Crystal Rebellion (9 page)

Sid found Cheryl in her cabin after that and together they
changed out of the colony outfits. She faced away from him, and he watched,
fascinated, as subtle waves of muscle rippled across her back when she stepped
into her work scrubs.

He balled-up his colony garment and tossed it toward a
corner.

“You’re doing it again,” she said over her shoulder. “We’ve
talked about this and you know how it bothers me.”

He looked at the crumple of clothing. “What’s that,
sweetie?”

“You’re making group decisions without consulting Juice or
me. How do you think she feels when you do that? You know how
I
feel
about it.”

“I’m sorry.” He took a step in her direction and stopped.
While his refined intuition had guided him with a steady hand during world-threatening
dramas, it went silent whenever he tried to read Cheryl. “Is this about where
we wait? We can hide inside the colony if that’s what you want.”

She pivoted toward the door while keeping her back pointed in
his direction. The door hissed open, and she stepped into the hall.

“No. That’s not the point.”

From the quiet security of pad ring
two, Criss waited while the
Explorer
established orbit. Only the very rich
and powerful could afford to vacation on the luxury liner. These people wanted the
best of everything. And that translated into a ship supported by a dedicated
three-gen.

Criss assumed control of the crystal and, using its
credentials as cover, began his foray through the colony.

Working quickly, he isolated individual feeds at access
points away from the spline. Parsing through that flood of unprocessed information,
he distilled out facts. These answered most of his questions, but for every one
he answered, another rose to replace it.

With good news sparse, he encapsulated the larger issues for
his leadership. They gathered on the bridge of the scout, the craft itself
sitting in cloaked concealment in the older portion of the space field outside
Ag Port.

“Alex has a four-gen fab facility in final testing,” he
said, showing them a projected image of the production lab that Alex and Larry
had just left.

Juice, sitting in the pilot’s chair, duplicated the image at
a smaller scale on the ops bench in front of her. Then, zooming and swooping,
she examined the equipment.

“No way Alex could do this,” she said, gesturing toward the floating
image. “The guy is super smart.” Her eyes lost focus for an instant as she
flashed a hint of a smile. “But he’d need a lot of help to build this setup.”

“I agree,” said Criss. “Much of the four-gen project is classified
as a colony secret. For me to learn more, I need to enter a secure area
controlled by the Triada. I haven’t found a way do that without them knowing.”

“Will it work?” asked Cheryl, gesturing at the fab facility
in the image. Though she sat next to Sid in the seats behind Juice, she angled
her body away from him in a manner that reflected displeasure.

“Yes, I think it will,” said Criss. The group preferred he
speak with yes-no certainty rather than offer odds they must interpret. So he
didn’t tell them that he forecast the probability that it would work at just
over ninety-two percent. Or that the corollary was an eight percent chance it
would fail.

“Is the loyalty piece in there?” asked Sid.

A twinge at the edges of his cognition matrix signaled his
apprehension. “There are indications that the imprint module has been removed,
but to know for sure, I need access to the template, and that’s in the Triada’s
secure area.”

“Alex wouldn’t be able to do that either.” Juice shook her
head with certainty. “Loyalty imprinting is knitted into the cognition matrix
core. It’d take a lifetime trying to understand the nuances of all those connections.”

“So if it were true—if the loyalty piece is disabled,” said
Sid, “would you say that’s compelling evidence that the Kardish are here?”

“And yet I can find no sign of them in the feeds,” said
Criss. “And there are no traces of a Kardish vessel—cloaked or not—anywhere in the
solar system.”

Criss rubbed his chin with his fingers in a display of
concentration as he spun through his forecasting. “It would be most curious if
we found evidence of a Kardish presence in the Triada’s secure area.” Choosing
to raise his risk profile by a small amount, he announced his decision. “I’m
going to take a peek.”

Maintaining a presence on the scout, he leaped a duplicate
awareness out to a small utility feed that ran parallel to the highly
surveilled spline. His reconnaissance showed it was unused. A cool glow soothed
his tendrils when he landed without incident.

Following the feed inbound, Criss rushed to his destination—the
multiplex. He approached slowly, staying under cover of the tangle of links and
feeds that ran in and out of this central hub.

As he neared the multiplex, he could sense heat radiating from
it. Confounded by what might be the cause, he leaped to the threshold, took a
snapshot scan of the interface array, and retreated to safety.

Back in the tangle of links and feeds, he checked his scan
and found that something had corrupted the snapshot. Adding redundancies to his
procedure, he returned and snapped a second scan. This one suffered the same
fate.
Huh
.

He’d expected there to be millions of connections scattered
across the interface like bright stars in a nighttime sky. Instead, he saw daytime.
Glowing like the sun, one link dominated everything, shining so bright he
couldn’t see anything else.

The feed to the eastern spur—the one with the craggy tunnel running
out to a mining operation—churned at an astronomical rate. Criss estimated it
would take hundreds of three-gens to process such a flood of information.

Adding this discovery to his forecasting, a new scenario rose
in likelihood.

Back on the scout, he turned to his leadership to introduce
the idea. And in a scene that had happened before—each time catching Criss by surprise—Sid
verbalized the idea ahead of him.

“Could the crystal be here without the Kardish? Is there any
way that makes sense?”

* * *

Ruga watched through Larry’s eyes as
the blood drained from Alex’s face.

“Did you say Juice?” Alex moved his hair behind his ear. “Your
plan is for her to operate the ICEU, even though she’s never seen it or this
lab before?”

“You’ll be here to help her,” Ruga said through Larry. He
had Larry step back, increasing the distance from Alex and reducing any
suggestion that Larry might be a physical threat. “This makes it a team
activity. You fabricate the crystal lattice, she embeds the intelligence, and
you wake me up.”

Ruga’s alarm spiked at his blunder—he’d just had Larry say, “you
wake
me
up.” When Alex continued without reacting to his gaffe, Ruga’s
concern moderated.

“Have you asked her?

“I haven’t.” Ruga shook Larry’s head as he spoke. “Do you
think she’ll say no?” When Alex didn’t answer, Ruga continued, “I believe she’ll
be eager to help with this historic activity.”

Alex seemed to deflate, and he gave Larry a long stare. “I’m
done for today. I’m going home.” Walking the few steps to the door, he turned
partway back as if he were going to say something, then continued into the hall
without a word. The door whispered shut behind him.

Ruga, seeking to practice human behavior, shrugged to the
empty room. Then he stepped into the hallway and looked both ways. Alex was
gone, but a young couple—members of the Tech Assembly lost in a personal
conversation—drifted down the corridor in his direction.

After that first time in Ag Port when he had leaped into a
Green, Ruga had limited his awareness projections to private settings with
one-on-one interactions, like when he posed as Larry and worked with Alex in
the lab. At this moment, the challenge of being among random strangers in a
public space excited him.

He started toward the couple, his cognition matrix tingling
in anticipation. When they ignored him, the sensation swelled to delight.
They
don’t see me!
A grin crept onto Larry’s face and Ruga caught himself.
You’re
just a Blue going about your everyday business.

Verda had his Greens smile as a default when in public,
believing it encouraged community. Ruga preferred that his Reds show a stern
expression when out and about. He’d learned that the more his synbods scowled,
the greater the cooperation they received from colony residents.

And Lazura, interested in fostering an intellectual
environment, had her Blues show a range of expressions that varied depending on
circumstances. With that in mind, Ruga assumed a neutral demeanor that he hoped
suggested “contemplative openness,” a term Lazura used on occasion.

He passed by the pair in the hallway with a polite nod, then
entered the tech center stairwell, descended three floors, and exited into a
clean, simple hallway much like the one he’d just left. Turning right, he
stopped at a door labeled:
Crystal
R&D, Dr. Marcus Procopio
.

Ruga opened the door and peered inside. He’d asked Lazura to
create a reason for Marcus to be out of the building today. Since Marcus was a
member of the Tech Assembly, she could do so without raising suspicion.

But she’d been showing an increased reluctance to cooperate,
and she never said one way or the other if she would follow up on his request.
Thank
you, Lazura
, he thought as he stepped into the unoccupied room. He made a
mental note to deliver that message when he was done being Larry.

The door closed behind him, and Ruga took a moment to absorb
the chaos that was Marcus’s workspace. Intricate bits of technology, some small
and shiny, others blocky with colorful connectors, were scattered about,
creating an impressive disarray.

Stepping around a housing sheath and over a power unit, Ruga
approached a broad table. Someone—presumably Marcus—had pushed everything aside
to make a clearing. In the center of the space lay a mobile carry-pack.

Ruga lifted the carry-pack onto his shoulders and felt the case
mold against his back. Marcus had constructed the portable unit to give power
and connectivity to a four-gen AI, with the fist-sized crystal itself cradled inside
a protective mesh shell. This particular unit—Marcus’s most advanced design to
date—should let Ruga function at about half his new capacity until he could be
placed into a permanent four-gen console.

Taking the mobile carry-pack with him, Ruga returned to
Alex’s lab. He maintained a neutral demeanor in the hallway, and to his relief,
the few people he saw ignored him. When the fab facility door shut behind him,
his nervous tension drained away. Caught up in the physicality of being in a
synbod, he had Larry sigh.

Then, moving with focused efficiency, he placed the carry-pack
on the tech bench and squared the unit in front of him. Opening up the top flap,
he shifted the connective mesh to one side. This exposed a slide circuit, distinguished
by the black wafers positioned across its surface.

Selecting a hand tool with a thin, flat head, he jiggled the
tip under one of the wafers and wiggled it back and forth until the wafer
popped free.

The wafer looked like all the others, except this one was a
kill chip that Marcus had added late one night. It wasn’t a traditional kill
chip that cut power to the pack when commanded. This kind exploded with enough
force to kill both the crystal in the pack and whoever was carrying it.

Holding the wafer between thumb and forefinger, Ruga had Larry
utter a sound used to judge others. “Tsk.” Then he snapped it in half and dropped
the pieces into the disposal chute. Returning the slide circuit and connective
mesh to their proper positions, he closed the carry-pack and set it on the
floor behind the tech bench.

Alex’s schedule for the day called for a dry run of the
crystal growth sequence, with Larry designated as the party responsible for
this hours-long chore.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Ruga informed Larry. Disengaging from
the synbod, he cruised the spline, shifting his focus to Alex. He watched the
man return home, eat dinner, and climb into bed. Alex liked routine, and he
behaved just as Ruga expected.

So Ruga was caught off guard when, after watching the man fall
asleep, Alex opened his eyes and snapped upright. Swinging his feet to the
floor, Alex sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the darkness.

He sat unmoving for several minutes, then rose, filled a
glass with water in the kitchen, and padded over to his front door. Stepping
onto the porch, he stared outward and sipped his water.

Ruga had never before witnessed such behavior from the man.

The new routine didn’t last. After a half-dozen sips, Alex returned
to bed and drifted to sleep. He didn’t surface until his usual wake time the
next morning.

Ruga analyzed the bedroom scene again and again, viewing it from
different angles and using a full suite of assessment algorithms. He couldn’t find
any external event that explained Alex’s break in routine.

Cheryl squeezed the handrail in a
death grip as the floor and walls shook. Looking out at the desolate Mars
landscape, she rode inside a flexible tube that wriggled out from the Ag Port
dome like an enormous leech. Her ride was short but harrowing, and then the
tube latched onto the exterior of the shuttle. A sucking sound signaled a tight
seal and the rise of air pressure.

“You good?” Sid asked. With the connection to the ship
complete, she now squatted in an enclosed passageway leading from the Ag Port
dome out to the newly arrived shuttle. He squatted across the corridor holding
a matching handrail.

They could see each other, but they both had Criss-designed
personal cloaks that hid their presence—sight, sound, and smell—from everyone
else. And, for the moment, they both also wore space coveralls—the lightweight,
flexible spacesuits needed for crossing the planet surface from the scout.

“All good,” she replied.

“Criss?” asked Sid.

“So far so good. I’ve started a full diagnostic. It takes a
few minutes to complete.”

Criss still resided in his console on the bridge of the scout
and would remain there until they returned to Earth. A primary goal of this excursion
was to verify that the locus relay—the one Juice had built and Cheryl now
carried—functioned as designed. After Criss confirmed he could use it to
project himself into the colony and establish a secure command and control
capability while avoiding exposure in the spline, Juice could enter the colony to
visit Alex.

A mechanical clunk signaled the opening of the main shuttle hatch.
Moments later, a group of well-dressed senior citizens, passengers from the
Explorer
,
walked between Cheryl and Sid, chirping in excitement at this next stage of
their vacation adventure.

With Sid at her side, Cheryl rose and followed the group
through the containment airlock and into the immigration area. Opening the
clear hoods of their coveralls as they walked, both let the flexible helmets
drape down their backs.

The seniors queued up in line at the visitor processing
station. Sid and Cheryl walked around the group, through the small concourse, and
out into the domed world of Ag Port.

“Wow,” Cheryl said, looking up. She’d found the huge faceted
structure to be beautiful when viewed from the outside. But standing beneath the
enormous protective shell and experiencing the wonderment of its complex splendor
from the inside was a whole new thrill.

Still looking up, she said, “I’m chafing in these coveralls.
Let’s find a place to change.”

They moved to a low stone wall to avoid children playing
nearby. After standing for a moment, Cheryl’s annoyance flared when she
understood Sid was waiting for her to make a decision. She pointed up at the
branches of a tree. “Let’s change there.”

“Okay,” he said, looking up where she pointed.

“Dammit, Sid. Stop.”

His brow knitted the way it might if he were trying to
decipher the Dead Sea Scrolls.

“The stakes are too high for games. You can lead. Sneaking
about is your skill.” She let her jab hang out there for a moment before she
continued. “But if there’s a choice with no clear answer, ask my opinion. Why
is that so hard?”
It hurts that you don’t include me
, she added to
herself. Aloud she asked, “Criss, how are you doing?”

“I can move about freely. Even from the inside, though, I
find that the Triada’s secure area is too well protected for me to gain access without
their knowledge. I’m strong enough to force my way in, but I don’t recommend it.
Not yet.”

“So we’re a bust?” asked Sid. He stepped out of his space
coveralls and crumpled the suit into a ball small enough to hold with one hand.

Giving hers a final crease, Cheryl tucked her folded suit
under her arm. “Where should we store these?”

“At the end of the wall.”

Cheryl looked where Criss suggested and saw a soft glowing
arrow floating like a ghostly street sign about twenty paces away.

The locus gave Criss access to his full capabilities while
in the colony, and he’d used that power to infiltrate the colony systems, assign
himself designer status, and build a camouflaged node. From inside this sanctuary,
he could manipulate anything while hiding from everything. Using the colony photon
casters, he’d created a floating arrow for his leadership—an arrow only they
could see.

“And we’re not a bust,” Criss answered as Cheryl and Sid
moved to the end of the wall. “But a pointed conversation between Juice and
Alex has risen in importance. He’s involved in ways I had not understood, and his
insights could provide clues to the secrets hidden in the Triada secure area.”

A small brown utility shed sat off the end of the wall, and
another arrow directed their gazes to the eaves of its simple roof. Sid reached
up to explore.

“The inside sill will serve as a hidden shelf,” Criss said.

Sid stuffed his coveralls into the space Criss identified.
Cheryl handed Sid her suit, and keeping it neatly folded, he laid it next to
his.

She looked up into the eaves from different angles and confirmed
that passersby could not see the suits. Centering her pendant—the core of
Criss’s new cloaking technology—she turned her gaze out across the farming
community.

“Alex arrives by tram in twenty minutes,” said Criss. “If
you start now, you can see him in the market square on his way out to his
community garden.”

Glowing arrows appeared along the ground, tracing a path to
their destination. Criss offered a circuitous route that hugged large physical
objects like fences and buildings so they could avoid collisions with moving things
like people and vehicles. Sid took off at a fast clip along the route Criss
suggested. Cheryl scurried to catch up.

They maintained an aggressive pace, marching next to a broad
road that edged a huge grow tier. The path looped around the structure, crossed
a street, and then entered an expansive herb garden that bordered the market square.

Basil, mint, rosemary—more than a dozen herbs with culinary
and medicinal value—grew in nooks formed from the jumble of sharp rocks. While an
ingenious use of problematic space and an attractive visual display, the
jutting stones added peril to their journey.

“Ow,” Cheryl said under her breath when she stubbed a toe on
an outcropping.

Sid stopped and shot out a hand to steady her. She’d caught
herself with a stutter step but grabbed his hand, anyway.
You are a good man,
she thought, warming to his attentive behavior. She kept her hand in his for a
fraction of a second longer than was necessary for the situation. Then Sid turned
and resumed their trek.

Veering away from the path Criss proposed, Sid worked his
way down a gentle slope and onto a walkway leading to the market square. Foot
traffic was light, and Cheryl tucked in behind him, matching his stride as he
weaved back and forth to avoid oncoming pedestrians.

He slowed to a stop and she peered around him to see why.

A man stood upright in a cart parked just off the walkway. From
that elevated position, he swept his gaze back and forth, scowling as he studied
the pedestrians in front of him. Dressed in a simple gray jumpsuit, he wore an outfit
unadorned except for a bright red patch on each shoulder.

Sid wrapped an arm around Cheryl’s waist and snugged her
close. “This way,” he whispered. Guiding her off the walkway and over near a
sturdy tree, he asked, “That’s one?”

“Yes,” Criss replied.

Another man, identical to the first, approached the cart and
stepped up next to his twin. This one dressed the same, though he had green
patches on his shoulders. Together they scanned the walkway, their heads swiveling
in unison as if they were physically connected.

“Are they looking for us?” Cheryl asked. “I thought we were safe.”

“I need a moment,” said Criss urgently.

Standing next to each other near the tree, they watched and
waited while Criss completed his action. After most of a minute, Cheryl felt
Sid’s hand slide down from her waist and come to rest on her bottom.

Anxious to get this spat behind them, she looked up at him. “I
feel like I have to be pissy for you to listen to me.”

He lifted his hand to her shoulder and gave her a quick hug.

“And I hate being that way, so it becomes this loop where I
get pissier because you’re making me be pissy.”

Sid kissed her once on the top of her head. His hand slid
back to her bottom.

Returning their attention to Criss, Sid said, “Searching for
intruders using synbods doesn’t make sense. Why aren’t they scanning with sensors?”

“They are,” Criss replied. “The synbods are here to capture
you once they locate you.”

The back of Cheryl’s neck tingled. “Should we be heading
back to the scout?”

“Everything is fine now.” Floating arrows appeared,
directing them back to the walkway and toward the market square. “I’ve switched
your cloak functions from your pendants to my personal control so I can tweak
the strategy. This problem will resolve.”

As Criss finished speaking, both synbods sat down in the
cart. The Red engaged the vehicle and, pointing it toward the market, drove
away.

Sid followed Criss’s arrows back onto the walkway. He
accelerated his pace, and Cheryl, seeking to create a small profile, again tucked
in behind him and matched his stride. They were most of the way to the market
square when Sid said, “Looks like we get one of every color today.”

Cheryl peeked around him and saw a synbod—this one with blue
patches on his shoulders—coming in their direction. As the Blue drew even with
them on the walkway, he pivoted his head in a sudden movement and locked eyes
with Cheryl.

Her heart rate spiked when their eyes connected. They
remained locked for two full steps, the Blue swiveling his head as he moved
past so he was looking back over his shoulder. Then he turned forward and,
never breaking stride, continued walking as if nothing had happened.

“Holy hell.” She took several deep breaths. “Did you see
that?”

“Yes,” Criss answered.

“What does it mean?”

“It means there’s more than one Kardish crystal here in the
colony.”

“Is it two? Ten? A hundred?” Sid’s impatience was palpable.

“I have identified two signatures. I’m searching for more.”

“Are we safe?” Cheryl asked for the second time.

“Yes. I apologize for the hiccups. You had a brief exposure back
there, but I’m ahead of it now.”

Cheryl moved next to Sid and they walked side-by-side. They
reached the open courtyard of the district market without further incident, and
though the crowds were thin, the street vendors were out in force.

Criss directed them to a spot near the Rosa Fresh food stand,
and Alex arrived a few minutes later. He purchased a vegetable wrap mix, took a
bite while exchanging pleasantries with the woman serving the food, and then moved
to a park bench near the edge of the square.

Cheryl sidled up to the cart and, standing on her tiptoes,
looked over the serving counter. Her mouth watered when Rosa lifted a scoop of
her delicious-smelling vegetable mélange from a pot, ladled it into a flatbread
speckled with herbs, and folded it just so.

As Rosa held the mix out for the next customer, Cheryl breathed
in the rich aroma and sighed. “Those look so good.” Then she beamed a smile at
Sid. “Can we come here for a mix when we land for real?”

“Anything for you, my sweet.” He gestured toward Alex with
his head. “But for now, let’s go watch our mark.”

Don’t call him that when Juice is listening.
She kept
the thought to herself, though. She didn’t want to correct him when they were in
the process of making up.

They worked their way around the park bench so they could see
Alex from the front. He’d just started in on his meal when a woman approached.
She walked with exaggerated stealth, conveying the notion of teasing him.

Then she sat down and slid over until her hip pressed firmly
against his. She wrapped an arm around his neck, whispered in his ear, and kissed
his cheek.

Cheryl’s shock turned to outrage when the woman got on her
hands and knees on the bench. “Anya wants a taste.” Ignoring onlookers watching
her antics, she wiggled an imaginary tail. “Feed me.”

Alex laughed and held the mix while she took a bite.

Anya Gerhardsson then curled up on the bench, rested the
side of her head squarely in Alex’s lap, and chewed while she looked out at the
gardens of Ag Port.

Blood flushed Cheryl’s face, causing her ears to roar. “I’ll
give you a taste.” She started forward but a firm hand on each shoulder stopped
her.

A growl rose from her throat as she rotated out of Sid’s
grip. Sid raised his hands, palms forward, showing surrender.

Cheryl ceased her struggle and, frowning, turned back toward
Alex. “Poor Juice. What will I tell her?”

* * *

Juice sat at the ops bench and
monitored Sid and Cheryl during their mission. They’d agreed that one person would
stay back and watch from the scout during these cloaked expeditions, prepared
to help if the situation devolved and ready to protect Criss should a threat
appear.

The mission was two hours old before Sid and Cheryl even got
inside the colony’s containment shell. Juice, thinking of the long stretch
ahead, stood up from the pilot’s chair and stretched.

“I’m going to get a coffee,” she told Criss, who sat in his
overstuffed chair to the side. “Want anything?” She enjoyed engaging Criss in
this fashion and he seemed willing to play along.

“No, thanks. But I appreciate the offer.”

She filled her cup at the food service unit and took small
sips of the hot brew as she made her way back to the bridge. Slumping into the
pilot’s chair, she rested her head on the back of the seat and let her
attention drift.