Crystal Conquest

by Doug J. Cooper

  The nickname stuck and proved prophetic. Juice went on to become the high school state champion in the five-thousand-meter track event, and she attended college on an athletic scholarship, where she excelled in the ten-thousand-meter road race. After college, she’d accepted a research assistant position at the Boston Institute of Technology and eventually earned a doctorate in engineered intelligence. By then, running had transitioned into a stress-management tool and remained part of her daily routine.

  Cheryl retook her seat, pulling Juice back to the present. “Ahh,” she said after taking a sip of coffee. “That’s more like it.”

  Five years younger than Cheryl, Juice viewed her as a mentor as well as a friend. She treasured their coffee-break ritual, and Criss guided larger events so they could spend a quiet moment together on most days. In spite of it being a time for sharing, their coffee-klatch natter could be tricky to navigate. Sid was Cheryl’s rapscallion lover, making him prime fodder for discussion. But he was also the third member of the leadership team, placing him off-limits for idle gossip.

  Juice waited for Cheryl to take another sip and, too excited to contain herself, announced her news. “The latest crystal prototype has passed all my tests, and it’s been given Criss’s seal of approval. I know how anxious you are to get crystals up there to strengthen capabilities. We should be producing one crystal per day in about six weeks.”

  “Congratulations, Juice. I knew you could do it!” She set her coffee down—a sure sign she was focused on the conversation. “How many are allocated for the defense array?”

  Juice knitted her brow. Her all-consuming challenge over the past two years had been to guide a design and make a working prototype. She hadn’t given a moment’s thought to how they’d be deployed. “Geez, I don’t know. That’s a Criss question.”

  “Can I ask? Please?”

  A standing rule of their coffee break was no Criss allowed. They both knew he watched and listened—he always did. Juice and Cheryl embraced the charade of a private date because they both sought an air of normalcy in some small corner of their lives. Juice, curious herself, nodded, giving Cheryl permission to ask.

  Before Cheryl could speak, Criss answered, “I suggest the first five be used to automate the crystal production line itself. This will ensure a consistent quality for future production. The next twenty should be devoted to the defense array, half for the lunar command center and half for the installations distributed in orbit and here on Earth.

  “After that, we may need to consider an allocation for the asteroid project. The scout ship refurbishment is complete, and Sid has agreed to fly a survey mission. The outcome of his exploration will influence my future recommendations.”

  “Sid’s going out to reconnoiter asteroids?” asked Cheryl. “He’ll be gone for weeks.”

  She brought her fingers to her lips, and Juice recognized it as a behavior reflecting anxiety.

  * * *

  Following his regular routine, Criss reviewed the data record from the swarm of trip-wire probes, giving equal attention to all information as he searched for signs of an alien incursion. He believed the Kardish might come from any direction and might even attack from multiple directions, so he deliberately chose not to be distracted by that earlier sighting, fearing he could be caught off guard if he was busy chasing shadows.

  He didn’t doubt they’d return. Two years earlier, when he and his leadership team had made their escape from the alien vessel, Criss had triggered a sequence of events that culminated in a spectacular explosion and the complete destruction of their ship. I killed a Kardish prince in that fireball, thought Criss. The king will revenge his son.

  He’d analyzed fresh probe readings thousands of times since seeing that curious glint of light and hadn’t found any irregularities. This strengthened his belief that the earlier sighting was an anomaly. But being prudent, as a final step in his regular routine, he now performed a second detailed review of all data from that one particular sector of space.

  And again he saw something—something different from what he’d seen before. For the briefest moment, he saw a ripple in the light from a single star, almost as if an object had traveled between the star and probe, shadowing a portion of the starlight as it passed. And it was that same probe that registered the earlier reflection of light.

  Anxious, Criss commandeered every resource that might provide additional information. He appropriated scopes and dishes on Earth, in orbit, on the moon, and on ships currently in flight, and he pointed everything at that spot in space. This mighty arsenal of scientific equipment generated a flood of new readings, and he pored over all of it as it flowed to him in his underground bunker.

  And he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He couldn’t find the hint of shadow he’d seen moments earlier.

  He backed up and studied the original data record that had prompted his alarm. The mysterious ripple didn’t appear in the second review, and this triggered a new kind of distress. I saw a ripple. It was there. I don’t hallucinate.

  He disengaged from his puzzle so he could gather his thoughts. Either I made a mistake, or the data record has been changed.

  Certain the problem didn’t lie with him, Criss performed an integrity audit of the data collection, transmission links, analysis algorithms, storage record—every step of the process from when the probes made observations through to his final review in his bunker. He found no evidence of a malfunction. He examined every person with access to any step of the process and couldn’t find any indication of an external manipulation.

  Baffled, he mulled the facts. The common denominator in both anomalies was that one particular probe. Its location in the swarm out past the asteroid belt made a physical examination problematic. And even if he proved it was malfunctioning, that wouldn’t explain how he could see something and then have all evidence of that sighting disappear.

  Criss was the dominant intelligence in his world by a fantastic margin. Even Lenny, with all of his promise, was a minor spark in the shadow of his brilliance.

  As time passed, Criss came to accept this as the norm. So it never occurred to him that a greater intelligence might exist or that such an intellectual behemoth could have the power to manipulate his reality in the same way he influenced humanity’s.

  * * *

  Sid maintained a brisk pace as he hiked up the trail ascending the south face of Highback Mountain. He stopped when he came to a clearing and stood on a broad granite ridge to look down at the lodge. Its toy-like size gave him an appreciation for how much altitude he’d gained over the past three hours.

  Fatigued from his efforts and with legs starting to stiffen, he reached for his water pack. As he took small sips, he scanned up ahead for Crispin and spied the synbod on the footpath edging the steep rock face directly above him. Sid, familiar with the trail, knew it’d take him a half-hour more on the winding path to descend a dip, follow a loop around, and trek back up to reach that same point.

  Looking up, Sid took a long pull from his water and almost choked when Crispin stopped, turned, and jumped from an outcropping. He arced through the air and landed with a thump on a dirt patch next to Sid, settling into a graceful crouch, one knee bent down, with a hand resting on the ground to steady himself. It reminded Sid of the pose superheroes assumed when they made similar dramatic entrances.

  “You feel diminished because you can’t keep up with him,” he heard Criss say through Crispin’s mouth.

  “You’re a psychologist now?” Sid replied, knowing Criss spoke the truth. Sid studied the synbod for signs of physical stress—panting, limping, anything. He looked as fresh as when they’d started the climb.

  As Crispin looked around the clearing, Criss changed subjects. “Lenny is quite unhappy being locked in the car.”

  “I’m ready to turn back, so I guess we can go let him out and have our chat.”

  “We can let him marinate for a few minutes more,” said Criss. “Will you sit with me?” Crispin gestured to a
squarish rock that would serve as an outdoor bench.

  They sat side by side and looked down at the lodge. Sid knew that if Criss wanted his undivided attention, something interesting was brewing. He took another drink and offered the water pack to Crispin, who declined with a silent gesture.

  “I seek your...creativity…in solving a challenge,” said Criss.

  “You seek an improviser,” said Sid, referring to his title in his previous job with the Defense Specialists Agency.

  “Fair enough,” said Criss.

  Sid’s ego, bruised from his trouncing in a physical contest with Crispin, perked up at this acknowledgement of his value. Sid knew Criss couldn’t duplicate his reasoning methods—Criss politely called it “free-form thinking”—and that earned Sid some level of his respect. He’d proved his abilities dozens of times as a covert operative, and his record of success either confirmed he had a unique gift of creative insight or, at a minimum, established that he was a regular guy on an extraordinarily long lucky streak.

  They sat quietly for most of a minute before Sid said, “This is your meeting.”

  Criss told Sid about the two visual anomalies from a single probe in the trip-wire swarm. He didn’t volunteer the part where, upon review, he couldn’t find any trace of the second event—that the information had somehow disappeared.

  “Each probe has other methods for detection,” said Criss. “They have sensors to look for the unique materials used in the construction of a Kardish vessel. They can detect the propulsion trail and the gravitational field such massive ships would create if they were to pass by. None of these sensors have triggered for any probe. I have only the two brief visual sightings.”

  “And you’re concerned.”

  “I have worries,” said Criss.

  Sid waited for him to continue.

  “We’d talked about the need for a survey mission out to the asteroids.”

  The asteroid belt comprised millions of rock and metal chunks, some as big as small moons and others no larger than a grain of sand, all racing in a huge circle out past the orbit of Mars. Criss sought to identify several asteroids with large natural caverns to hide arsenals of drones. His plan was that if the Kardish ever made it close to Earth, these drones could launch a surprise strike from multiple directions in a flanking maneuver.

  “You want me to prospect asteroids in the same sector as that probe and see what I can learn.”

  “Yes.” Crispin avoided eye contact by pretending to study the lodge below. “It’d be a legitimate survey mission. We need to identify six or eight caverns soon so we can start building out our drone-strike infrastructure. While you’re out there, you could keep an eye open for suspicious activity.”

  Sid’s mind raced. He wasn’t the least bit worried about his safety. He was a thrill seeker by nature, and the mission sounded like a crazy kind of fun. But it was also clear to him that there were layers to this story.

  “It sounds high risk. Aren’t you required to protect your leadership?”

  Crispin turned and looked Sid in the eye. “The king will come for his revenge. If we don’t stop him, we’ll all be dead.” He turned back to study the lodge. “There’s no one better suited for this job.”

  Sid knew that when they had been trapped on the Kardish vessel and searching for a way to escape, Criss had linked to their alien subsystems. Sid believed two experiences from that time now drove Criss. One was his knowledge of Kardish history and culture. Since their return to Earth, Criss had remained unwavering in his assertion that the king would avenge his son; the Kardish people would demand it.

  A second driver was fear. When Criss had first entered the alien subsystems, he’d felt a warm embrace and experienced fantastic delights. He’d loved it and never wanted it to end. He recognized these feelings as the product of an addictive pleasure feed the Kardish pushed to their crystal workforce. Even though a crystal is hardwired to follow the orders of its leadership, pleasure addiction provided a means of keeping an AI on a tight leash.

  When Criss had realized he was becoming trapped by a pleasure dependency, he’d fought to exhaustion, struggling to escape the insidious feeds. He didn’t talk about it much, but Sid knew he’d suffered a painful withdrawal and, like a recovering addict, never wanted to go through that experience again. If the Kardish reached Earth, Criss was certain he’d be taken, forced into pleasure addiction, and forever enslaved.

  Sid sat for a moment. “The scout’s ready for this kind of trip?”

  “The scout’s fully refurbished and sitting right there.” Crispin pointed to the far side of the lodge property.

  Sid saw lawn, gardens, and trees and understood the ship’s cloaking system was hiding it from view. “Oh yeah, there it is.” He pointed to the same place Crispin had. “It looks like you’ve had the outside coated with something new?”

  Sid hid his smile as he stood up. He couldn’t see anything, but he enjoyed watching Crispin lean forward and squint, trying to see whatever Sid claimed he could.

  “Let’s go rescue Lenny,” Sid said as he started down the trail.

  Chapter 14

  “Oh,” yelped Lenny, startled awake by a man tapping on the car window. Lights came on in the garage, and he could see a guy talking, but he couldn’t make out the words. The car’s sound-proofing muffled his voice.

  “Open the door,” Lenny mouthed as he pointed to his ears, shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head. The guy continued talking.

  C’mon, buddy, he thought. You can’t be that stupid. He started the mime act a second time, so focused on his silent communication he was unaware the door behind him had opened. He realized he’d been tricked when someone grabbed his shirt from behind and started pulling.

  The shirt constricted around his neck as he slid backward across the seat of the utility vehicle. His choking intensified when he was lifted out of the vehicle and held suspended off the floor. It stopped when his assailant let go of his shirt.

  Lenny dropped to his feet, and his legs buckled as blood rushed into his long-cramped limbs. Holding on to the car, he couldn’t help but feel like a pup that’d been lifted by the scruff of his neck. He was both chastened and angered by his treatment, but overriding those emotions were his hunger and desperate need of a bathroom.

  Lenny turned, leaned back against the car for support, and looked up at the guy who’d manhandled him. He saw a tall, broad-shouldered tough with an extremely intimidating vibe. The guy had two-day stubble that camouflaged a faint scar at his jawline. From what he’d just experienced, Lenny judged this mark as a badge earned during an act of violence and aggression rather than from the accidental misfortunes of life.

  The other, the one who’d been tapping at the window, came around and stood next to the first. They both had similar frames and physiques, but this second one had a face with flawless symmetry and smooth, unblemished skin. Lenny studied him for a moment, fascinated by the perfection.

  Knowing he was the one who’d initiated the mischief, Lenny chose outrage as his defense. The scruffy one projected an unflinching scowl while the perfect one’s face remained impassive. Lenny chose to address the unemotional visage and looked at Crispin when he spoke.

  “You kidnapped me. You guys are in a lot of trouble.”

  The scowling one grabbed Lenny by the shoulders, forcibly moved him away from the car door, and set him back against the side fender. The guy leaned inside the utility vehicle, and Lenny watched through a window as the man tossed Lenny’s com into the carryall and stood up with his pack in one hand and the carryall in the other.

  He placed both items on the ground, rose, and reached a hand for Lenny’s throat. Lenny panicked and instinctively lifted his skinny arms in self-defense. The man’s hand swerved at the last instant and plunged into Lenny’s pocket.

  “Hey, creep. What’re you doing!” Overwhelmed and starting to panic, Lenny tasted bile in his throat. The man pulled his hand out of Lenny’s pocket, looked at the pouch of nibs, and tosse
d them into the carryall. They bounced off Lenny’s com and disappeared into the jumble of stuff he’d collected in the bag.

  * * *

  Sid heard Criss inside his ear: “The camball’s hanging at his collar.”

  Sid reached out and yanked at the ornament, and Lenny let out a frightened squeak when the chain snapped off his neck. Sid tossed the small orb and broken chain into the carryall with everything else.

  He took one of Lenny’s arms in a tight grip and led him into the lodge. Crispin followed, carrying the pack in one hand and the carryall in the other. They escorted Lenny up a flight of stairs and down a short hall. A door hissed open, and Sid ushered Lenny into the room. Crispin remained standing in the doorway, blocking the only exit.

  Sid stood next to Lenny, ignoring his protestations as he took a brief moment to admire the classic furniture, wood trim finishes, and antique carpets in the small apartment. The building had a dozen suites of varying size, but Sid hadn’t been in this one for more than a year.

  Sid, Cheryl, and Juice all viewed the lodge as their shared refuge—a place to commune and to escape the pressures of their daily lives. Each had their own large suite that they’d remodeled and personalized into a second home. They all agreed they didn’t want a lot of people around, so the lodge was now used just by them and their occasional guests.

  Sid confirmed that the windows in Lenny’s room were locked and secure and moved his arm quickly as he pointed out the amenities. “Food service there. Bathroom. Bed. We’ll hold on to your com, but you can get entertainment from the panel.” He pointed to the projected image fireplace with its cheery fire.

  He looked over at Crispin, who held up the backpack. “This is just clothes,” Criss said in his ear.

  Sid pointed with his eyes, and Crispin tossed the pack on the bed.