“Right this way,” I gestured.
Together, we ran to the hole. Her a little slower than me because I’d just smacked the shit out of her shin.
She dove through and I followed her. We scrambled through the air shelter and into the connector tunnel. I closed the hatch behind us.
“Where does this lead?!” she demanded.
“Away from here,” I said.
We ran down the connector.
Dale peeked his head through the rover airlock. He’d taken off his EVA suit.
Sanchez leapt into the rover and I followed immediately after. I slammed the rover hatch closed.
“We still have to detach the inflatable!” he said.
“No time,” I said. “We’d have to suit up to do that. Drive away at max torque to rip the tunnel.”
“Hang on,” Dale said. He punched the throttle.
The rover lurched forward. Sanchez fell off her seat. I kept position at the rear window.
The rover had insane torque, but there’s only so much traction to be had on lunar regolith. We only got a meter before the tunnel jerked us to a stop. Sanchez, just getting up, fell forward onto Dale. She grabbed him around the shoulders for support.
“We have to get away from here,” she said. “There are methane and oxygen tanks in there—”
“I know!” I said. I shot a glance out the side window. A sharply sloped rock got my attention. I vaulted to the front of the rover and clambered into the shotgun seat. “I’ve got a plan. It’ll take too long to explain. Give me control.”
Dale flipped a switch in the center column to give my side priority. No argument, no questions, he just did it. EVA masters are very good at being rational in a crisis.
I threw the rover into reverse and backed up four meters.
“Wrong way,” Sanchez said.
“Shut up!” I turned toward the angled rock and put the rover into drive. “Hang on to something.”
She and Dale gripped each other. I threw the throttle to full.
We lunged at the rock. I steered the right front wheel over it and the whole rover bounced up at an angle. We hit the ground on the rover’s left side and rolled. We gave that roll cage a workout. The cabin was like a tumble dryer—I tried not to puke.
Here’s what I thought would happen: The inflatable would get all twisted up, which it wasn’t designed to handle, so it would rip. Then I’d use reverse and forward motions to grow the rip all the way around. Then we’d be free.
Here’s what actually happened: The inflatable took it like a champ. It was designed to have human occupants, so by God it would protect them no matter what. It didn’t rip. But the connection point to the rover airlock wasn’t as strong. The torsion from the twist sheared the bolts clean off.
The air inside the tunnel explosively burst forth, blowing the rover farther forward (note: lunar rovers aren’t designed to be aerodynamic). We skidded on our side for another meter, then fell ponderously onto our wheels.
We were free.
“Holy shit!” Dale said. “That was genius!”
“Uh, yeah.” I drove us away.
Whump!
The muted rumble lasted a fraction of a second. It was one of those sounds you feel more than hear.
“That was loud,” Sanchez said.
“No, it wasn’t.” Dale pried her arms off his shoulders. “I could barely hear it.”
“She’s right.” I kept my eyes on the terrain ahead as I drove. “That sound traveled through loose soil, up through the wheels, and into the cabin. The fact that we heard anything at all means it was loud as hell.”
I checked the rear camera feed. The bubble was intact, of course. It would take something nuclear to crack that open. The surprising part was my air shelter. It was right where I’d left it.
I slammed on the brakes. “Holy crap! You see that! My weld held up against the explosion!”
Sanchez scowled. “Pardon me if I don’t pat you on the back.”
“Seriously?” said Dale. “You’re going to brag right now?”
“I’m just sayin’. Hell of a weld.”
“Goddammit, Jazz.” He flipped the control switch back to his side.
He drove us back toward town. “You should call Svoboda and your dad to let him know you’re okay.”
“And you should call a lawyer,” said Sanchez. “I’ll see to it you get deported to Brazil to face charges.”
“Think so?” I pulled out my Gizmo and called Svoboda. He didn’t answer—it went to voicemail.
“Uh-oh,” I said.
“Problem?” Dale asked.
“Svobo’s not answering.” I called again. Voicemail again.
“Maybe someone got to him?” Dale said.
I turned to Sanchez. “You got any more goons in Artemis?”
“I see no reason to cooperate with you.”
“Don’t fuck with me on this. If my dad or friend gets hurt I’ll send you back to Brazil a piece at a time.”
“I don’t have ‘goons’ at all. Those types don’t answer to me.”
“Bullshit,” I said. “Your nose is so far up O Palácio’s ass you can see teeth.”
She scowled. “They’re the ownership. I’m not one of them.”
“You’re partners!”
“The bottom fell out of the aluminum market when Artemis stopped building new bubbles. I needed funds to continue. They offered rescue financing. I took it. They do their thing and stay out of my way while I run my smelter. A smelter I poured my life and soul into, which you just destroyed, you reckless puddle of exudate!”
“Don’t think I won’t look that up!”
I dialed Dad’s number and held the Gizmo to my ear. Each successive unanswered ring raised my blood pressure.
“No answer from Dad.” I drummed my fingers on the control console.
Dale drove with one hand and pulled out his Gizmo. “Try Lene, I’ll try Bob.”
I called Lene’s number. It rang and rang. I hung up when it went to voicemail. “Nothing,” I said.
“Bob’s not answering either,” Dale said.
We exchanged nervous glances.
“Maybe Rudy caught wind of it and arrested everyone….” I pondered. I hovered my thumbs over the Gizmo and pursed my lips. Calling the police in the middle of a heist wasn’t the best plan. Logically I should have waited until we were back in town—they’d be just as arrested then. But I couldn’t wait.
I called his number. Four rings and out. I hung up.
“Jesus,” I said.
“Seriously?!” Dale said. “Even Rudy’s not answering? What the hell’s going on?”
Sanchez pulled out her own Gizmo and tapped at the screen.
“Hey!” I grabbed at her Gizmo, but she pulled it away before I could get it. “Gimme that!”
“No,” she said crisply. “I need to know if my people got back safely.”
“Bullshit! You’re calling for help!” I lunged at her. She dragged us both to the floor.
“Knock it off!” said Dale.
She tried to swing at me but only had one hand to work with—the other had a death grip on her Gizmo. I blocked and slapped her across the face. Oh God it felt good to get a hit in.
“Stop that shit!” Dale yelled. “If you idiots hit the wrong button we all die!”
“You told that harvester to kill me! Admit it!” I swung at her.
She dodged to the side and hammer-locked my arm. “Of course I did! How dare you try to destroy my life’s work!”
“Goddammit!” Dale skidded the rover to a halt.
He waded into the fray and pried Sanchez and me apart. Despite what you see in action movies and comics, bigger really is better. A six-foot man just has too much of an edge over two slim women.
“Listen, assholes,” he said. “I’m too gay to enjoy this catfight. Knock it off or I’ll bash your heads together.”
“Language.” Sanchez resumed dialing her Gizmo.
“Would you stop her, please?” I said to Dale.
“If she can reach anyone I’ll be happy.” He let us both go, but kept a wary eye on me. Somehow he assumed I was the aggressor. Just because I wanted to claw that bitch’s eyes out and shove them up her urethra.
Sanchez listened to the Gizmo for a response. Her expression grew fearful by the second. She hung up.
Dale looked to me. “Now what?”
“Since when am I the leader?”
“This whole heist is your deal. What do we do now?”