Free MoonRush by Carolyn McCray, Ben Hopkin

Simon standing next to him. “Do you know a pilot?”
    “Cash up front?” the little man asked.
    Jarod swallowed. No, no he did not have cash up front. Maybe he had something equally valuable. “Did you see the Porsche out front?” Simo n nodded. Dear God , was he really considering this? Putting his baby down as collateral? But he had to have faith. Faith they could make it to the moon. Faith they would find star diamonds. Faith that they would make enough to buy Jarod’s car back — and so much more. “How do you feel about bartering?”
    Simon’s grin looked like it would leap off his face. He pulled out a baseball cap and shoved it onto his head. When he lowered his hands, the NASA emblem blazed . I ts white lettering was stark against the bright blue background.
    Jarod’s jaw drop ped , one word managing to escape past his shock. “You?”
    The little person pointed to the symbol on his hat. “Passed everything but the height requirement.” He pivoted on his heel and swaggered back to the gate.
    Jarod could do nothing bu t follow in his tiny footsteps.
    * * *
    Cleo stared out of the motel room window, her hand resting on the sill. She could almost see the sign outside from where she stood . What was the name of this place? The Sunshine Mountain? No. The Sunshine was back in Ohio. Mountain Light? Not quite. Wasn’t there a Terrace Light in Arizona? Mountain View. Of course. How could she forget the name Mountain View when there wasn’t so much as a bump in the road for as far as the eye could see? West Texas was not only flat — it was hot, dry and, from what Cleo could see, entirely composed of dust.
    As she stepped back from the window, she pulled peeled paint away as she lifted her hand . Taking a closer look, Cleo realized it wasn’t just paint. A black smear of what looked to be A spergillus terreus , a common house mold. It wasn’t generally toxic, but, combined with the three other species she had found in the bathroom, it didn’t make Cleo want to spend any more time here.
    Turning back toward the room, Cleo saw Rob on the bed, one of his prosthetics in his lap, tinkering with one of the many gadgets he had designed for the false limb. If airport security had any idea of what those attachments were capable of, they never would have been able to catch a flight on time.
    Buton was at the desk . H is fingers flowed over his laptop, working on a paper for publication, consulting for some bigwig somewhere, or possibly even researching their upcoming trip to the moon. He rarely shared much about what he was up to. Cleo supposed that should make him a bad traveling companion, but it gave her space to think.
    Just as she was about to give up on her vigil and eat some reheated Pizza Rolls before digging into outfitting the med kit, Cleo caught the sound of a car engine revving behind her and glanced back. So, she was the first and only member of the crew to watch the bright red Porsche pull up to the curb…way too fast…and kick up a huge spray of gravel as Jarod slammed on the brakes.
    Jarod leapt out of the car almost before the hydraulic door had finished gliding open. He flicked his hand to start the lock mechanism. He was halfway across the street when he glanced around at his surroundings. Jarod seemed to take stock, stopp ing dead in his tracks and return ing to his car, undoing and then redoing the locks, his hands flapping with apparent fervor.
    From the spring in Jarod’s step, Cleo was hopeful that this might be the one they’d been waiting for. Although there was something furtive in his look. But when hadn’t there been since the Caribbean?
    Jarod banged open the motel room door with a flourish, his hip cocked at a jaunty angle.
    Cleo asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Find a ship?”
    “ You can thank me later,” Jarod said pointing his finger at her like a toy gun.
    Wow. Red flag on the play . Whenever Jarod got all cockeyed confident, there was a problem. A big problem. She