Crystal Escape

by Doug J. Cooper

  In an unexpected series of events, Cheryl now owned Vivo and Aurora. Or more specifically, SunRise, the massive space commercialization outfit she ran with Criss, now owned them.

  When she’d pitched Boz Vesper of the NOAH group a plan for rescuing his property, he’d declined, as had Aubrey’s mother, who turned out to be Vivo’s majority owner.

  Boz told Cheryl that an asteroid impact crater on the moon had been discovered to hold a forty-year supply of the rare material they’d been mining out at the asteroid belt. The lunar source was accessible for a tiny fraction of the price Aurora needed to be competitive, making the mining colony a money loser. With no motivation to keep it open, they’d used the plundering by the miners and the structural damage when Criss fired weapons into Aurora to qualify it for an insurance payout.

  While that deal hadn’t closed, it offered Boz a sweet solution, one he wanted to pursue. And, as it turned out, Aubrey’s mother had also availed herself of an insurance option with the theft of her vacation island.

  This left Cheryl negotiating with two insurance firms, something she disliked because insurance representatives tended to be risk averse and slow to act. She pitched both companies the idea that their new assets would hold greater value if criminals weren’t in control. The reps from both firms politely declined her offer and disconnected.

  An hour later they contacted her, one offering Cheryl twelve percent of her original quote, the other offering fifteen percent.

  Cheryl lied to both insurance reps, telling them she’d organized the guests and miners into a lawsuit aimed directly at their companies, spouting off contract clauses and legal phrases she’d run across on the job and didn’t fully understand, but gambled they didn’t either. After telling them she expected to make more money from leading the lawsuit than from the rescue operation, she was the one to disconnect.

  They both contacted her after another hour, and she offered to kill the lawsuit if they’d sell their properties for what amounted to about twenty percent of the original construction costs. Both declined and disconnected. They contacted her an hour after that, haggled, and ended up selling both properties at twenty-four percent of original cost.

  She hadn’t planned the outcome, nor had she bounced it off Criss before making the offer. That part wasn’t an oversight. She’d chosen not to include him because she believed in herself, thought the idea was inspired, and didn’t want to hear about the thousand different ways it could all go wrong.

  After she’d closed the deal, she asked Criss for feedback. “I’d like to tow both platforms to Mars and place them in orbit above the planet. My vision is to augment Mars Colony with new real estate, and the amenities we can offer should help attract more businesses, vacationers, and immigrants to the planet.

  “Vivo will need extensive work to stabilize the structure and ready it for long-term space use. For starters, it needs a hangar deck. And it needs several thousand sensors installed so it can have a proper nav and ops bench. And when the subdeck separated from Vivo, it damaged the integrity of the structure and weakened the containment. All of it will need inspection and repair.”

  Cheryl was the one to gasp when Criss told her that moving the platforms to a stable orbit above Mars would take eight months, and that the cost of that plus construction and refurbishment on both structures would cost a medium-large fortune. Both numbers were about four times higher than what she’d guesstimated in her head.

  Criss did have good news, though. “If we keep tight control on the scope of work, we should be open for business in fourteen months and start turning a profit four years after that.”

  While recouping her investment would take longer than most projects she invested in, the timeframe wasn’t so long that she regretted her decision. In fact, the challenge energized her.

  Her first order of business was to stabilize the platforms so she had the breathing room to focus on the details of the full project. Both structures had experienced structural trauma—Aurora from being tilted to avoid collision and Vivo from the subdeck separation. And each had suffered containment breaches that vented tremendous volumes of oxygen into space, depleting their precious stores.

  “I’m headed this way,” said Juice, pointing left down the main corridor. Her stated objective was to check on the guests, but Cheryl knew that was an excuse to visit Willow.

  “Yell if you need anything,” Cheryl replied, turning right. She navigated the sparsely populated hallway, and the few miners she met ignored her.

  As she descended to Aurora’s lower level, one couple coming in the opposite direction asked, “What happens to us?”

  “We’ll be interviewing for construction jobs in the next couple of days. Those who don’t get an offer or aren’t interested in one will be provided free transportation home.”

  After Cheryl had moved away from the couple, she asked Criss, “Was that right?”

  “Yes. It will take eight weeks to get a crew of construction synbods out here. The miners are a skilled group to use until then. Your challenge will be finding the field supervisors needed to coordinate the workers. Most people with leadership experience are about to be imprisoned and shipped back to Earth.”

  As she digested the news, Cheryl exited the stairwell onto the lower deck, and Criss guided her to a crew cart. Clambering in, she started touring her new property.

  She expected this level of Aurora to be something like Vivo’s cellar, with mechanicals to generate food and maintain life support operations, plus extra equipment for the sifting and separation of the asteroid ore. While she hadn’t imagined military levels of cleanliness, she hadn’t prepared herself for the disarray.

  The extra inhabitants Tommy Two-Tone had admitted to Aurora had staked out small plots in and among the equipment. Belongings stacked in haphazard fashion around the perimeter of their small plot gave the industrial setting a slum-like feel.

  “I’m going to pitch MacMac the job of project lead,” Cheryl said to Criss. “This place is in desperate need of his organizational skills. Do you think he’d be interested?”

  “I think so, especially if you offer to bring his wife out to join him.”

  The cart rounded a corner, and she stopped at tank storage to inspect Aurora’s inventory of gases and liquids.

  “You said we were low on air. How bad is it?” Cheryl asked, stepping out of the cart and picking her way through the disarray as she assessed the condition of the tanks.

  “There’s good news and bad. The bad news is that both Vivo and Aurora suffered tremendous losses, and now neither has near enough air stored to meet Fleet platform guidelines. It will shut us down until supplies arrive. Tankers are on the way from Mars, but they won’t get here for five weeks.”

  “I’m not sure I heard any good news in there.”

  “In preparation for the chase with Lazura, I’d placed fourteen supply ships along her likely exit routes. Nine of them are in a position where I can loop them back in this direction. I’ve initiated those maneuvers. The ships are spread out from here to Saturn, but the first one arrives in two days. It will put us close enough to the minimum safe numbers that we can proceed with caution. Two days after that, the next ship arrives, and we’ll be safely within code.”

  She smiled. “That’s the good news I wanted to hear.”

  Over the next couple of hours, Cheryl’s assessment tour took her up the levels of Aurora. Her goal with the upper decks was to get a glimpse of the different sizes and kinds of living areas, and to brainstorm ways she might finish it out to maximize utility when orbiting above Mars. She started humming toward the end of her inspection, a sure sign that her thoughts were transitioning past Lazura and threats of death.

  “Hey, sweets,” Sid called to her. “We’re landing in the hangar bay now. If you’re free, I’ll update you. If you’re hungry, I’ll do it over food.”

  “I’m headed your way and I’m starving,” Cheryl replied. “See you soon.”

  She made her way towar
d the hangar, the thought of food causing her to muse about building a restaurant on the view deck.

  “Cheryl?”

  She turned and saw a short, heavyset woman with close-cropped hair. It took a moment for her brain to connect the dots. “Pete?”

  “Oh my God, you’re safe!” Pete ran to Cheryl and grabbed her in a long embrace. “Sid said you’d been kidnapped by some crazy lady.”

  “I’m safe now. What are you doing way out here? Who’s watching Sisyphus?”

  “The Barge Coordinator can handle the workload just fine. I’m out here trying to rescue Sid. Have you heard from him?”

  “I’m headed to meet him now. Follow me.” She started walking. “Why does he need to be rescued?”

  “The aim was off when we fired him out of the cannon. I couldn’t find anyone on this end to catch him because he was so far off course.”

  Cheryl stopped walking. “Say that again?”

  “He shot himself out of the cannon so he’d land here on Aurora and rescue you. But the shot was off, and he ended up flying into empty space. I couldn’t get anyone out here to rescue him, so I came myself.”

  “You’re not teasing me? Why would he do that?”

  “He was losing you and needed to act. He’d arranged for some fast ships to swing by the barge and pick him up, but they were all arriving days too late. I took one of them out here since Sid had paid for it already.”

  “That is the dumbest stunt I could ever imagine.” Cheryl heard the edge in her voice as she resumed walking.

  “You always said he’d do anything for you. I saw it in action.”

  They rounded a corner and spotted Sid up ahead, his back to them as he talked with Criss.

  Pete chirped when she saw him. “I’ve been so stressed over him.” She ran in Sid’s direction. “You crazy son of a bitch!” she called as she grabbed him in a hug.

  Chapter 31

  After leaving Cheryl to her inspection of Aurora, Juice headed left down the corridor. She followed the arrows Criss projected to guide her to Midline Hall, the place on Aurora where Vivo’s guests now lived. She had promised Cheryl she’d visit the group and make sure they were okay. Her personal mission, though, was to reach out to Willow.

  The teen had experienced life-threatening trauma at the hands of a synbod, the kind of brutal interaction that scars the soul. Juice understood that professional help could reduce the long-term injury from such an emotional wound. In fact, she’d already assigned Criss the task of securing those resources for Willow upon her return home.

  But Juice had the idea of giving Willow a positive interaction with a synbod so she’d have that experience to balance against the bad. After all, as president of Crystal Sciences, Juice wanted everyone to feel safe with and supportive of crystal intelligences.

  Her plan was to enlist Willow as an assistant while she repaired Chase’s arm. She believed the caregiving experience would help Willow see synbods in a new light. And Chase’s gentle nature should help her see synbods from a positive perspective.

  “This place feels grubby compared to Vivo,” Juice said to Criss as she turned the corner and walked the corridor along Midline Hall.

  She’d worried that all the guests would be huddled together in one big room, but the hasty departure of two hundred miners had left a host of options. The guests had not been shy about claiming space wherever they felt comfortable.

  For the next hour, Juice greeted people she encountered, telling the ones interested in chatting that help was on the way, and listening to the anxieties and fears from the most shaken of the group. Then she found Willow, who’d appropriated a one-room apartment with her mom and grandmother.

  “There are other rooms,” Juice told them when she realized they had two beds for the three of them.

  “We don’t want to split up,” said Willow’s mother, the other two nodding in agreement.

  “I understand.” Juice gauged the size of the space. “I’ll see about getting another bed in here then.”

  “We need access to laundry and cleaning supplies,” said Willow’s grandmother, the disgust evident in her voice. “This place is a pigsty.”

  It took another hour before Juice got Willow alone. “I need to operate on my friend Chase and require an assistant. Would you help me?” Juice paused but continued before Willow could reply. “My friend is a synbod. His arm is injured, and I need to repair it. Your job would be to comfort him while I concentrate.”

  “Like, hold him?” Juice could hear fear in the young girl’s voice.

  “No, just talk to him. He’ll be lying on an operating table. You can sit across the room.”

  “You’ll be there?”

  Juice nodded. “I’ll be operating.”

  “Why do you want me to do this?”

  Juice looked into the distance as she thought how to reply. “The focus of my life has been on developing AI’s that better the world. No human has ever been threatened by one of my crystals until what happened to you. I’m horrified that you had to live through it. I guess I want to fix it, or try to, anyway.”

  Willow thought for a moment. “If it will help you, I’ll give it a try. But promise that if I’m scared, you’ll let me leave.”

  Juice nodded. “You can sit right next to the door.”

  Willow’s mother and grandmother balked at the idea, but when Willow explained that it was to help Juice get past her worries, they grudgingly relented.

  Juice needed to kill time until Criss returned with the scout, and he suggested she take the family to dine at a private lounge that offered a view of the stars. Once there, the conversation stayed light, the second most popular topic being things everyone looked forward to doing when they returned to Oregon. The number one topic, though, focused on Mink, the family’s corgi pup. Willow showed Juice vids of Mink chasing a ball, greeting another dog, bouncing through snow, and a dozen other cute scenes. By meal’s end, Sid and Criss had returned to Aurora.

  Juice and Willow walked together to the hangar bay, then out onto the deck and toward the scout. The craft’s burly engines and gossamer exterior captured the girl’s attention. Though she didn’t say anything, Juice saw the wonder in her eyes. Inside the vessel, Willow’s brow furrowed as she viewed the luxurious finishes blended with abundant military technology.

  Juice led the way to the rear of the scout and into the small workshop. “We’re here,” she said to Chase when they entered. The shirtless synbod lay on a table placed up against the tech bench, his injured arm stretched out across the bench work area.

  “Thank you for coming, Willow,” said Chase.

  Willow stood in the doorway. “You’re welcome.”

  “Stay open,” Juice said to the door. She pulled a chair over near it. “The door won’t close on you. Move the chair wherever you’re comfortable.”

  Juice climbed into the tech bench seat, and the lighting adjusted to highlight Chase’s arm near the elbow. She looked at the synbod lying on the table but spoke loud enough for Willow to hear. “I’m going to remove and replace the flexor regulator in your humerus.”

  The statement informed Willow and Chase, but really served as a prompt for Criss.

  “Here’s your first incision,” said Criss so only she could hear. A small blue line projected onto Chase’s arm.

  As Juice positioned a microscalpel and began to cut, Willow asked Chase, “Do you feel pain from that?”

  “Yes, but I am able to lower the intensity because I know that the source of the pain is not a threat. When I do that, I feel little discomfort.”

  “How did you hurt yourself?”

  Juice didn’t want Chase to answer truthfully—that it had happened in a fight with another synbod—because that would only strengthen the synbods-are-bad narrative she was trying to dispel. Before she could interrupt and change the subject, though, Criss told her, “I’ll handle it.”

  “I was working to help the guests,” Criss spoke through Chase, communicating the filtered truth.
“I hurt my arm in an unfortunate accident on the subdeck.”

  Willow remained quiet while Juice worked. After several minutes, the girl announced, “He doesn’t really think or feel. It’s all just simulated.”

  “That’s right.” Criss continued speaking through Chase. “And that’s how you know that the only way I can hurt you is if someone else forces me to do so. I’m not able to decide such a thing on my own.”

  Using surgical tweezers, Juice held up a pea-sized ball for Willow to see. “Want to watch me insert it?”

  Willow hesitated, then moved closer. Looking Chase up and down on the table, she asked, “Why do you make them so perfect? They’d be more relatable if you gave them flaws.”

  “You aren’t the first to say that,” said Juice. “If we create a visually flawed synbod, I fear the public would view it as a quality control problem. And those thoughts could lead to suspicion about the things people can’t see, like the quality of the artificial intelligence inside.”

  “Mr. Phillips, my science teacher, says that someday we’ll build an AI that’s self-aware and smarter than we are.”

  “Do you think that’s a good thing or a bad thing?” asked Juice.

  “He calls it the singularity. We create an AI in our image, then it creates an even smarter one in its image. That keeps going, with ever more powerful intelligences following the next.”

  “Where does it stop?”

  “Not until the very top. He says that religion has it backward. In reality, it’s always been humanity’s destiny to create the Almighty.”

  Chapter 32

  Troubled by his big lie, Criss continued to fret. In spite of Cheryl and Juice’s explicit instructions to take no further action with Lazura for five days, he knew they meant to let her live for that period. When Sid reinforced their command to take no action, he subverted their intentions and worked to ensure Lazura’s death.

  And while that outcome was the best one from Criss’s view, the situation produced conflicts impossible for his loyalty imprint to resolve. To his great relief, he found the solution when Lazura was less than a day from annihilation by the swarm of drones.