Crystal Rebellion (28 page)

As Criss searched for a solution, a group of rocket racers climbing
above the horizon drew his attention. They’d just completed their loop around Earth
and, following the prescribed course for the Moon Madness endurance sprint, were
about to accelerate into their return leg back to the Moon.

Kyle Pickett had cheated in the past, so Criss wasn’t
surprised when Kyle’s racer separated from the others. As his ship traveled below
the
Andrea
, the heavy spray of charged particles spewing from his outsized
rocket engine gave Criss an idea.

Look for scatter
. Like crop dusters of old, rocket
racers left a thin blanket of particles trailing behind in their wake. With
these ships, though, the dusting they left was ionized exhaust. Kyle’s move away
from the group broadened the swath of spray from the racers. If the
Venerable
was near, and if Ruga’s cloak interacted with the particles in any way, then
for this narrow corridor of space Criss had an opportunity to see something he
couldn’t see before.

Commandeering civilian and military instruments in the
region, Criss pored over streams of data looking for hints of his quarry.
Searching was a numbers game—keep trying until something worked. So he felt
neither surprise nor discouragement when this idea didn’t pan out.

And then Kyle swerved. A dozen small maneuvering rockets on
the
Lucky Lady
flared at once, pushing the craft in a hard, tight turn.
When Criss analyzed the craft’s movement, he saw that Kyle’s main exhaust plume
would sweep right across two synbods who happened to be tumbling in space because
of an industrial accident.

Kyle wouldn’t waste time on this,
Criss thought.
The
race is too tight.

The odd sequence of events triggered his suspicion, and as the
glow of Kyle’s exhaust approached the tumbling humanoids, Criss added resources
to monitor the situation.

In a tight sequence of events, a slit appeared in space
above the tumbling synbods. From it, a blurry ball reached out to surround the
synbods. The ball faded, leaving two service bots floating where the synbods
had been. And then the fire of Kyle’s rocket exhaust consumed the bots as the slit
disappeared.

Ruga!
Criss felt a calm pass through him.
This ends
now.

Spinning through his options for a fast, lethal blow, his angst
returned when he realized that every weapon with a clear shot and the ability
to stop a Fleet space cruiser also pointed straight at the
Andrea
. If he
missed the
Venerable
, he would hit the orbiting factory and kill dozens
of people.

On Mars, Criss hadn’t accepted collateral damage because his
forecasts promised him scenarios in the future where he could prevail. They
didn’t offer such alternatives now, though, so delay was not an option.

The burden of this decision weighed on him, and it felt more
like a weary sadness than anything else. His illness had not resolved, and now
he found himself expecting or anticipating additional input from other voices
about his plans.

Voices that did not speak.

He didn’t know who they might be or what they would have to
say, but their silence unsettled him. Focusing, this time by force of will, he
overrode security on a nearby Fleet ready-platform, accessed its main cannon, and
fired twin energy bolts at the spot where the
Venerable
had been. The slugs
flared out across space, traveling unimpeded until they reached the central
truss of the orbiting factory. On impact, along with an impressive pyrotechnic
display, the energy bolts opened a fracture along the
Andrea
’s containment
shell.

As he charged the cannon for a second shot, he combed the
data feeds for clues.
Where are you?
Finding nothing, he widened the
spread on his next volley. It would cause significant collateral damage, and
he—Criss—would be killing many innocents. But the bold action pushed the chances
of killing Ruga up near ninety percent.

Before he could trigger the firing sequence, however, the
cannon melted. A precision bolt appeared from empty space and hit it dead on,
ensuring it would never fire again.

A second ship?
Criss had not anticipated this, and a
nervous prickle spread through him.
Where did he get that?
He spun
through scenarios at a furious clip but could not forecast a single one where Ruga
could gain such a prize without his knowledge.
Is this more illness?

His matrix became a cauldron of confusion, frustration, and
loneliness. The thought of Ruga escaping added anger to the mix. The mélange of
sensations swirled inside him. For a moment Criss allowed his angst to distract
him, and then he imposed calm.

Using secure communication protocols he’d created for just
this sort of emergency, Criss linked to three massive weapons arrays. Arranged
on mountaintops in South America to form a continent-sized triangle, these
would fire at his command to erase a portion of the sky.

Or more accurately, reduce everything in that space to its
fundamental components of matter. While the collateral damage would be
horrific, it would kill Ruga, of that Criss felt certain.

The weapons gathered a store of power, and Criss
synchronized their action, counting the milliseconds until they were ready to
fire.

And just as the weapons arrays reached go-status, three
perfect beams flashed down from space, disabling the lot before they fired a
shot.

No.

Ruga could do that only if he’d broken Criss’s private
communication protocol. And if that were true, Criss had no secrets.

Feeling exposed, he pulled back everything, hunkering down
in his secure bunker in the Adirondack Mountains.

He wasn’t giving up. But he needed a new plan.

And he needed it soon.

Cheryl sat up in bed and peered into
the darkness of her apartment. Sid, his arms and feet askew, breathed in a
rumbling half snore next to her. It wasn’t his sounds that had awakened her,
though. It was the silence in her head, a silence she couldn’t quiet.

Criss had left them three days ago to battle Ruga, and the
transition to self-sufficiency had caught her off guard. She’d expected a challenge,
but living life as one of the masses was more difficult than she’d remembered.

For starters, her professional world was collapsing. Though
she was President of SunRise, the huge space commercialization conglomerate,
Criss had handled most of her daily chores. She loved the job—the one where he
did the heavy lifting—because she could enjoy the creative aspects of developing
space projects knowing he followed behind, cleaning up the details.

The company had been Cheryl’s idea, but Criss had been the
one who made it happen. He valued having access to the skilled professionals that
kind of venture attracted. And the company won so many Fleet contracts that its
influence extended to having offices in government buildings, some just down
the hall from admirals and generals.

The reason he worked so hard to grow the business was because
he sought access to world-class construction capability for huge space projects.
And he wanted that so he could expand Earth’s defenses in preparation for the day
the Kardish returned.

Early on in the endeavor, after Criss had built a few secret
installations, he’d voiced a concern. He envisioned a massive effort and
recognized he could not keep it all hidden from humanity. Cheryl had convinced
him to adopt society as a full partner. When he did, the company had flourished.

But what had been sustainable no longer was. She’d already transferred
control of the company to her top-line execs, something she’d done in the past
for short periods. Then, though, Criss had remained involved to keep things
running smoothly.

She needed to make life-altering decisions. And not just for
her, but for the tens of thousands of people who depended on SunRise for their
livelihood. Looking at Sid’s prone form stretched next to her, she announced
her decision in a whisper. “I need to resign.”

Slipping out of bed, she put on her silk robe—a gift from
Sid—and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Staring at the food service unit
while it prepared her coffee, she acknowledged that her professional worries
were small compared to the changes in her personal life. Everything was
different.

For example, Criss had handled all details for her
apartment, from payments to cleaning to stocking the shelves. And when she was
out and about, she’d just step to the curb and Criss would glide a car to a
halt, ready to whisk her to wherever she wanted to go next. If she decided to
see a trendy Broadway show or eat at a popular restaurant, he’d secure great
tickets and the best table on short notice.

She’d stopped asking how he did it and now felt some shame
because it had been far too long since she’d paused to wonder why fate had
blessed her so.

And that sentiment took on a new meaning when she looked at
her finances, something she hadn’t done in years because with Criss money didn’t
matter. She gasped when she saw the total. He’d left her wealthy, enough to
last many generations, and she hadn’t even known it until that moment.

Yet all of this was minor compared to the emptiness of
missing him.

A constant companion, Criss had lived in her head and co-mingled
with her thoughts for years. An alter ego in every sense, he’d nurtured, supported,
challenged, and protected her. He’d made her laugh when she felt silly and consoled
her when she was sad. He’d whispered to her during conversations with others,
helping her appear wise and informed. And he’d let her peek behind the curtain
of their lives to understand their motives, and that had let her make decisions
that were fair and compassionate.

When she was multitasking, she’d order him about like a
lackey. And occasionally, when the burden became great, she would shift some of
the weight to him by submitting to his will, knowing this private weakness
would forever remain a secret.

The food service unit pinged and she took the cup of brew in
both hands, letting it warm her fingers. “Yum,” she said as the coffee’s full
body awakened her mouth and warmed her throat. Scanning the news feed as she
sipped, she looked for stories that hinted at a battle between titans.

From around the corner, she heard Sid murmur and the bed sheets
rustle. They had been lovers before Criss was born and had spent yesterday discussing
not only Criss and the fate of the world but also relearning how to communicate
between themselves now that there wasn’t a private voice to smooth the way.

It had gone well
. So well that she now craved some
nonverbal communication with him.

She slid out of her robe and under the sheets. He lay curled
on his side and she cuddled him from behind—the big-spoon position—a challenge
given she was a full head shorter and half his weight.

Reaching around, she tickled his stomach. Then she flipped
over, putting her back to him, and started counting. The highest she’d ever
reached was fourteen. She giggled when today he attacked her at the count of seven.

Afterward, he lay on top of the sheets, she under.

“When you talk to your dad,” he said, “will you ask him to
get us access to the Bird Cage?”

“What are you thinking?” She’d been pushing for two days to
get the Union of Nations involved, and he’d counseled a go-slow approach, expressing
concern about sending Fleet off chasing ghosts based on incomplete information.

Now he acted like a conversation with her dad had already
been decided.
He’s got something going,
she thought.
Finally.
While
most of her thought Sid’s celebrated intuition was hokum, she had seen him use
it with remarkable success.

Then she made the connection in her head and rose up on an
elbow. “Do you think it will work?”

Bird was Fleet’s Brain Interface R&D unit, and the Cage
was the room where they tested all of their high-tech toys.
He wants to try
for the scout.

Sid rose to his feet and bent to one side and then the other
while stretching his arms above his head. “Criss took care of a long list of
things for us before he left. He’d see it as logical that we’d want the scout. I’m
optimistic, anyway.”

She heard his words but didn’t process them because her mind
raced with possibilities. After spending all day yesterday brainstorming ideas
for helping Criss in his showdown with Ruga, she’d said in the end, “Let’s face
it. We’re not smart enough to help.”

“Dogs and horses are simple compared to us,” Sid had replied.
“Yet they’ve helped humans for thousands of years. If they can help us, we can
help him.”

She embraced the viewpoint because the alternative was to believe
they were helpless.
At least we’ll be doing something.
And she knew the
scout would give them the best tools for surveillance, the best weapons for defense,
and the best cloak for stealth.

While Sid stepped into the shower, Cheryl sat on her couch
and a projected image of Matt Wallace resolved across from her. “Good morning, Pops.”
He looked tired and she dreaded adding to his burden.

A smart man, Matt had already figured out most of it. He
knew Ruga was coming to Earth, that Criss was their last hope, and that
humanity might not survive if the two crystals started a battle for supremacy.

But the fact that Criss had abandoned his leadership caught
him off guard. “You can’t contact him at all?” Her explanation of the breakup
didn’t sit well. “I’ve been keeping the secret about Criss from the world
because my daughter—someone I trust without reservation—controlled him. This
changes that.”

“I understand,” she said, nodding. “Do what you must.” Then
she leaned forward. “Sid has an idea we’d like to pursue, but we need access to
Fleet’s Bird Cage. Can you get us in? This morning?”

Matt exchanged private words with his assistant. “I’ve heard
of it but I don’t know who would need to approve that.” After another private
exchange, he nodded. “I’m told we should have it sorted out by the time you get
there.”

Joining Sid in the shower, she handed him a loofah and
turned so he could scrub her back while she shared the news. An hour later and
they were in a car and on their way to Fleet base.

“I spoke with Juice again,” she said as the car accelerated
onto the expressway. “She cried this time. She feels so guilty because she separated
from Criss as a symbolic act to show Alex she could stand on her own. She never
thought in a million years that we would sever ties at the same time.”

“Can she get him back?”

“She won’t know until she gets here, and that cruise ship
she’s on is still a couple of weeks out. She did say that Criss did this for a
reason and her vote is to respect that decision, at least until Ruga is stopped.”
She looked up at him and met his gaze. “I agree.”

“Yeah, so do I. For now.”

The car they rode in pulled to a stop in front of the TPA Building—Fleet-speak
for Technology Programs, Advanced. A tree stump of a man in a master chief’s
uniform introduced himself as Clem and escorted them into the building and
along a series of corridors. He stopped at a set of sturdy doors. When they
opened, he said, “I’ll be out here if you need me.”

Cheryl thanked him, then realized Clem was speaking to Melody
Weathersby, a thirty-year-old, very pregnant brunette standing just inside.

Melody greeted Cheryl and Sid without making eye contact. “This
way,” she said, leading them across a ramp, through another set of doors, and
into the Cage—a small, dimly-lit room with black, featureless walls. Two plush
chairs faced each other in the middle of an otherwise-empty floor. The doors
shut and it became so quiet that Cheryl heard only the faint ringing in her
ears she’d lived with for years.

Melody kept her back to them as she started her briefing. “The
walls, floor, and ceiling are constructed from thousands of micro-thin layers
of insulating materials. The room itself is wrapped in a dozen different layers
of special wire netting. All that is encapsulated inside a vacuum chamber. And
the entire assembly is suspended so nothing touches anything else.”

She turned to face them but still looked at the floor. “I
understand that what you’re doing is top secret and all, but can you tell me
how long you’ll be using the Cage?”

“In a perfect world,” said Sid, “we’ll be done in an hour.” Then
he shrugged. “But it could be a week, too.”

“A week!” she said, putting a hand to her mouth.

When she started blinking, Cheryl thought Melody might be crying
and bent forward until their eyes met. “What’s the issue?”

She spoke in a rush. “Lots of people want access to the
Cage. I waited a year for this chance and the line has only gotten longer. I’ve
been granted one week,” she pointed at the ground. “This week right now, to
test something I’ve been working on for four years.”

Her voice took on a pleading tone. “If you bump me, they
don’t shift everyone back a week. I lose my turn.” She patted her stomach. “Between
that and this guy, it will be more than a year before my next chance.”

Cheryl looked at Sid, who shrugged again. Just a few days
ago, she would have granted Melody a wish. Criss would whisper something in her
ear, like, “The fellow scheduled in three weeks is quite ill and will have to
cancel. We can give Melody his spot.” She’d then convey the good news knowing
Criss would follow up.

In her new non-Criss world and with Earth’s survival at
stake, Cheryl settled for not sounding too cold. “I’m sorry, Melody. We wouldn’t
do this to you if we had other options. Stay close and we’ll let you know the
moment we’re done.”

Melody lifted her head for the first time. “Thank you.” Turning
in to the room, she waved her hand in a single “come here” motion. An ops panel
projected in front of her. “The sooner I get you started, the sooner you can be
finished.”

The Cage controls were intuitive enough and Melody finished
her instructions in a few minutes. “Godspeed,” she said as she made for the
door. “I’ll be right down the hall.”

As the doors closed behind her, Sid moved the chairs so they
were side-by-side and facing the exit. Cheryl sat and he remained standing.
“You practiced a lot more than me,” he said. “What’s your take on how we should
do this?”

“The steps are to find it, board it, then try to control it,”
answered Cheryl, where “it” referred to the scout. “Let’s see if we can sense
its presence.”

Folding her hands in her lap, she placed her elbows on the
armrests and stared straight ahead. In her mind’s eye, she pictured herself
swooping over the Earth, looking and listening for hints of the ship.

Then she sat upright and looked at Sid. “Criss will know
someone is trying to break into the scout. Since he won’t know who I am, I’ll
be tagged as a threat. He could kill me.”

Sid didn’t speak for a moment, then he nodded. “Let me try.”

“No, I’ll do it,” she said, annoyed by his response.
It’s
not the danger. It’s being killed by Criss.

She slumped back in the chair, breathed in a steady rhythm, and
imagined herself flying. When she did this on the scout, her thoughts would transform
into a new reality and she would become an extension of the ship. Here, the
brain interface system didn’t know what to do with her intent. In spite of her best
efforts, she could not lift her sense of self out of her seat. Her
concentration drifted and she refocused. When it drifted again she conceded the
difficulty of maintaining a proper mental state when the equipment did not engage.