff and sluggish. “Anything?”

“We’ll know in a minute. The big concern will be compromise of the structure. Might want to put your helmets on.”

Go loosened the harness and pulled the helmet free of the underside compartment. He pressed the dome down and locked it into place but kept the visor up. Rosario wrestled with hers, then finally got it to lock.

Jason sent the belly camera feed to them. “All right, here we go. You getting this okay?”

High-definition video showed a stony, gray surface riddled with craters and littered with rocks. A blocky, white structure was just ahead. It had a modular appearance—six or seven angular cubes connected so that they looked like one.

There were no holes, no gashes or tears, no obvious signs of damage.

Thrusters fired, driving Go forward against the harness, then the video stabilized, locking on a rectangular indentation in one of the walls.

Rosario leaned forward in her seat. “Is that the airlock?”

Jason sucked in a breath. “It is. And we’ve got a problem.”

“What? It looks intact.”

It did look intact. Once again, there were no holes or tears or anything else. And yet…

A red square flashed over the airlock. Jason updated their AR with text. “You see what I’m labeling there?”

Go’s breath caught. “Those are supposed to be indicator lights?”

“Yes. And they’re supposed to be on—red or green or even white. I didn’t notice it until now, but there’s not a light working on the outside of that facility.”