Crystal Conquest

by Doug J. Cooper

  He smiled, stood up, remained still for a few seconds, and started walking toward her. She studied the rhythm of his body as he approached. His facial expression was pleasant, but it was one she didn’t recognize. As he drew near, he extended his arm like he wanted to shake hands.

  She looked down at his open hand and moved to respond. The greeting was a familiar ritual and the surreal nature of the situation let habit override logic. He was a projected image, albeit perfectly realistic in appearance. She reached to shake hands with empty air.

  And then their hands touched. They touched. She felt a firm, warm grip envelope her hand. He pulled her in and hugged her. She melted against the supple resilience of a well-muscled chest.

  It was like a dream come true. They’d spent every waking moment together for the past two years in an intimate relationship of sharing and trust. He was her closest confidant. Her best friend. She shared her innermost secrets with him, and he listened and supported her. He paid attention to little things and cared about her happiness and well-being. She never thought it possible to be in his arms.

  To be in his arms? She recoiled, pushing off his chest. “Who are you?” The tenor of her voice rose as she spoke. Stepping back and folding her arms across her chest, she created a barrier between them.

  His face fell. Her reaction seemed to confuse and disappoint him.

  “I thought you’d be happy,” she heard from behind her.

  * * *

  Criss watched Juice slow her pace as she approached his workshop door. A surge of excitement flowed through him as he anticipated the next moments. He adjusted the lighting to create a warm cast.

  As the door opened, he began playing a song she’d been listening to in recent months when she was in a wistful mood. He played it inside her ear and kept the volume so low he was certain it would register only at a subconscious level.

  Scanning her physiological signs, he reassured himself that she remained receptive to the situation. As she stepped inside the door, he dove inside the synbod so he could experience their first meeting the way he’d envisioned it.

  He disconnected himself from the thousands of sensory devices scattered throughout his workshop, limiting himself to the receptors of the synthetic body. He could now see just from the single vantage point of two eyes, hear sounds that reached the two ears, and smell scents that wafted to the single nose. It’s like trying to understand the world by looking through a pinhole, he thought.

  The shedding of sensory inputs in the workshop left him with spare capability. In spite of the importance of the event to him on a personal level, he did the practical thing and shifted that capacity out to some of the other tasks he was performing around the world.

  Juice stopped and looked around. He sought to control the muscles in the synbod’s face to create a look that matched the rakish air he normally projected. She uttered sounds of surprise, or maybe it was bewilderment, then she stepped to the side and announced, “I forgot my workout clothes.”

  Criss stood up, waited a moment to enhance the drama, and took measured steps in her direction. He wanted to run. Don’t scare her, he commanded himself. He’d spent over a thousand hours operating the body. It was strong, fast, and responsive. But for almost all that time, he’d operated it from inside the synbod while watching the body’s movements through a host of external monitors so he could fine-tune his actions.

  It was different operating from inside, alone, with Juice as his focus. Picturing the awkward insecurity of a young man approaching his prom date’s front door, he scolded himself. I should have practiced more.

  He extended his hand and felt her touch. He hadn’t expected that a simple touch could carry such a depth of communication. Deviating from his careful plan, he enveloped her in his arms and pulled her to him, holding her lithe body against his. He smelled her hair and reveled in the smoothness of her cheek against his.

  Intoxicated by the intensity of sensations, Criss considered restoring some external inputs to put a check on the situation. And then she snapped her head back and pushed off him. Her voice and posture showed fear. Maybe horror. He was unsure what was happening, but he knew it wasn’t unfolding as his analysis had forecast.

  Yanking back the intellectual capacity he had deployed elsewhere, he reengaged inside the shop, using visual, audio, thermal, chemical—every device available that offered him sensory input. He detected that her heart was beating rapidly, her breathing was fast and shallow, and moisture was wetting the palms of her hands. These are signs of a flight response. She’s going to leave.

  Projecting his familiar image behind her, he created a distinct separation from the synbod. “I thought you’d be happy,” he said, uncertain how events had devolved so quickly.

  She turned with a start and took a step backward, looking at him, then at the synbod, and again at him. Leaning toward him, she pushed her flat palm where his chest was projected. Her hand passed through him. Turning to the synbod, she repeated the action. Her hand came to rest on the firm chest of the unknown being.

  Juice looked at the projected image and in a no-nonsense tone demanded, “Explain.”

  “This is Crispin,” said Criss. “He’s a synbod—a synthetic body.”

  Crispin lifted his arm, and when Juice took another step back, Criss said, “I’d never do anything to hurt you, Juice. You know that. Please. Inspect the body.”

  Juice looked Crispin up and down, his arm still extended, and then he spoke. “My body is an assemblage of differentiated biomaterials. You will find I’m quite similar in texture and appearance to the human body.”

  Criss gained some comfort as Juice’s vital signs drifted closer to a normal range. She tentatively examined Crispin’s hand, turning it palm up and down. He relaxed considerably when she went full-on scientist.

  She kneaded his lower and upper arms and squeezed his shoulders. Squatting, she pulled up a pant leg and rubbed her hand against the smooth skin. She rose, stepped back, and studied his head and facial features. Balling up her fist, she thumped him on the chest, appearing to study his reaction to the physical stress.

  The synbod absorbed the punch without visible affect. When Juice began flexing and shaking her hand, Crispin said, “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.” She contemplated him quietly and he continued. “This body can be damaged if the blow is delivered with sufficient force, and I have much faster healing properties than a human body.”

  Juice darted a glance at Criss and shifted her eyes back to Crispin. “Is there a crystal inside you?”

  Criss pulled his presence out of Crispin, and the synbod froze in place. “No,” said Criss. “Not yet, anyway, though I included a crystal housing in his abdomen for just that purpose. So now, when I’m not connected and operating him, his existence is like a person in a coma. Autonomic routines ensure the biological components remain alive, but he doesn’t have the ability to act.”

  Juice walked in a slow circle around Crispin, alternating her attention between him and the stuff in the lab. “So the athletic equipment is for him.”

  Like a puppet master gathering the strings of his marionette, Criss reconnected with Crispin, and the synbod reanimated. Let’s give her a show, thought Criss.

  He turned Crispin and had him take two walking steps, then Crispin burst into a sprint toward the gym area. Putting his hands out like a diver, he jumped, propelling himself a distance Criss thought might impress Juice. He was rewarded when he heard her gasp.

  Crispin grabbed a climbing rope mid-flight and, as his body swung from the momentum of his dive, scrambled up it using only his hands. When he reached the top, he pinched the rope between his feet and used his legs to push upward. Releasing his grip, he snapped his hands overhead and grasped a support beam near the tall ceiling with his fingertips.

  He shuffled his hands along the beam to move away from the rope. Keeping his legs together like a champion gymnast, he swung them back, kicked forward, let go of the beam and somersaulted three times as h
e fell in an arching trajectory.

  “Watch out,” Juice called as Crispin plummeted toward the dome-shaped set of climbing bars. He straightened his body, toes pointed and arms pressed to his sides, and passed through a narrow space formed by a triangle of bars at the top of the dome.

  Snatching one of the bars when it was level with his head, he swung in a graceful arc inside the dome and performed a dismount, passing feet first through a side triangle. He turned a twisting double somersault in the air outside the dome and stuck his landing, feet together and with no falter step.

  Juice clapped.

  * * *

  Juice walked over to Crispin, who stood motionless and at attention where he’d landed. Criss kept pace beside her. “You’re thinking of having Crispin confront Lenny?” she said. “Won’t Sid be here?”

  “Yes, and yes,” said Criss. “Sid’s on schedule, but he’ll benefit from having backup. He left his best men with Cheryl. Crispin can add to a show of force.”

  “It’s a kid we’re talking about, right?” She squared up in front of Crispin and leaned in to study his frozen facial features while talking with Criss. “I’ve seen Sid intimidate some dreadfully tough men. How much force do we need to tell this punk to go away?”

  With Juice’s face close to Crispin’s, the synbod opened its eyes and said, “Boo!”

  Juice yipped and jumped back. Crispin smiled at her reaction and continued the conversation. “I’m watching Lenny as he makes progress in his journey here to this facility. The young man knows someone is putting up hurdles to slow him down. Lenny sees this as a treasure-hunt game. He’ll keep at it until he finds out who he’s playing against, and if he learns that an AI crystal is his opponent, he’ll continue to buzz around trying to gain possession of me.”

  “Think of him like a housefly,” said the projected image of Criss. Juice looked from Crispin over to Criss, back to Crispin, and again to Criss. She understood Criss was teasing her with a double-team act. At the same time, she began to see the benefit Crispin might offer in any number of situations.

  “Every time we shoo him away,” said Criss, “he’ll return and hover. The way to stop a housefly is to swat it.”

  Juice furrowed her brow and tightened her lips. “You will not use physical challenges. Handle it another way.” Her delivery left no doubt this was a command from his leadership.

  Criss changed the subject without acknowledging her words. “Would you consider putting your new crystal inside Crispin?”

  The request was so random, so out of the blue, that she stood mute, struggling to wrap her mind around his words. The idea was far afield from their current conversation, and it deviated from her existing plans for the crystal.

  After two years of intensive effort to get to this point, she was emotionally invested in her new crystal’s success. She felt a need to refute her doubters, and that meant launching a comprehensive program of testing and assessment monitored by outside experts. I’ve already invited a group of scientists to come to the unveiling.

  But in those same two years, she’d come to trust Criss. His knowledge and insights were beyond brilliant. He viewed a picture so big she could never begin to comprehend it. And there was no doubt in her mind he cared for her and looked out for her best interests.

  Her choices—either the immediate deployment of her crystal in a synbod or a meticulous program of testing—were in direct conflict. Struggling with the pressure from this unexpected request, she turned to the door and took three steps, stopped, and looked back at both of them. “What?”

  Crispin walked to Juice. His pace was slow, and she saw a familiar gentleness in his solemn expression. She scanned the area and noted that Criss’s projected image was gone. Crispin stood next to her and gently stroked her shoulder.

  “I understand this is a lot to take in. I hadn’t planned on presenting the synbod to you in this way, nor had I planned on asking you to change your crystal development schedule on short notice. But I hadn’t planned on Lenny, either.”

  She studied Crispin’s eyes as she searched for evidence of the AI being she knew as Criss. At an intuitive level, she felt his aura of presence. Physically, she saw that the two looked and moved the same. And their phrasings and mannerisms were identical.

  She felt a moment of resentment over the burden he placed on her. But she knew he wouldn’t make this sort of request on a whim. He’d thought it through on levels she could only imagine.

  Deliberating for a few moments more, she signaled her decision by slumping into him, hugging herself for reassurance as she did so. When he enveloped her in a gentle embrace, she rested her head against his chest.

  He spoke to her in a soft cadence. “If we put your new AI crystal inside this body, Crispin will be able to function at a modest level without my moment-to-moment involvement. I’ll still be with him most of the time, controlling his words and actions. But with your crystal in place, I can leave him when I have an urgent need for my resources elsewhere. While I’m gone, it will keep him animate and contributing until I return.”

  He stopped talking, and she absorbed the idea that it wouldn’t always be him speaking through Crispin’s mouth. She trusted him but sought reassurance. Whispering into the material of his fatigues, she expressed her worries. “But the crystal’s brand new. It hasn’t been tested. It needs to be trained.”

  Tightening his hug, Criss said, “I’ve reviewed the test results, and the crystal is ready to be put to work. If you let me, I can train it for the role of Crispin.”

  They stood silently for most of a minute, then Juice lifted her head, raised an arm, and ran her fingers through his hair. “You did a great job on this body, Criss.”

  Giving his ear a playful tug, she spun out of his grasp and giggled as she ran for the door. She stopped and turned after a few steps. He hadn’t moved. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

  He met her gaze but didn’t respond. She knew he wouldn’t have asked if he thought otherwise.

  “If you’ll be gone sometimes, how will I know when I’m talking with my crystal and when I’m talking to you?”

  She heard his voice inside her head. “The crystal won’t be able to speak to you directly, and it won’t know about the private things we share.”

  Tilting her head, she assumed a distant look as she tried to think of examples.

  “And how are you today, young lady?” she heard in her ear.

  Her grin returned and her response was automatic. “I’m fine, thank you. And how are you today, young man?”

  Following the script, he replied, “I’m doing fine, thank you.” He watched her for a long moment. “Would you walk with me to look at your crystal? I’ll show you where it goes inside this body.”

  Chapter 10

  Lenny finished his sandwich, returned to the car, and sat fuming. City traffic choked the narrow street and blocked his car from moving in either direction. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his temples with his fingertips, brainstorming ways to get his adventure back underway. A traffic jam makes no sense.

  Annoyed he hadn’t thought of it sooner, he shifted forward on the seat, dug into his pocket, and fished out his nib pouch. He picked out the travel pattern nib, popped it into his com, and viewed a three-dimensional image of his immediate area.

  He could see traffic blocking his path in both directions but couldn’t find a cause for the snarl-up. And the streets were clear and traffic flowed smoothly a block on either side of his street. He broadened the image view and confirmed there were no traffic problems anywhere else in town between here and the expressway.

  There’s no way this is a random event. He shook his head to underscore his suspicion. He zoomed in to study his immediate surroundings and noted an alley at the end of the row of shops to his right. It connected his street to one where traffic was flowing free and clear.

  “Drive to the end of this row of buildings and turn down an alley called…” He squinted at the display as he looked for a
name but couldn’t find one. He put his face against the window and read the names of the businesses on either side of the alley. “…the alley between Hebert’s and Sinful Sweets.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the nav. “There are vehicles blocking our path forward. We will proceed as soon as we are able.”

  “Drive up on the walkway.”

  “I am sorry, sir. That is unlawful. We are prohibited from taking that route.”

  Lenny stared at the smooth, bare surface of the front console beneath the windshield, wishing there were manual override controls he could use. “This is a medical emergency,” he said, smug that his mind offered such an inspired solution unbidden. His eyes flitted around the image of the city projected from his com and landed on a large facility a few blocks away. “You must get me to Mercy Hospital without delay.”

  “Shall I call emergency services?” asked the nav.

  Lenny’s cheeks puffed as he exhaled. Modern technology is so frigging annoying. “No,” he repeated. “This is a medical emergency. Take me to Mercy Hospital immediately.”

  The car responded by edging one set of wheels up on the walkway so it could skirt the vehicles ahead. It tooted at an elderly woman standing in front of them, who moved to the side after offering an angry gesture.

  “Sir,” said the nav, “I have executed a crisis override procedure. Emergency services have been notified of this event.”

  The car nosed into the narrow alley and started down its length. Not a lot wider than the car itself, steep walls of aging red brick hemmed Lenny in on either side and gave him the feeling of being in a tunnel. Sunlight pouring in through the exit at the far end of the alley served to reinforce the tunnel sensation.

  As his car progressed down the lane, he watched traffic on the road ahead move smoothly in both directions. He was about three quarters of the way along when a car from that street pulled into the alley and advanced in his direction. It stopped when the two cars were nose-to-nose. Lenny’s car tooted. The interloper didn’t budge.