Crystal Conquest

by Doug J. Cooper

  She hesitated, considering whether to go there, and decided this would be the last time. “You aren’t upset with me, are you?”

  He straightened his back and met her gaze, his posture reflecting sincerity. “No worries.” She didn’t know that her development staff had enjoyed a steady stream of unexplained successes—successes they chose to believe were the result of their own brilliance—that enabled this day to come years sooner than it otherwise might have.

  “Juice,” said Criss. “I fear we may have an issue that requires our immediate attention.”

  She sat down at a lab-tech bench, tapped the surface, and studied her new crystal’s intricate lattice geometry floating in front of her. She smiled as she reviewed the same stats she’d studied yesterday. Her success strengthened her confidence, and she gave herself permission to enjoy this triumph. She’d perceived growing shadows of doubt from her critics over the past year. Victory is indeed sweet.

  “I’m on a roll, Criss. Bring it on. What’s our issue?”

  Criss briefed her on Lenny, his background and motives, and on the temporary shopping diversion he had used to create a delay. “I can continue to hinder his progress, but unless I create physical challenges, he’ll persist. He’s committed to getting to me through you.”

  She swiveled in her seat to look at Criss’s image, concerned by the sense of urgency in his voice. “When you say ‘physical challenges,’ you mean ‘hurt him.’”

  “Not unless you permit it.”

  She tightened her lips, angled her head, and stared at him as she tried to understand his motives. You know the answer, Criss, she thought. Why are you asking?

  “Suppose I create a series of delays—traffic jams, road construction, malfunctions in his car, that sort of thing,” said Criss. “It will slow his progress and give us more time.”

  “That sounds good,” she said, relieved to have a solution. “Please handle it.”

  “He’s smart. As coincidences accumulate, he’ll recognize that his bad luck is beyond reasonable probability. It’ll reinforce his suspicions about me, and this will strengthen his resolve. He’s a resourceful young man. Without employing physical challenges, I can delay him for perhaps two days.”

  Juice started twirling a lock of her hair with her finger, a nervous habit brought on by anxiety. The idea of an interloper carried her far outside her comfort zone. She trusted Criss, but the whole situation made her uneasy. And she certainly didn’t want public complications when they were celebrating the development of a working crystal prototype. “How soon before Sid’s back?” she asked.

  Criss assumed the look of someone lost in thought, and she recognized this meant he was diverting resources from his interaction with her to a different high-priority task.

  “Oh my,” he said. “Cheryl’s life is in danger.”

  Chapter 7

  Cheryl wrapped up a marathon session with her defense array project team. One of her concerns—that the public drama had upset team dynamics—proved unfounded. It turned out no one liked Geitz; the most common descriptor she heard in her conversations was “weasel.” They all seemed glad she’d found and fixed the problems he’d created.

  Tired and hungry, she followed Sid through a set of doors and into the base canteen. He thrust his chin at an open table on the far side of the dining hall and veered toward the food service units to see what looked good.

  She grabbed two coffees and moved through the room to the table he’d indicated. Setting his cup down, she took her seat and gripped her cup with both hands. It warmed her fingers and, in the process, drained some of the tension from her body.

  She took a sip and peered into the crowd, finding Sid weaving around the tables. He approached with a tray of food, and she took a moment to enjoy the nimble grace of this big man.

  He was a legend in the shadowy world of covert warriors, and she knew only portions of his storied career. She felt both guilt and excitement that he occasionally accepted mundane assignments just to be with her. But you’re getting me in the deal, buddy. I’m worth it.

  Acting like her waiter, he picked a muffin and a fruit cup off the tray and placed them on a plate in front of her. He unfolded and handed her a cloth napkin and then sat down across from her. His attention shifted to the steaming bowl of macaroni and cheese he’d selected for himself.

  Sid attacked his food like it was an adversary to be defeated. She broke off a piece of her muffin, slipped it into her mouth, closed her eyes, and savored the apple-spice delight. “Mmm.”

  Sid, his bowl empty, eyed her muffin. She pushed the last half over to him.

  “I have three of my best on the way,” he said between mouthfuls. “They’ll be here in a few hours. They’re fully embedded as Fleet crew—a lieutenant, a tech sergeant, and an ops specialist. We can hand this off to them and be on tomorrow morning’s shuttle.”

  Cheryl rubbed a finger around the lip of the coffee mug and reflected on his words. The defense array was her project, and she was glad they’d caught the bad guys. But from her perspective, there were additional issues that needed her attention.

  “The situation is under control, so it makes sense for you to head back.” She caught his eye and smiled, acknowledging this isn’t what he wanted to hear. “I need another day or two. I want to spend more time with my key people. It’ll be good for me and good for the project. And I want to stand in the command center, run some drills, and feel positive vibes from the group. When everyone is working together and looking ahead, I’ll come home.”

  Sid started to speak, but Criss intruded with clear urgency in his tone. “Cheryl’s life is in danger. A man is coming to kill her. I’m sorry I didn’t catch this sooner.”

  She knew Sid received the message, because his head pivoted as he scanned the room. “Where?” he said. “I don’t see him.”

  “He just came through the entrance,” Criss replied in their ears.

  Cheryl looked over to see a man standing inside the canteen door. Wild-eyed, he scanned the crowd and held up a firearm. “I know that bitch is in here.” He pointed his weapon at the nearest table. “Where is she?”

  Cheryl had no sooner zeroed in on the source of the commotion than she felt her chair tilt backward. Sid had stretched his leg beneath the table, hooked his foot under the front of her seat, and lifted upward. She reached out her arms and instinctively flailed in an attempt to regain her balance. The look on Sid’s face left no doubt that she should halt that behavior immediately.

  She careened in a frightening arc backward. Her chair hit the floor, and she let out a quiet oomph as the impact forced the air from her lungs.

  A firm hand gripped her arm and started to pull. She turned her head to see Sid, already under the table, dragging her next to him. It registered then that he’d tipped her over to get her out of the line of sight. He was now moving her to cover.

  * * *

  “Stay here,” Sid whispered in her ear.

  He began to slither on his stomach, using his knees and elbows for propulsion, as he moved silently behind a row of tables. He didn’t notice the glops of food that previous diners had spilled onto the floor. He was too focused on his triangle—the man with the weapon, Cheryl under the table, and the wall partition he picked as his destination.

  It took just moments for him to reach the partition that separated a service area from the larger dining hall. Once behind it, he rose up on his hands and knees. Keeping his head low, he peeked around the near corner to assess the situation.

  The man babbled a string of nonsense threats and accusations as he wandered among the diners. “If you’re wearing a uniform, put your head on the table.” His slurred speech made him sound like he was drunk, or perhaps it had been too long since he’d slept. “If you know where the bitch is, point her out and this’ll all be over.”

  Many of the diners had their heads down. Others appeared to be watching calmly, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to take action. There were lots of civilians in
the canteen that morning, making the intruder’s job of identifying Cheryl more challenging.

  Sid sat back against the partition and scanned the items stacked in the different bins along the opposing wall. The top row held glasses, utensils, and napkins. This is where people can grab things for their meal. He leaned over and took another peek at the man. Continuing his rant, the aggressor moved deeper into the dining hall.

  Sid started crawling to the far corner of the partition and stopped when he caught sight of a bin of steak knives. Sitting back down, he hefted one. He was disappointed by its light weight and awkward balance. But it had a sharp tip and a serrated edge. He twirled it to get a feel for its balance and center of mass. Taking a practice grip along the back of the blade, he visually identified where he should put his thumb and fingers for maximum control.

  He scooped up a couple of knives and set them on the floor at the near corner of the partition. After a quick peek around the corner, he took two coffee mugs and set them next to the knives. Grabbing two more mugs, he crawled to the far corner. On his knees, he held the partition with one hand and leaned out. Aiming in a direction where there were no diners, he flung a cup low and fast so it skittered across the floor.

  The gunman whipped around and raised his weapon at the noise. When the cup slowed, Sid pitched another one, again keeping it low and using a hard sidearm so it bounced and tumbled. The man turned his ear to locate the source of the rattle. Sid heard a quiet zwip. A bolt of white energy discharged from the man’s weapon as he fired a wild shot in the general direction of the sound.

  While the second cup was under attack, Sid scooted on his knees to the near corner of the partition. He leaned out far enough so his arm could move freely and pitched a cup in a high, gentle arc far across the room. The gunman lifted his eyes to track its path. Got ya.

  With the man’s head tilted up and his eyes on the cup, Sid cocked his arm and flung a knife. It wobbled more than he expected, and while it hit point forward, the knife was angled on impact. Despite the less-than-optimal trajectory, it succeeded in piercing deep enough to hang loosely from the fellow’s neck.

  Stunned, the attacker lowered his weapon hand and let it hang freely at his side. He used his other hand to explore the unexpected sensation below his ear. Feeling the knife, he pulled his hand away and looked at the blood dripping from his fingers. His moan sounded more like anguish than pain.

  Three crew from a nearby table used the distraction as an opening to finish the job. Moving together, they jumped the man and wrestled him to the ground. Base security, watching at the door for an opportune moment, rushed in and took control.

  Sid leaned back against the partition and closed his eyes. In his pre-Criss life, he’d traveled to the most lawless parts of the world at the behest of the Union of Nations to confront ruthless tyrants. He’d once fought five coldblooded killers armed only with a stick. And he loved it.

  But when it came to fighting for Cheryl, he got scared. What if I lost her?

  * * *

  Cheryl turned her back to the room, pretending to study a wall display while base security questioned Sid. “Geez, Criss,” she asked. “Why the late notice?”

  “I’ve been using resources to address an unexpected development here with Juice.”

  Cheryl, tense from the attack, reprimanded him. “You know that Sid and I are in a hostile situation. You should have been tracking this.”

  “Of all the people on Lunar Base involved in the conspiracy, this fellow had the lowest threat profile. I was monitoring his audio feeds but just sampling his visuals. I missed it when he was slipped instructions on a scrap of paper.”

  “What have you learned?”

  “The syndicate is holding his wife and daughter hostage. He had three hours to find and kill you or his family dies. He was in a no-win situation.”

  Cheryl couldn’t muster sympathy for the injured man. How could someone join a conspiracy that was so obviously dumb and think it’d turn out okay? She did feel concern for the wife and daughter, however. “Can we help his family?”

  There was a brief silence. “Law enforcement will arrive momentarily at the site where the wife and child are being held hostage. The thugs at the site have received a message they believe is from their boss telling them to set the two free.”

  “Thanks,” said Cheryl, lowering her guard a small amount.

  “Would you like me to make life difficult for the syndicate boss and his lieutenants?”

  She nodded, caught in the emotion of the moment. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  “When the boss checks his finances, he’ll learn their enterprise is bankrupt. Accounts across their distributed wealth network now show a zero balance.”

  There was another moment of silence. “He and his inner circle have lost service to their coms, and none of them will be successful in restoring service for months. This will leave them isolated. Also, the nav on any car they enter will malfunction. No matter their desired destination, the car will drive in a random path for an hour and return them to their starting point.”

  She smiled at his evil genius. “Beautiful. We should have done this when we first learned of them.”

  “Yes,” he said. She didn’t recall that he’d suggested similar actions during a leadership meeting, but the group had focused on other issues.

  Sid, done with the on-scene questioning from security, walked over to Cheryl. She gave him a hug. “Fleet certainly trains their project liaisons quite well. Thank you for what you did.” Before he could respond, she pulled back and, with her hands still on his shoulders, added, “And don’t spoil it by telling me it’s your job.”

  Sid looked her in the eyes. “I can honestly say it was my pleasure.” He turned his head and she followed his gaze. Much of the crowd was sneaking glances in their direction. “It’s time for a change of scenery.”

  They exited the canteen, and Criss guided them as they navigated corridors, climbed stairs, and at one point walked over a pedestrian bridge spanning a road where service and delivery vehicles drove below.

  They stopped in front of a set of sturdy doors. Large letters labeled them as Base Security. They entered but their progress was stopped after a few steps by an institutional-looking counter that ran the width of the room, separating them from the activity and people behind. Cheryl approached the one person providing service. His name tag identified him as Sullivan.

  “Cheryl Wallace to see Chief Medina.”

  “You got an appointment?” Sullivan made a half-hearted attempt to access information on a panel but didn’t seem overly interested in anything it might be displaying.

  “We were to meet the chief later this afternoon,” she said with a bright smile. “You can tell him we’re early.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Sullivan, nodding toward Sid.

  “He’s with me.”

  Sullivan pointed to some chairs along the wall. “Have a seat.” A few of the chairs were occupied by people whose bored appearances suggested they’d been waiting for more than a few minutes.

  Sid walked to a pair of empty chairs while Cheryl hesitated at the counter, thinking about pushing on this fellow a bit harder. As she pondered her next actions, the chief appeared in the background.

  “Hey, Cheryl.” He gave a quick wave. “Sully, you can let them back.”

  They settled into chairs around a small table in what looked to Cheryl like a suspect interview room. She wasted no time in going on the offensive. “What the hell, Chief? Yesterday we provided you details about a theft ring operating under your watch. You heard a confession from one of your own men. And today they’re free to roam the base with firearms?”

  The chief slumped back in his chair and looked down at his hands. “We had them pegged as thieves. We get that sort up here more than we care to admit.” He lifted his head and shifted his eyes from Cheryl to Sid. “Tech thieves aren’t violent offenders. My instructions were to confine him to quarters while we reviewed the material you gave
us.”

  “Were they at least being monitored?” asked Sid.

  “Yeah, but we gave them plenty of rope. This is the moon. You can’t run that far if you want to stay where there’s air.”

  He leaned forward, animated by his next point. “And your information had the kind of detail only someone on the inside could provide. If there was going to be violence, it seemed likely to me that it’d be because the group was issuing its own justice. How that played out would tell us a lot about who was leading and who was following. It doesn’t make sense they’d go after you. That one caught us by surprise.”

  “What about now? Are we safe?”

  The chief checked his com. “They’ve been moved to lockup six levels down. You’ll be safe, unless they’re more of them we don’t know about.”

  Chapter 8

  Lenny woke with a start. The car’s annoying ding signaled he’d arrived at his destination. His mouth was dry and his lips felt chapped. Looking out the windshield, he groped on the seat next to him for his water pouch.

  “What the hell?” The car was parked in front of a store with four large display windows. His eyes flicked down the row and became wider as he absorbed the view. Each window held a display of several life-like mannequins in various poses. The models were all women, and they all wore outfits so revealing that Lenny flushed.

  He shifted his gaze to the farthest window and, in a systematic fashion, studied each display. Taking a sip from his bottle, he stopped to squint. This one was wearing an outfit so small and shear, he had to study the mannequin to determine if she was wearing anything at all. He took a large swallow as his eyes skipped over the front door and started on the next window display.

  And then his blossoming excitement collapsed. A pudgy, balding middle-aged man stepped into the window and started dressing one of the life-sized dolls in a wisp of an outfit. He watched the man’s rump jiggle as he bent over to fish around in a box at his feet.