Crystal Rebellion (15 page)

“You gave her a grape lollipop, of course.”

Criss nodded. “Of course.” He shunted extra capacity to
examine the candy flavor issue. Sid seemed to be teasing him. But since Juice
had been unconscious, she couldn’t have been a confederate in his joke. And throughout
her life, she’d chosen orange far more often than any other flavor.
Huh.
The situation nagged at him and he dug for clues.

Cheryl stepped from the passageway, gave Sid a mug of coffee,
and sat in the seat next to him. “Did Dad say yes?” she asked after taking a
sip. She and Criss had been keeping Matt in the loop, and with her
encouragement, Criss had planted seeds along the way that led to this result.

Criss nodded. “Matt Wallace is now chair of the President’s Joint
Task Force on Extraterrestrial Human Settlements.”

“The name just rolls off the tongue,” said Sid.

Criss shrugged. “The task force lets the President hear all
views on what to do with Mars, and a neutral-sounding name minimizes
speculation about his agenda.”

He caught Cheryl’s eye. “As chair, your father is in a position
to align our efforts with the goals of the Union of Nations.”

She nodded and he took comfort in seeing her relax a bit.

Since Cheryl and Juice considered Criss to be a resource for
all humanity, they felt a moral obligation to consult with the Union leaders
before letting him take any big actions. Everyone agreed that squaring off
against three Kardish crystals holding six thousand human hostages qualified as
big.

“That’s good news,” said Sid.

“Yes,” said Criss, believing Sid had no qualms about
deciding humanity’s fate by himself. But Sid also enjoyed keeping company with
Cheryl, and she’d made it clear that the coordination issue was non-negotiable.

A projected image of Matt Wallace resolved in a position that
put everyone in a small circle on the bridge. His weathered face showing gray
at the temples, he sat in an upholstered chair with his shirt collar loosened
and sleeves rolled up.

After an exchange of pleasantries, Cheryl reached to the
heart of Matt’s challenge. “How goes the politics?”

“It’s taking its toll. One legislator can’t get past the
fact that these crystals hid their identities for years. He’ll only support
resolutions that include a clause condemning such deception as an immoral act.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head in sympathy.

Matt looked at each of them in turn. “And we’re struggling here
at home to come up with ways to help. Sending more firepower seems as likely to
hurt as help. What do you think?”

“Between the
Venerable
and the scout, we are well
armed,” said Criss.

“That’s what I thought.” His face clouded to reflect his frustration.
“Where did they come from? Mars seems like such an unlikely place to stage an
invasion of Earth.”

“When the Kardish attacked last,” said Criss. “They deployed
hardware across the solar system to support their campaign. My best guess is
that these crystals are leftovers from that. I don’t believe a new invasion is
in progress.”

Matt sat back and rubbed his face with his hands.

He looks as tired as Cheryl.

“Should we be looking for other crystals, then? Maybe some
embedded here on Earth?”

“I would know if something like that were happening on
Earth. Nevertheless, I will take a fresh look upon our return.”

Matt crossed his arms as his attention drifted, and Criss
recognized it as something he did when receiving a private message. Considering
the very short list of people who might be permitted to interrupt this meeting,
Criss deduced who it was at the same time he was able to arrange a feed to
listen in.

“Yes, sir,” Matt said to the President, then he re-engaged
the group.

“Sorry about that. So, in the briefings they tell us that the
colony containment can be breached dozens of ways, all with catastrophic
consequences. An idea growing in popularity is for us to send a rescue flotilla.”

Matt rubbed his eyes. “It turns out, though, that a flotilla
requires weeks to organize, months of travel time, and several large fortunes.
And get this, in the best case they’d have room for maybe four hundred evacuees.
What do we say to the other five thousand six hundred souls?”

“If they’re still alive,” said Sid.

Matt offered a solemn nod. “The distance has neutered the
Union.”

“That and your field agents who should have passed along
concerns on any number of issues,” said Sid. “I reached out to them yesterday
and was underwhelmed.”

“Up until today,” said Matt, “Mars was assigned to agents
with limited career potential. It’s a remote place where nothing happens, so
agents hate it. Last choice goes to the losers and that’s who we have there at
the moment. It will be fixed, but not in time to help us here.”

“My recommendation is for us to continue as planned,” said
Criss. “We enter the colony from the
Venerable
’s shuttle with Cheryl
posing as trade envoy, Juice as a consultant to Alex, and Sid as Cheryl’s support
staff. Everything is as expected.”

Sid straightened from his slouch. “Criss is right. Whatever
they’re working on, they’ll continue until we force them to react. No doubt they’ll
analyze the hell out of us to try and learn our intentions. So we act predictably
and use the time to search for a way to end this without loss of life.”

Matt exhaled a loud sigh. “That is so vague. Please tell me
you’ve thought it through more than that.” Then, shaking his head in
resignation, he asked, “What do I tell the committee?”

“Criss will help with that.”

“I’ll need to get Captain Kendrick briefed. The military
likes crisp lines of command and you all are civilians. How about if we order
him to act on Cheryl’s advice. He’s a good man. He’ll respect that she used to
be captain of her own cruiser, and that pretty much puts the
Venerable
at your disposal. Will that work?”

Cheryl looked at Sid, who nodded. “Works for me.”

The meeting ended soon after and the three sat in silence. Criss
used the time to investigate the lollipop flavor mystery.

Sid was teasing him by acting like Juice’s flavor choice was
something he should have predicted correctly. Sid’s grin made that clear. Yet
Criss couldn’t explain how Sid knew Juice would ask for the grape flavor and he
didn’t.

Sid had rules about how to play these games. They were fuzzy
and changed often, but the bottom line was Criss needed to solve the puzzle without
“cheating.” Which to Sid, would mean accessing the scout’s feeds and watching
the answer unfold.

But Criss couldn’t solve this puzzle by logic. He’d reduced
events to a handful of plausible scenarios, but all had steps of speculation. Having
gone as far as he could, Criss admitted defeat, accessed the record, and followed
Sid to learn the evolution of events.

He got me
, Criss thought as he watched the action
unfold.

After Juice had dismissed Sid from her bedside, Sid returned
to his cabin and, in the passageway, he saw a service bot exiting Juice’s room.
Peeking through the door, he saw an orange lollipop on her pillow.

Soon after, he was at the food service unit when, around the
corner and from an open door, Juice proclaimed her desire for a grape lollipop.

Juice’s choice had been random. For whatever reason, today
she felt like being different.

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.”

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.