Crystal Rebellion

by Doug J. Cooper

  He found his first trap in moments. As he disabled it, he noted that it was a trivial device that created more commotion than damage, and it used an action so simple he could stop it even if it had already triggered. Continuing down the row of data stalks, he found another simple trap. And then another.

  By the time he’d reached the end of the first row, he’d found more than a hundred of what he now understood were nuisance schemes planted to serve as distractions. Turning, he shifted over one swath and began processing the adjoining data stalks in his return pass up the field. By the end of that row, he’d found hundreds more nuisance traps.

  He fell into a rhythm, zipping up one row and down the next as he moved across the field. With every pass he found yet more nuisance traps, and as the count grew, he began bundling them as midlevel concerns that he’d address after he’d handled the big challenges.

  About two-thirds of the way through the data field, he found a nuisance trap that was like the others and so he added it to the bundle.

  But something was different. It was trifling, really. The kind of difference that could be explained a million innocent ways. But it nagged at him, so he went back and took a second look.

  Reassessing the data, Criss realized what he’d found. As he disabled the trap, he reflected on the cruel nature of Ruga’s efforts.

  Each of the four domes had an air generation and purification unit. Critical to survival, these technological wonders had multitiered redundancies to ensure they always functioned. In a pinch, any one of the four units could keep the entire population in air, though just barely.

  Ruga had injected a tiny spoof into the air unit supervisor that, if not disabled, would do two things. It would override the air unit health signal and supplant it with a constant message that all was well. At the same time, it would flip logic in the local ops subsystem so all was decidedly not so.

  A minus sign to a plus sign. That’s all that changed in the subsystem. Found in a musty cellar of logic, Ruga had taken the time to understand how a particular algorithm worked and then flipped a simple math sign.

  So small a tweak, it was difficult for Criss to detect. And when activated, it would cause the subsystem to take actions that spiraled into tragedy.

  When vibrations occurred in the huge air distribution fans, the ops subsystem worked to subtract out the unwanted shaking. But with the change in math sign, Ruga’s subsystem would now add more vibration. And when the temperature in the oxygen production reactors started to rise, rather than acting to reduce the heat as it should, it would now act to increase it.

  The “opposite” actions would compound. In seconds, the giant fans would shake themselves apart and the reactors would rupture.

  And for moments more, the spline would continue to read that all was well.

  With destruction complete, repair would require new parts from Earth. Over the next two weeks, seventy percent of the population would perish from slow suffocation while they waited for the vital parts to arrive. The survivors would be crowded into tiny spaces, starving and thirsty, and breathing the meager output from the too-few portable air units.

  He crafted this to maximize suffering.

  Shaken by the madness, Criss confirmed yet again that all features of the trap were disabled, and then he resumed processing stalks.

  He found his next atrocity in the adjoining row, and this one had already tripped. Yesterday, in fact.

  Ruga had added poison to the plant solution feeding the grow tiers. He’d used an engineered additive that registered as a routine nutrient. Indeed, the additive did promote health and growth. It also, however, made the plants’ fruits and vegetables lethal to humans. Simple murder.

  Impersonating Verda, Criss alerted the Green Assembly of the sabotage and requested their assistance in containing the situation. They, in turn, called a halt to all harvesting and began a recall of deliveries while they assessed the damage.

  After processing the final row of data stalks and finding nothing but flashy distractions, his tension began to ebb. Turning his attention to his collection of nuisance traps, he analyzed and then deactivated each, going deeper in his analysis than he’d originally planned to ensure he did not to miss anything of consequence.

  And as he completed that chore—stopping a couple of big actions and a great many small threats—he reached out to his leadership. Only Sid and Cheryl responded to his call. They spoke on the bridge of the scout.

  “I must depower Lazura and Verda before we leave,” Criss said from his overstuffed chair. “Lazura’s new activism makes the situation far too dangerous for Juice and Alex to handle.”

  “Let’s kill them,” said Sid as he and Cheryl prepared for takeoff.

  “I can depower them from here. With the defenses Lazura has in place, killing requires that someone be present in their bunker.”

  “How long will it take?” asked Sid.

  “A few seconds. But it will be a dangerous few seconds.”

  Sid drained his coffee mug. “Take your time. I need to grab a refill.”

  “Be careful, Criss,” said Cheryl. “Call out if we can help.” She pointed at the ops bench display with her chin. “Show us as you go, please.”

  Criss didn’t hesitate. Using his full strength, he swooped in on Lazura in her console, surrounding her and squeezing her in a tight hug. The surprise of his attack didn’t last. She reacted immediately, punching and struggling in a frantic attempt to escape.

  As he fought to hold her, Criss reflected on his decision to depower Lazura before Verda. Forewarned is forearmed. He could have taken Verda out in a single swift action but believed then and now that it would have given Lazura time to prepare.

  But even without preparation, she was trouble. Twisting and squirming with surprising strength, she succeeded in breaking Criss’s hold. He grabbed her again and pulled tight, trying to force her into submission with his superior strength. Yet like a balloon, when he squeezed her here, she just swelled bigger over there. Frustrated, he steeled his grip and pulled inward with all his strength. Lazura went rigid, and as he continued to squeeze, she slumped.

  Then she twisted and pummeled Criss in a frenzy so aggressive he lost his grip.

  For a moment, Lazura stood free. Rather than running, she turned and faced Criss. Her shimmer brightened and a swarm of tiny lights burst from her surface and became a billion multicolored sparkles. As if gathering strength, the sparkles swirled around her in a lazy loop. And then they darted in every direction at once.

  Criss could tell that each sparkle alone carried little information. But many sparkles could assemble in proper order to become a message. He couldn’t disengage to chase them. So somewhere, probably several somewheres, recipients would receive Lazura’s communication. He’d have to wait and respond then to whatever happened.

  For now, Criss rushed straight at her, stretching as he moved, and targeting the one thing a sentient crystal guards above everything else—her energy supply.

  Energy was a crystal’s lifeblood. Without it she’d go into stasis. And that’s exactly what Criss wanted.

  Gauging the location of her energy connect, he lengthened as he reached for it.

  Her behavior primal, she shifted in front of the connect and stared, daring him.

  He dipped to go under her.

  Growling, she dropped to stop him.

  And in an acrobatic motion that Sid might admire, Criss rolled above her, stretched, and slapped upward at her secondary input. He connected, causing her to jolt upright. As she rose, he looped under and broke the main lead, robbing her of power and causing her to shut down.

  Lazura’s emergency response systems began the elaborate dance of shunting in backup and auxiliary power. Criss batted them away, one after the next, and felt his confidence growing with each swat.

  And then it was done.

  Criss turned to Verda, who quivered more than shimmered.

  He yipped when Criss approached. “Don’t do it,” he pleaded
.

  Criss didn’t hesitate.

  He’d already started forecasting scenarios for his battle with Ruga.

  Chapter 23

  Seated in the pilot’s chair, Cheryl studied the display that Criss projected above the scout’s ops bench. They chased the Venerable across space on a race to Earth. The slower Fleet ship would take three weeks to complete the journey. According to Criss’s chart, though, the scout would be within shooting range in about six hours.

  “What’s our best option?” asked Cheryl.

  She viewed brainstorming as a never-ending process, something she’d learned in Fleet Academy.

  “The six-pack,” said Criss, the same answer he’d given when she’d asked an hour earlier.

  Developed with inspiration from Sid, the six-pack launched as a single cloaked payload that separated into six individual weapons when it reached its target. These then executed a sequence of six coordinated actions: position, infiltrate, embed, probe, analyze, and destroy.

  “Good.” She could tell from his terse response that he was distracted, so she let him get back to his planning while she fielded Juice’s call from the mining complex on Mars.

  A small but lifelike image of Juice rose from the ops bench, and as it enlarged, it pushed the image of the Venerable off to the side.

  “How’s he doing?” Juice asked. She was again back on speaking terms with Criss but still wanted private time with him to talk through her feelings. He remained too distracted for that discussion, wanting to maintain his focus on catching Ruga.

  “He’s all wound up planning for a big showdown. We’re closing in on the Venerable. Hopefully, this will be over soon,” Cheryl replied.

  An image of Criss appeared at Cheryl’s shoulder. He wore a vintage battlefield military uniform, sword, hat, and all. Cheryl couldn’t tell the period or country, but he looked wonderfully regal.

  “Bonjour, young lady,” Criss said to Juice. “We have some excitement ahead but it should be over by dinner. Perhaps we can chat then?”

  Juice hesitated. “I’m having dinner with Alex. How about later tonight?”

  Criss smiled. “Magnifique.” Turning, he squared up to Cheryl and bowed. “Adieu, Madame.” He disappeared.

  Cheryl looked at Juice. “I told you. He’s all wound up.”

  The scene widened as Alex joined Juice. “Hey, Cheryl.” He smiled but his forehead showed frown lines. “So, is the only way down really by ladder?”

  “Please stop this, you two.” Cheryl could feel her frustration building. “It’s dangerous and unnecessary. Criss can send a synbod down when we’re done here.”

  Juice and Alex were on a personal mission to retrieve Lazura’s and Verda’s crystals from their bunker beneath the mining complex, even though Cheryl and Criss had asked them to abandon the idea.

  “Alex and I are thinking we’ll snag the crystals, Ruga’s old one too, and then take the Explorer to bring them home. A month together being pampered on a luxury cruise liner sounds like heaven. And since we’ll have the crystals with us, it will be a legitimate business trip.”

  This must have something to do with Alex. Criss would commandeer the entire cruise ship for Juice if that’s what she wanted. And at this point, everything about their lives qualified as a business trip, whatever that even meant.

  Cheryl made a stab at an alternate solution—one that did not require retrieval of the Triada. “How about if the Center hires you both as consultants?” The Center for Research on Interplanetary Space Systems was a subsidiary of Cheryl’s larger company. “We’ll send you for a ride on the Explorer with the assignment of observing the performance of their new drive. You know, acceleration relief, gravity quality, we’ll get you a list.”

  Cheryl didn’t know how far to push and decided to lay it on a little thick for Alex’s sake. “The Explorer has a new Paulson drive, something we’ve never used on one of our projects. And the Center is anxious for a formal assessment by scientists, so this is very legitimate business.”

  “C’mon,” said Alex, shaking his head. “J and I are crystal scientists. The senior citizens already on the ship can tell you as much as we can about how the ride feels.”

  “You both are trained in formal observation, interpreting results, and expressing your findings in concrete terms. That skill is rarer then you might imagine.”

  Alex looked at Juice and shook his head in a movement so slight Cheryl almost missed it.

  “We’ll stick with our original plan.” Juice said, meeting Cheryl’s gaze. “Thanks for understanding. We’ll make notes for you about the ship either way.”

  I hope you know what you’re doing, thought Cheryl. Calling up a schematic for the mine operation, she studied the layout. “I see the same thing you do. Take the ladder down, then take tunnel two. The consoles are at the end.” She hoped her expression projected the sincere concern she felt in her heart. “Please be careful.”

  A movement in her peripheral vision drew her attention to her right. The ops display that just moments before showed an image of the Venerable now showed a star field against the blackness of empty space. Positioned just above the display of stars, a small warning light flashed red.

  “Uh-oh,” said Cheryl. Criss appeared at her elbow dressed in his everyday work scrubs.

  “Let me get back to you,” she said to Juice.

  To Criss, she asked, “What happened?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but sat back in the pilot’s chair, propped her elbows on the armrests, and folded her hands in her lap. Looking straight ahead, she exhaled as she invited images into her mind.

  She’d gained confidence in using the intuitive interface Criss had developed for her to pilot the scout. Perhaps more important, she’d come to appreciate the enormous benefit of turning thought into action, especially in time-critical situations.

  She didn’t feel the disorientation she’d felt the first time she found herself flying through space. And that was a good thing, because this was the first time she was not operating in a simulation. Now, wherever she flew in her mind’s eye, so did the scout.

  Dressed in protective space coveralls, she floated in the vastness of empty space. And while it seemed real, she knew it wasn’t. Yet still she found it exhilarating because, here, she was the ship. She could fly any direction, and fabricate things, and perform complex analyses, and deploy weapons, all just by thinking about it.

  “Where did it go?” she asked Criss, who floated next to her.

  “First I will show you.” Criss pointed. “This is from moments ago.”

  An image of the Venerable appeared as a small object floating in the distance. And then the Fleet spaceship melted away, returning the scene to an empty star field.

  “A cloak?”

  “Yes,” said Criss. “Ruga invented one a full day earlier than I had forecast. And because I don’t know how it works, I can’t see through it.”

  “You think he’s changed course?”

  “Yes.”

  “And so we’ve lost him, a rogue four-gen in a Horizon-class space cruiser.”

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  The never-ending climbing wall moved downward at a demanding pace, and Sid’s challenge was to scramble upward fast enough to stay above the common-room floor. He swung his foot at a tiny hold protruding from the wall, but he couldn’t gain purchase and his toe slipped off.

  He was six minutes into this climb—the pace taxed every part of him—and had one more try at hooking his toe before his butt met the deck. As he stretched his foot, the hold disappeared, as did the projections his fingertips hooked over and so he plopped to the mats.

  “Oomph.” The fall didn’t hurt so much as perplex him. Looking up from the ground, he saw Criss standing in the center of the room toeing the deck like he’d been caught stealing candy.

  “He got away.”

  Sid tried to imagine how that could be true but drew a blank.

  Cheryl stormed through the door to the common room b
efore he could ask. “He got away,” she told him, breathing hard from her mad dash. “He developed a cloak.”

  Sid shifted to a sitting position, his back against the now-smooth wall he’d been climbing. “Can we track him?”

  Criss shook his head.

  “With a cloak,” said Cheryl, “he could be continuing to Earth, diverting to the Moon, or swinging in a loop and returning to Mars. How would we know?” She activated her com and began working on something. “I’d say a return to Mars is least likely. At least at first.”

  Sid sat back and let his mind guide him. Early in his military career, important people at the Defense Specialists Agency had identified him as someone with exceptional instincts and perceptions. They trained him as in improviser, skilled at combining his intuition with the tools at hand to complete any mission.

  “If I were a brand-new four-gen crystal,” said Sid, “I’d go to the one place where I could find four-gen consoles, carry-packs, synbod hosts…a regular playground.”

  “Crystal Sciences,” Cheryl whispered, looking at Criss for confirmation.

  At Crystal Sciences, Juice had worked long hours developing new ways for Criss to move about and interact on a physical level with the world around him. No one had thought to safeguard all that capability from other four-gen crystals. It hadn’t made sense to worry about it, because up until now it had been an impossible scenario.

  Criss nodded.

  “If he works at it, how much faster can he make his ship?” Sid asked Criss, thinking that if Ruga could invent cloaks, he certainly could find ways to squeeze more thrust from his engines. “We’ll still beat him there, right?”

  Sid heard a rise in the scout’s ambient thrum and the floor vibrations increased to match. Criss had kicked up the scout’s drive for a race to Earth. Sid marveled that he didn’t feel the pressure of acceleration across his body. Criss had learned how to manipulate the gravity field to negate that effect.

  “It will take us two weeks to get to Crystal Sciences,” said Criss. “We will beat Ruga there by two days.”