Crystal Rebellion

by Doug J. Cooper

  They heaped on the guilt throughout the meal. After a coffee that Cheryl thought would never end, mining industrialist Shi Chen rose to take her outside for a walk in the park.

  This meant that Chen had been the one designated to present the wish list. For whatever reason, that’s how the colony did business—a single person representing the group.

  He walked in silence and she followed his lead. As they neared the small greenspace that served as the neighborhood park, he spoke. “I am glad we have birds now. Their singing adds much to the peace and harmony of our small world.”

  She had heard the birds chirping but had not considered their songs from the perspective of someone who had lived in a world without their cheerful sound. Then her mind drifted to the challenge of caring for flocks of the delicate creatures for months at a time on a cramped voyage from Earth.

  As if reading her thoughts, Criss said in her ear, “They ship the eggs.”

  “Ah, yes,” she said aloud.

  Chen motioned for her to sit on a bench near the playground. Three women sat on a bench on the adjoining corner, talking with broad hand motions while children ran and laughed in the open grass.

  “I like to watch the young ones play,” said Chen. “It reminds me of my new grandchild.” Using his com, he showed Cheryl the lad’s first steps, taken just last month in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

  Cheryl oohed and aahed at the boy. He’s prepping me for something big.

  Then Chen began a monologue, telling her about the history of the colony and of its current culture, ranging from fledgling sports teams to a flourishing arts community, including a new playhouse.

  He signaled that the “ask” was coming when he turned his body toward her on the park bench. “The colony has a fantastic growth rate, both in population and business climate. We play a growing role in the Union of Nations economy. And, of course, we pay our taxes. Our future is most promising.”

  Cheryl kept her face impassive. Criss knew what was coming though they hadn’t discussed it. She’d spent exactly ten minutes prepping for this meeting and had spent that time trying to remember names and faces.

  “…so our highest priority is a fifth containment dome. Given our internal projections, which we will be happy to share with you, we must start now and target an area about five times the size of Ag Port.”

  Cheryl gave him a thin smile and adopted a thoughtful look.

  “I agree that Mars is a good investment for the Union,” Criss said in her ear. “If the colony leaders start now and push hard, they could clear the politics for Union funding in perhaps three years. And that’s how long it takes to complete architectural and engineering planning for a new containment dome.”

  “The President would need to hear that this is a priority of your elected leadership. Are you coordinating with the Triada?”

  Chen deflected. “Please spend some time getting to know the people during your visit. You will grow to understand who we are and what we offer. You will know what to say to the President after that.”

  “Let’s start them on a planning grant and move on,” Criss said to her. “We can pay for that even if the Union legislature votes against the project. We couldn’t fund actual construction, though, without the world noticing.”

  “Chen, I have a different issue I’d like to discuss,” said Cheryl. “If I promise you that the colony will receive a three-year planning grant for the project, same terms as the Community Plaza containment you just completed, would that be enough to declare victory so we can move on?”

  It was Chen’s turn to adopt a thoughtful look. “And a private meeting with the President to discuss our future.”

  “Good meeting or bad meeting?” The President would include different people in a discussion depending on the tone and topic of the interaction. Cheryl sought to discern whether this would be a “we are partners in the future” or a “we are seceding from the Union” kind of discussion.

  “I think it will be a good discussion,” said Chen. “We need the Union, and we believe the Union needs us as well. We seek the opportunity to promote that idea with the President.”

  She nodded. “Agreed. A planning grant and a private meet with the President. I must warn you, if he decides the politics are bad on a new dome, he’ll hide the funds by sending it to you from a private trust or foundation. I can promise you’ll get it, but I don’t know whether he’ll lay claim to it publicly.”

  Chen touched his neck just below his ear, and Cheryl recognized that someone was talking to him. Then he nodded and said, “We agree.”

  “He’s alone now,” Criss told her. She watched the confusion on Chen’s face when his external feeds went silent.

  “I’m sorry, Chen, but I need to speak with you alone. We will link you back in with your group when we’re done here. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

  Chen folded his arms across his chest and said nothing.

  “What do you know of the Triada?”

  “They maintain an efficient and content society.”

  “Please, Chen. There have been accusations and I’m anxious to learn the truth. Have you noticed anything about them worth mentioning?”

  Chen chortled. “Having trouble keeping house?”

  Cheryl called on Criss with a light “ahem” from the back of her throat.

  “I’m not sure where he is going with this,” Criss told her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said aloud.

  “People do not appreciate being treated like they are stupid.”

  As he continued, her mind raced trying to decipher his message.

  “In one of the most fraudulent acts in human history, the Union orchestrates fake elections, installs three misfits who as near as I can tell still live on Earth, and you think none of the six thousand smart, independent settlers here in the colony would notice?” He had a full head of steam and spittle flew with his next words. “And now you tell me they’re freelancing and you wonder if perhaps I’ve noticed something worth mentioning? Yeah. I noticed that you stole our society. And for now, those of us at lunch today accept it and hide the fraud because you make it very profitable for us to do so.”

  He shook his head and Cheryl saw it as someone disgusted with himself. “We help control the message for you, but the President should know that resentment is building and the charade can’t continue. We can look after our own affairs here.” Then he flashed a quick grin. “A new dome would ease our troubled conscience.”

  “The President sent me here because he is concerned,” said Cheryl. “I can tell you with certainty that the Triada’s days are over. And I can’t speak for him, but I would be very surprised if he didn’t support open, democratic elections just as soon as they can be arranged.”

  “Good,” said Criss. “The President thought he was supporting open democratic elections when the Triada won.”

  “What are they doing that has the President concerned?” Chen sat upright on the seat. “Was that trouble in the Quarter yesterday related to them?” He lifted his hand and touched his neck below his ear, then ran it though his hair. “You need to connect me back. I can’t be doing this alone.”

  “We’ll connect you in a moment. But you will have to keep this information in confidence. At least for now. The Union will know if you talk about this to anyone.”

  “Sid is wrapping up,” Criss told her.

  Standing, Cheryl clasped Chen’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “You’ve helped me today. Thank you. If I need anything, can we count on you?” She tightened her grip.

  He surprised Cheryl with his response. “Were the promises good? The planning grant. Meeting with the President. New elections?”

  Good for you, Chen. She nodded. “Yes. You have my word.”

  He smiled and matched the pressure of her grip. “Of course you may count on me.”

  Criss reconnected Chen to his linked world and as the man focused on updating his group, Cheryl gave him a good-bye wave and started out of the
park. Following Criss’s arrows, she made her way down a side street and then over to Civic Avenue. Sid stepped out of the Kensington Pub as she approached.

  “How’d it go?” they asked at the same time. “Good.” They responded together.

  Since Sid was playing the role of Cheryl’s aide, they maintained a professional demeanor while in public. She missed the touches he would steal—his way of adding a physical dimension to their communication.

  Floating arrows appeared, leading them down the street. Sid started walking and Cheryl took quick steps to catch up. Now visible to the public, Sid did not shy away from the jostling that sometimes occurred on the crowded walkways of the Central District.

  “I’m pretty sure Bobbi is going to help us,” he said.

  “That’s great,” replied Cheryl. “Listen to what I discovered. We know we’re here because the Union thinks that Mars is up to something. Well, Mars thinks that the Triada is a puppet government installed by the Union and that they’re controlling the colony from afar. They think it’s us and we think it’s them. In the confusion, the Triada run the place like it’s their own.”

  “Criss,” said Sid, his tone signaling impatience. “What do you know of this?”

  “The Triada have been quite successful in advancing the development of the colony, and life has been better for everyone since they took office. The malcontents are few and the Triada finds ways to buy their cooperation, including Chen and the others at lunch today. And those not for sale are intimidated into silence. I underestimated the number of people who believe that the Union installed the Triada. However, the number of people upset about it is smaller than Chen implies.”

  “The confusion explains how the Triada got where they are,” said Cheryl.

  The arrow floating ahead of them swelled in size and shifted its angle. Instead of pointing down the street, it now pointed to the doorway of a building just ahead. Urgency was clear in Criss’s voice. “Enter this building, descend one flight, and proceed to the door at the end of the hall.”

  While Sid paused at the doorway to make a visual sweep of the street, Cheryl entered the small lobby and followed a floating arrow to the stairs. Sid caught up with her and together they strode down a bright hallway with a set of doors at the end. Emblazoned across them was the business name and company catch phrase: IDLE TIME - CRAFTING YOUR UNIQUE ENTERTAINMENT EXPERIENCE.

  The doors opened as they approached.

  “This way,” Criss called, waving from a small conference room off the lobby. He sat in his overstuffed chair. Across from him sat projected images of Alex and Juice holding hands and sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on a loveseat.

  Cheryl knitted her brow, her patience at its end. “Are you really going to make us ask?”

  “We have a hostage situation,” said Criss.

  Sid rolled his shoulders the way he did when prepping for physical activity. “Perp and prey?”

  “Ruga,” said Criss. “And us.”

  Chapter 19

  Criss told Juice about the satellite buoy and its horrific potential. Her face went pale and she began to breathe in fast, shallow gasps.

  She stood next to Alex in the fab facility while Ruga, speaking through Larry, laid out a harsh reality, including a two-day deadline to perfect the details of a crystal-to-crystal transfer of a sentient being.

  When the synbod left the lab, Criss called a leadership meeting, saying to Juice, “We can have privacy in Alex’s office.”

  Criss had stumbled across two more traps—both dead man’s switches—during his work on the entwined system with Bobbi Lava. One had been hidden within the tangle of functions for dome repair, the other had been inserted just below the dome fortification supervisor. Both required daily resets by Ruga, and both were horribly destructive if that did not happen.

  Freeing up yet more capacity to expand his search for traps, Criss fretted that despite his efforts, it was happenstance—luck—that dominated his success. It is difficult to defend against madness.

  While he guided Sid and Cheryl to a private space so they could participate in the meeting, Criss watched Juice and Alex as they plopped onto the loveseat in Alex’s private office.

  Juice’s instructions to Criss, delivered in a side whisper in the hallway, had been clear. “I can’t tell Alex who you are until I check with Sid and Cheryl. But make sure I’m truthful with him.”

  “You’ll do fine,” he’d told her. This will never work, he thought.

  Juice turned to Alex on the loveseat and started: “I’m about to speak with a few of my shipmates. You met two of them, Sid and Cheryl. The third one, Criss, uses a simulated image because his leadership doesn’t want to expose his identity.” She met his gaze. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course,” said Alex. “After seeing your cloak and stuff, a secret identity is nothing.” After a moment of silence, he asked, “Who is the pet Ruga talked about?”

  “I don’t have a pet and I don’t use that as a nickname for anyone. I think that’s just Ruga being creepy. I believe he was referring to Criss, though, which makes sense because the guy is an incredible know-it-all with a huge ego. Just wait until you see the handsome-man image Criss uses in his projection.”

  Juice looked away from Alex and, with an impish grin, stuck her tongue out. Criss knew she was teasing him, and her attention caused a delicious ripple across his outer tendrils.

  Putting a hand on Alex’s leg, Juice spoke in a solemn tone. “I won’t lie to you, but there are things I can’t say. So when you ask something in that category, I’ll just say that I can’t tell you.” She picked a speck of lint off his clothing. “And if I say I can’t tell you, please don’t ask again. I’ll know you want to know, and I’ll want to tell you, but I can’t.” She slumped her body against his. “I know I’m asking a lot.”

  Sid and Cheryl arrived at the Idle Time business office and Criss sent projected images of Alex and Juice into that conference room, while at the same time projecting Sid and Cheryl into Alex’s office. In both places, he projected himself sitting in his overstuffed chair.

  Criss waited while Sid moved chairs into position, and felt a twinge of sadness when Sid touched each chair in a deliberate act before leaning down to pick it up.

  He still doesn’t trust me.

  Years earlier, Criss had been experimenting with ambiance and décor, and at one meeting he’d included projected images of wall hangings, potted plants, and a table-and-lamp set. He’d also included a projected image of an unpadded wooden chair positioned between two real upholstered chairs, believing it added balance to the setting.

  Sid had entered that meeting and, instead of picking one of the comfortable upholstered seats, chose the wooden chair. And since it was a projected image—a trick of light—Sid had fallen to the floor with a solid thump.

  Criss had called a warning to Sid but he’d been too late. He’d apologized afterward, several times, but Sid continued to believe it had been a deliberate act—Criss playing a prank that went wrong. And while Sid now recalled the episode with laughter, usually after several beers, he continued to test each chair before sitting.

  “Alex, you remember Sid and Cheryl,” said Juice, making the introductions. “And this is Criss.”

  As Criss exchanged pleasantries with Alex, he considered that very few outsiders had ever participated in a leadership meeting. Granted, Alex was a very special friend with vital information, and like Juice, he also held a doctorate in engineered intelligence. He will figure it out.

  Cheryl led the questioning. “This transfer from one crystal to another, do we know how to do that?”

  “With Criss’s help,” said Juice, “there’s an excellent chance we can make it work. But it’s a difficult operation, especially given that we must be perfect the first time we try. Many variables affect success, and that means there are many ways things could go wrong. Alex built the fab facility and knows how to run all the equipment, so that will help.”

  After some
back and forth, Sid got to the heart of it. “So, if we disrupt the transfer, his hidden traps could kill thousands. But if we move him, he becomes stronger and his blackmail continues.”

  “To locate all the traps,” said Criss. “I need access to the Triada secure area. If I break in now, it means I’m the one who escalated the aggression. How Ruga would react is difficult to forecast, but we know he plays for the highest stakes.”

  “Lazura would know where the traps are.”

  All talking stopped and everyone looked at Alex, who pushed his hair behind his ear and continued, “For Ruga to do anything like you describe, he’d need to use some pretty sophisticated tools. Lazura leads the Tech Assembly—we’re the Blues, by the way—and we’re the ones who develop the tools. I’m pretty sure she knows everything about his every action.”

  “Does he know she’s tracking him?” asked Sid.

  Alex shrugged. “I have no way to know that.”

  Sid pressed. “Would she turn on Ruga?”

  “They have an interesting relationship. Twice I was working with Lazura when Ruga interrupted. She cut me out when that happened, but both times the few words I heard sounded like the beginnings of a quarrel. It’s hard to imagine she would turn on him, though.”

  The meeting resolved soon after with direction from Sid. “We have twelve hours. Everyone should use a good chunk of that for sleep.”

  Criss looked at Sid and Cheryl. “Your contacts might have insights into the relationship between Ruga and Lazura, and Verda as well. It would be helpful if you connected with them and probed for information.”

  Criss turned to Juice and Alex. “After you rest, we should meet in the fab facility and finalize a transfer protocol. Until we find a way to stop it, we have to move forward like it’s really going to happen.”

  Sid and Cheryl waved good-bye, and their projected image faded from Alex’s office.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Alex,” said Criss, and then he and his chair faded, leaving the two alone.