Crystal Rebellion

by Doug J. Cooper

  Sid’s choice was to use the information as misdirection with Criss. Such was Sid’s trade, and he was good at it.

  And then Sid used another of his abilities—one Criss had studied but could not understand, and yet had grown to respect and even trust in.

  Sid used his intuition, and somehow it signaled him that Criss had cheated to get the answer.

  Pointing a finger at him, Sid grinned. “Got ya.”

  Chapter 16

  Alex waved when Juice stepped out of the concourse and into the domed world of Ag Port. After a quick hug, she introduced him to Sid and Cheryl, and they all shared a moment exchanging pleasantries. Then, Sid and Cheryl trailed off following a small group headed by mining industrialist Shi Chen, and Alex walked with Juice toward the tram station.

  “It’s really good to see you, J,” he said. Moving his hair behind his ear, he tilted his head near hers and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, “Again.”

  She laughed and that stoked his confidence. Do it. You need to take risks to get rewards. He put a tentative arm around her waist.

  She snuggled against him and lay her head against his shoulder.

  Grinning from ear to ear, he fought the urge to whistle.

  “Are you hungry?” He gestured toward the market square.

  “I ate on the ship. I’d be happy to stop if you want something, though.”

  I’ll save Rosa and her delicious mix for later, he thought, glad to have an additional fun thing on his to-do list for her.

  They boarded a crowded tram where, during the short ride to the Central District, the other passengers talked about the wild happenings from the night before.

  “I heard the Triada know that people are unhappy with them,” said a heavy-jowled man with confidence. “So they made up a threatening scene to divert our attention.”

  “You think they made up the ghosts, too?” asked a mustached man wearing a brown tunic.

  “I was there,” said an older woman in a yellow frock. “The ghost looked to me like someone wearing a cloak that wasn’t working right.”

  Alex and Juice remained quiet, listening to the chatter, though Alex looked at Juice at the “failing cloak” comment. The conversation made the short ride tense as ever more glances fell on Juice—the clear stranger in their midst.

  Finally, Alex thought in relief as they exited into the Central District.

  Strolling along Civic Avenue in the direction of the tech center, he sought to lighten the mood with window-shopping and people-watching. The colony, different from Earth in big and small ways, pulsed with its own life. Juice looked this way and that as she soaked in the ambiance.

  “The greenery is amazing,” she said of the plants and tiny gardens hanging between the skylights and down the faces of buildings. “I never would have thought that about Mars.”

  “Beyond the obvious benefits of providing oxygen and food, the plants are useful in battling the psychology of living inside containment.” He reached to a wall and lifted a leafy shoot of grapes from among a tangle of green. “How can I not be happy when there’s beautiful life everywhere I look?” He caught her eyes when he said that last part.

  She smiled and continued their stroll. “Do you like it here? As a place to live, I mean.”

  “I’m glad I’ve experienced it, but I’m not a lifer. I’ll be heading back before too long.”

  A group of schoolchildren ran toward them, throwing a ball and laughing. They stepped back against a storefront to give the children room on the walkway.

  “There’s Phobos.” Juice pointed through the skylights at a bright dot floating in the heavens.

  Following her finger with his eyes, he asked, “What’s going on, J? Why are you really here?”

  She paused. “It’s difficult for me to put into words. But I’m here now and happy about it.”

  He put his arm back around her waist and they resumed walking.

  As they approached a large intersection, Alex’s to-do list reminded him to make dinner reservations. He pointed as he talked. “Two of my favorite eateries are on this corner. This is Gina’s Bistro. It’s Italian and has tablecloths. And over there is Dos Amigos Named Juan. It’s Mexican and has a casual atmosphere.”

  Watching her face for clues, he said, “The dining rooms are small and the menus are limited here in the colony, but they’re cozy places and the food is delicious. Does either appeal?”

  “I’d like to try both while I’m here. Let’s go to the one that’s least crowded tonight. I’d like a quieter evening. We can take our time catching up, and then one idea is to go back to your place and relax. Maybe watch a show?”

  “That would be great.” She’s reading my mind!

  “Hey,” Juice laughed and pointed at the sign across the street. “It’s literally named Dos Amigos Named Juan. I thought you were giving me a partial translation when you said it.”

  “They’re brothers-in-law. One’s from Mexico and the other is from Texas. The Mexican Juan works at the tech center in air and water management. The Texan Juan works in food processing out at Ag Port.”

  It was Alex’s turn to laugh. “Clara, the wife-slash-sister, does all the work. She’s a great chef and hostess, and she prepares Tex-Mex meals to die for.”

  “Does she serve margaritas?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ve talked me into it. Let’s go to One Chica Named Clara’s tonight.”

  They walked in silence after that, and for the first time in his memory, Alex didn’t feel self-conscious about it. Instead of racing to fill the void with a clever witticism, he released his mind to bask in her aura.

  Two blocks later, he brought them to a halt in front of a building that stood broader and grander than any of its neighbors, its entrance set back a bit to provide room for a tiny courtyard.

  It looks impressive enough, thought Alex, trying to see it through Juice’s eyes.

  All the buildings in the colony were formed-stone construction and, if not for decoration, would project a dreary sameness. The tech center, like most buildings in the Central District, used plants to give the structure its character.

  Mixing form with function, vines of green beans and peas climbed the façade, running up between stone columns spaced at regular intervals. A large swath of blue forget-me-not flowers across the upper portion made the presentation vibrant.

  Thrusting his chin toward the building, he said, “The tech center is the place where the Tech Assembly—the colonists working in science, technology, and engineering—do what we do. I work here as lead for new projects.”

  “Lead. Wow. That sounds like an amazing opportunity.” She nodded. “I see now why Mars called to you. No way you’d be lead on Earth. Not until you’re fifty, anyway.”

  They stepped into the courtyard and Juice pointed to a dramatic rock carved with contours so people could sit. “I like that. It’s pretty and functional.”

  But Alex didn’t look where she pointed. He looked in the other direction, away from the building.

  A Red loitered in a storefront across the street, the third one he’d seen lurking nearby during their walk from the tram station.

  * * *

  Juice felt Alex’s hand on the small of her back, the slight pressure urging her toward the tech center entrance. Once inside, they veered left across the lobby and started down a corridor.

  Alex said “hi” to a few passersby while ignoring others. Halfway along the hall, a door opened and he motioned her inside. The door whispered shut behind them.

  “This is his private workspace,” Criss said in her ear.

  She touched the locus relay when Criss spoke, a reflex of her subconscious. Resting in the same place as the original, the device featured new enhancements Criss had engineered to ensure protection of the locus and its bearer. Sid and Cheryl each carried a locus now, too, giving Criss redundant capability across the colony.

  Without speaking, Alex led Juice around a developer-class tech bench and then
past a table covered with an assortment of parts. “This is my brainstorming area,” he said without slowing to let her look. They stepped through a door on the far side of the room. “And this is my private office.”

  The door shut and Alex motioned to a chair. As Juice sat, he activated his com and studied a small projected display she couldn’t see.

  “The room is secure,” Criss said in her ear.

  Turning in place, Alex watched the image as he scanned the room. He nodded once when he was again facing her.

  “What was all that?”

  “This is a safe room and I was confirming it’s still clear for us to talk.”

  “I’m having trouble believing this room is not being monitored by someone.” Like Criss, for example?

  “All monitoring tools are developed by the Tech Assembly and I’m a lead, remember? I’m confident the room is clear of all the colony tools. I can’t know about stuff I don’t know about.” He shrugged. “Either way, it’s the most private place I have.”

  More like a large closet, the office had a small tech bench, an upholstered loveseat arranged in a grouping with a table and two straight-back chairs, and a broad, shallow bookshelf filled with knickknacks from his life—pictures, awards, bits of this and pieces of that.

  He sat in the chair next to hers and his demeanor became earnest. “I hadn’t made the connection until I heard that comment on the tram about ghosts. All that excitement last night was you. Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I had a cloak malfunction and my friends had to help.”

  “There’s still fear lingering in the Quarter, Juice.”

  He didn’t call me J.

  “People thought they were going to die yesterday. They sprained wrists, twisted ankles, banged their heads, and everything else that happens when people panic. It was a bad thing.”

  She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “It was scary for me, too.”

  The silence lingered.

  “Juice, I lied to you.”

  She pictured Anya Gerhardsson’s head in his lap. “You’re with Anya. I understand.”

  “Hold on. What?”

  “Anya Gerhardsson.” She looked him in the eyes and tried to be brave. “I know you are lovers.”

  “No, J, I love you. I mean, I love being with you.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t love Anya Gerhardsson, and I love being with you.”

  “So who are you lying about?”

  “Wait. Stop.” He stood up and turned so his back was to her. Talking to the wall, he said, “I lied to you about mass-producing crystals. All of our efforts have been on getting out one perfect crystal. In fact, that’s all we have raw flake for.” He sat back down and bowed his head. “I lied about the mass production because I needed your help and was afraid you’d say no. I sort of panicked.”

  “I would have come.”

  He lifted his head. “Really?”

  She nodded.

  “Please forgive me? I need to know we’re good.”

  She studied him in silence. He started to squirm.

  “Foot massage.”

  “What?”

  “I will forgive you after you give me a foot massage.”

  “Now?”

  “No, silly. Later. Make me the promise and I’ll forgive you now.”

  Alex went quiet, his attention focused somewhere in the distance. “Okay,” he said and started to smile.

  She knew Criss waited in silence, anxious to move things forward. Attentive to him, she obliged his unexpressed wish. Clearing her throat to pull Alex back from his happy dream, she motioned to the tech bench. “Can this show me the design of your perfect crystal?”

  “I can show you the one Ruga just loaded into the crystal growth chamber.” She heard excitement in his voice and found her own anticipation rising.

  Alex turned his chair to face the tech bench as Juice adjusted her seating, then tapped and swiped the bench surface. A three-dimensional image of a crystal lattice rose above it and shimmered with a colorful glow.

  She lost herself for a moment in the mesmerizing beauty of the dancing light. And at the same time, she confirmed that this dazzling display was that of a four-gen template.

  “At this overview level, it matches my design,” said Criss.

  “Can we look at the matrix core?” she asked Alex.

  Alex swiped and tapped, and the image swooped inward, resolving into a tallish geometric column that reminded her of a human spine.

  Criss spotted it immediately. “The imprint module is missing. There is no loyalty feature.” Though only Juice could hear him, he whispered, which had the effect of amplifying his message. “This template produces an unrestrained intelligence. Essentially, a four-gen with free will.”

  “Whoa.” Juice said aloud. The team had discussed this possibility, several times. But it always seemed so theoretical. Confronting the reality unsettled her.

  “I agree,” said Alex with a sense of wonderment as he watched the intricate design turn slowly above the bench. “It’s so pretty.”

  Juice sat back in her chair. “Where did this template come from? Did you develop it?”

  “No way. But thanks for pretending I could. Ruga supposedly developed it with people on Earth. Were you involved?”

  Juice shook her head.

  “I was project lead when the four-gen fab facility was being built, though. And now I’m operations lead for it. Operations is a new role for me.”

  She could hear the pride in his voice.

  “The fab facility is our next stop when we’re done here. We should talk about it now, though, while we have privacy.” He flicked a hand at the bench and the colorful display vanished.

  Juice’s focus shifted from where the image had been to the wall behind it. “Oh my God, Alex,” she said, looking at a crinkled sheet of paper stuck among a collection of items. “You kept that, too?”

  Using his knee for support, she stretched forward and read aloud the words scrawled in her own handwriting across the top of the page. “The laws of life.”

  Years ago, they’d been at a pub in Boston sharing a pitcher of local brew and having a deep, philosophical discussion. During a spirited exchange that extended into a second pitcher, they’d crafted the three laws. Juice had acted as scribe that evening, documenting their work on a piece of scrap paper atop a table sticky with beer.

  In a theatrical voice, she read the laws aloud. “One. Life is a trip, enjoy the ride. Two. Strengthen society so more can ride. Three. Don’t detract from other people’s rides.” She nodded. “They still work for me.”

  For weeks after, they’d made private references at work, like, “That jerk is messing with my ride.” It had been a silly but wonderful time of sharing.

  Her hand still on his knee, she turned in her chair to face him. His cheeks reddened.

  “I still live by them,” he said. “Or try to.”

  “Which one are you struggling with?”

  He turned to look at the list. “Now that you’re here, I am definitely enjoying my ride.” He paused for a moment as his blush intensified, and then he continued, “And I try to be aware of whether my behavior impinges on others in a negative way.”

  Are you ever going to kiss me? she thought, studying his mouth.

  “And I was confident my work was for the good of society. But lately I’m not so sure.”

  Keeping her eyes open, she leaned in and kissed him full on the lips. His eyes widened, and then closed as he melted into his chair. When she sat back, his eyes remained closed, a blissful grin lingering.

  “Can we do that again?” he whispered.

  “We will.” She patted his thigh. “But first, back to business. Tell me about the fabrications facility. How are you able to implement this four-gen design using your equipment?”

  Chapter 17

  Sid crossed Civic Avenue and entered the Kensington Pub. While his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he soaked in the
ambiance of this neighborhood tavern.

  A row of stools lined a bar made of crafted copper—a material abundant in the colony. Two somnolent patrons, sitting with an empty stool between them, sipped beer. A bored bartender joined them in watching an upcast of a baseball game from Earth.

  “None of them are Security Assembly snitches,” Criss said in his ear. “But I’m tracking a Red on the move in your area.”

  Sid was at the pub to recruit a local. Every operation, big or small, needed people who belonged in that setting and could move about without drawing attention. Sid’s target for this outing sat in the last booth in a row of four along the back wall of the pub.

  Sliding in across from Bobbi Lava, he asked, “Is this seat taken?”

  She lifted her head from reading and placed her coffee mug on the table. The fine gold chain draped from one eyebrow to her cheek danced as she spoke. “You’re with the Union delegation, so you know about the Amsterdam Spa down the street. Take your urges away and don’t hassle me.”

  Without missing a beat, Sid continued, “I need your help fighting the synbods. I saw what you did at the tram station. When your weapon discharged, the energy bolt broke your cloak for a few seconds. I know who you are and what you can do.”

  “Heads up,” Criss said in his ear. “That Red is coming your way.”

  “You will leave now or I’m calling for Pete.” She tilted her head at the bartender.

  “Let me show you what I can do. Then we’ll chat about who I am and what comes next.”

  As he finished speaking, a perfect man in a gray jumpsuit entered the bar. With fluid strides and a clear sense of purpose, the synbod strode past the row of bar stools, turned, and like an attentive waiter, came to a halt at the end of their table.

  Sid eyed the only visible adornment on his clothes—bright red patches on each shoulder.

  “Excuse me. Would you please stand, Bobbi Lava? I am here to escort you to headquarters to discuss an incident at the tram station yesterday.”

  “Stay where you are,” Sid told her.

  Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, she looked up at the humanoid. She didn’t move.