Crystal Conquest

by Doug J. Cooper

Cheryl stood at the back of the defense array command center. In spite of the clamor filling the room, she focused on her burgeoning list of action items. It would be an hour before Sid took off in the scout, and four more after that before the scout passed the moon. Sid had asked her to wait until then before kicking the defense array up to condition yellow. She wanted to act now.

  She stepped near a tall cabinet that screened her from most of the activity in the command center and spoke to Criss. “If the cloak makes him undetectable, why do we have to wait for him to get past us? I’m anxious to go to yellow and get the crew out of the ‘it’s just another drill’ mindset. They’re going through the motions. I want them to be reaching deep and pushing hard.”

  “Understood,” Criss said into her ear. “My belief is that we have a cloaked intruder approaching and that it’s Kardish. If I’m right, the aliens will detect it when you go to yellow, and their crew will start digging deeper as well.”

  “If there are Kardish out there, Criss, then we’re headed for a battle either way.” She realized that the stress of the moment was affecting her behavior and took a slow, deep breath.

  “He’ll be safer this way.”

  Those words changed her mindset. She knew Criss used a complex, multi-tiered analysis to guide his reasoning. She hadn’t a clue how it worked, but she had faith in both it and him.

  He wouldn’t advocate for the delay if he didn’t think it important. If making Sid safer was some portion of that equation, she didn’t need more convincing. Their emotional entanglement fulfilled her needs on many levels. The next weeks of separation would be difficult enough. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if her obdurate behavior caused him harm.

  “Give me a countdown. I need a visual to help me bring everything together on schedule.”

  The tiny number 4:53 appeared, floating to the upper right in her peripheral vision. It moved when her eyes did, so it never interfered with her direct line of sight.

  “We go yellow in four hours and fifty three minutes.” She wanted to be sure there was no confusion.

  “Correct.”

  She stepped away from the cabinet and watched Grace and Hop on the platform. They were deep in discussion, so she hung back, waiting for a lull in their conversation. The number in the upper right of her vision changed to 4:52.

  She walked to the center of the room and stepped up onto the platform. Grasping the front rail, she studied the crew working through yet another drill. Her fingers started to hurt from the pressure of her grip, and she relaxed her hands.

  She talked to them while looking forward. “I want you both to know there’s been an ambiguous sighting some distance out. The data is flimsy, and the decision is to hold off going to yellow until we get a confirmation. Unofficially, I ask that we up our readiness level. The board stays green until a formal order is issued.” She turned to look at them. “Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” both replied in unison.

  “Hop, I want to borrow Grace for an hour or so. Would you run seek drills until we get back? Look deep. Hunt hard. See if you can find anything.”

  “There’s a lot of space out there. Do you have coordinates for the first sighting? Or even a sector to look in?”

  “Keep an open mind. What I’ve heard so far sounds more like a rumor. And if it’s real, I want to know if they have company joining them from other directions. When we go yellow, it kicks thousands of installations on Earth and in orbit to full alert. I’d like something more solid than gossip before doing that.”

  “You got it, Cheryl.” He turned to face the crew and started barking orders. Busy planning next steps, she didn’t notice his switch from the formal to the familiar with the use of her name.

  As the activity in the room ramped up, Cheryl caught Grace’s eye and tipped her head at the exit. She stepped down from the platform and, taking long strides, walked through the door and into the hall.

  “How can I help, ma’am?” Grace asked, scurrying to match Cheryl’s fast pace as they moved down the hallway.

  “I want to take a last run at Geitz, and I want you to be there when I do. If this rumor turns out to be real, I need to know we’ve uncovered and corrected every bit of his vandalism. You know him and the equipment better than anyone. Help me push him. Feel free to ask questions. Watch for tells.”

  Her plan was to take random stabs at ways the defense array still might be compromised—ways she would do it if profit were the motive—and watch to see if his behavior revealed anything interesting. She’d motivate him by leaving no doubt in his mind that she was prepared to act as judge, jury, and executioner. With the world itself at risk, she’d have no problem playing all three roles.

  Criss had examined the actions of Geitz and his band of thieves in exhaustive detail. He’d assured her that he’d identified all counterfeit equipment and it had all been replaced. But she also knew Criss had missed an event that led to her attack in the canteen. She couldn’t recall another time when he’d made a mistake, but that incident stood out in her mind as concrete evidence he was not infallible.

  Cheryl cleared her throat, and a glowing dot appeared at the far end of the hall. The glow shifted left as they approached, and she turned to follow. They turned left again, and then right, went up some stairs, along more hallways, and started a long descent down a deep stairwell.

  “Geez, I’ve been on base for more than a year and I can’t find my way around like this.”

  “Call it a sixth sense,” Cheryl replied, taking advantage of the low lunar gravity to shuffle down the steps as fast as she could.

  After four flights of stairs, Grace asked, “Couldn’t we have ridden down?”

  “There’s a lift,” Cheryl heard in her ear. “But you only have two more flights to go.”

  “We’re almost there,” Cheryl told Grace. “We’ll ride on the way up.”

  The stairs emptied onto a small landing that included a compact reception station nestled to one side. It was the lowest point of Lunar Base, and with its institutional white walls and basic amenities, it looked the part.

  A staff sergeant behind the lone desk smiled as they approached. Cheryl guessed he didn’t have a lot to do down in the cage. I wonder who he pissed off to get such a miserable assignment.

  “We’re here to interview Lieutenant Geitz,” she said as they approached.

  The guard stood and gestured at his panel. “Sorry, ma’am. I don’t have any visitors on the schedule.”

  “I cleared it with the base commander a few minutes ago.” She flashed him a winning smile and pulled her hair behind her ear on the side closest to him. She glanced at his name tag as she did so, and said, “Would you mind checking for an update, Sergeant Ravalli?”

  “Got you covered,” Criss told her.

  “Wow,” Ravalli said, looking at his panel. “You must have sprinted to get here so fast.”

  Cheryl added a wink to her smile. “You’d be surprised what I can do in low gravity.”

  Flustered and mumbling, Ravalli opened the door he guarded. As they followed him in, Grace leaned forward and whispered, “Did I just see Cheryl Wallace shamelessly use her wiles to get a favor?”

  Cheryl ignored the teasing and focused on chatting up Ravalli. “How many prisoners do you have here today?”

  “Just Geitz.”

  She felt a spike of distress at this answer. “You let the others loose?”

  Ravalli stopped and turned. “Truthfully, I don’t make any decision but what I’m going to eat for lunch. We rarely hold prisoners for more than a couple of days. We send ’em back Earth-ward as seats open up on transports.”

  “I had them keep Geitz around for a few extra days,” Criss said in her ear. “In case you wanted to interview him again.”

  “Hmm,” she said to both Ravalli and Criss.

  They followed the sergeant along a hallway so stark and lonely that, except for the diffuse lighting, it seemed more like a tunnel. There were two visible features—t
he door they entered on one end, and the door they stopped at on the other. Ravalli keyed it open and led them inside.

  “Are both of you going to be in here, or will one be watching from observation?”

  Cheryl took a quick inventory of the small room, noting that the walls, floor, and ceiling were an austere white. The furniture—a utilitarian table and two chairs—was gray. The last feature of note was a second door, presumably leading to the prisoner holding cages.

  “I’d like the three of us in here together,” she said.

  As Cheryl spoke, Grace walked to a chair. Her body shifted as she tried to slide it to one side, but the chair didn’t move.

  “Sorry,” said Ravalli. “Everything’s fastened to the floor. Regs say I can’t bring in extra furniture, so one of you will have to stand.”

  Cheryl scanned the room, trying to envision how to make it work. She noticed a small loop fixed to the wall at the far end of the table. Positioned a bit higher than head height, it looked both strong and secure. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing.

  Ravalli’s eyes followed her finger. Then he smiled. “We’ll have the prisoner stand. Have a seat, ladies. I’ll be back in a few.”

  He stepped to the second door, and as he keyed it open, Cheryl said, “Sergeant, please have him remove his shirt before you bring him in.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Excuse me?”

  She met his gaze and spoke firmly. “I want him bare chested. No clothes above the waist.”

  Averting his eyes, he started out the exit. Before leaving, he stopped, turned partway back to them, turned back to the exit, and, without speaking or reestablishing eye contact during his dance of hesitation, left to retrieve the prisoner.

  “What’s with the shirt?” asked Grace as the door closed.

  “Power.”

  In her early years as an officer in Fleet, she’d attended a prestigious training school called “camp.” In fact, that was where she had first met Sid. Among the skills she’d learned during that time was the art of interrogation.

  So she knew that an hour wasn’t nearly enough time to get anything out of a reluctant prisoner. She needed at least a week. And she knew that clothes helped to serve as a barrier—a source of strength—to the person being interrogated. Whatever progress they might make with this guy, it’d move faster if he was exposed.

  Cheryl took a chair on one side of the table, and Grace took the other. They sat sideways in the chairs so they could face the wall with its sturdy loop, and waited as Ravalli hooked Geitz’s hands over his head. When he was done, Ravalli tugged roughly at the assembly to show its strength and, by implication, that they would be safe.

  “He ain’t going nowhere,” he said, stepping back and admiring his handiwork. “Buzz if you need something.” He stood there looking at them like a bellhop waiting for a tip.

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” Cheryl rewarded him with another smile. “We appreciate your help. We’ll take it from here.”

  As soon as Ravalli left, Cheryl stood and, as she stepped toward Geitz, eyed the restraints around his ankles. They looked secure, but she placed herself so a corner of the table stood between his feet and her body. She studied him up and down. Even though it was relatively cool in the room, a rivulet of sweat rolled down his chest. It combined with another as it crossed his stomach, heading toward the waistband of his pants.

  She caught his eye, and he stared back, showing more strength than fear. “There’s been a sighting,” she said. “Rumor has it a Kardish vessel is heading our way.”

  “Sounds a little too convenient.” His tone held a sneer, though she thought it sounded forced. “They happen to show up the day before I’m due to leave this hellhole?”

  At camp, they’d taught her that humiliation could be effective against swagger. She eyed his pants. Most men find it difficult to show bravado when tied up and naked in front of two female interrogators.

  “Why did this syndicate even want the slide boards?” She heard Grace ask the question in a quiet tone of honest curiosity.

  Geitz looked past Cheryl and zeroed in on Grace.

  “I’m not trying to trick you,” she said. “I’m curious. The boards are so specialized they only have value in the defense array. What’s the point?”

  Geitz seemed surprised and even shrugged his shoulders, implying the matter-of-fact nature of the information. “Amalix.”

  “Amalix is the synthetic material used to make wafers,” Criss told Cheryl in her ear. “It’s remarkably resilient to disruptive weapons, so it’s the material of choice in advanced military hardware. The wafers on those slides sold for a small fortune to a tribal warlord, who didn’t know or care where they came from.”

  Cheryl turned to Grace. “What other components in the array use Amalix?”

  “The port junction is the obvious prize,” Criss told her in her ear. “But I’ve traced it from fabrication to installation to testing. The one in the array is the original.”

  “I don’t know,” said Grace, shaking her head. “I’m in operations. That’s a design question. Or maybe manufacturing.”

  Cheryl turned to Geitz. “What other pieces were swapped out?”

  He looked at her without expression. And then he smirked.

  Her fury spiked and anger clouded her judgment. Her family, her friends, her colleagues, and her lover might die. The world itself might be at the precipice of destruction. And this shit-heel’s enjoying himself. While the intellectual observer inside her head counseled her that anger was the fastest way to lose control of an interrogation, her rage won out.

  “I want space coveralls and four stakes.” She said it out loud but to no one in particular. “I’m going to stake you spread-eagle up on the surface. I’m going to stick a sign on your stomach that says Me First. You can watch, up close and personal, as the first Kardish energy bolt flashes your way and lands on your chest.” She turned to Grace. “Where can we get space coveralls?”

  Grace looked at her, the concern evident on her face, but remained silent.

  Ravalli’s voice pierced the room. “Actually, there’s a huge stockroom down here. I know we have lots of coveralls. Not so sure about stakes, though.”

  Did he just interrupt my interrogation? She looked around the room, trying to locate the source of his voice. Who even gave him permission to listen?

  Muttering a string of profanities, she fumbled with the security key Ravalli had left with her. When the door slid open, she stormed out of the room and marched down the tunnel-like hallway, now vocalizing her expletives in a raised voice. The guard remained the target of her verbal assault.

  Grace watched the door begin to shut. Forced to make a decision, she jumped up, took quick steps, and slid her foot out, stopping it from closing and locking her inside. She looked down the hall at Cheryl’s receding silhouette, glanced back at Geitz, then squeezed through the door, rushing to catch up with her boss.

  Cheryl turned at the sound of Grace’s voice and, as she did so, heard a thunderous rumble. The floor started shaking, and she reached for a wall to steady herself. The rumble intensified, and without warning, every part of the hall began to twist and buck. The floor beneath her lifted, moving so quickly that her knee bounced off her chin.

  She crumpled and fell, and the floor dropped with her. It again started to rise, meeting her mid-fall and intensifying her impact. Smacking her head on the hard surface, she bordered on the edge of consciousness as the upheaval continued. Her world went dark.

  Chapter 19

  The new cloak kept the scout hidden, and Criss feared that normal communication with the ship would undercut security by giving others a means of tracking its position. He solved the challenge with an encrypted web link so ingenious that, if he hadn’t devised it himself, it’d take him a month to figure it all out.

  Confident in the security this link provided, he used it to maintain contact with Sid and to provide support to the scout’s crystals. Sid’s approaching his arc out
past the moon, Criss noted with satisfaction. In another hour, Cheryl will flip the defense array to condition yellow.

  Criss knew his leadership couldn’t detect any danger, yet they trusted him and were rallying as a team. The evidence is ambiguous, he admitted, heartened they would coordinate a strategic action based on his sense of foreboding. He contributed to the team effort by shedding all extraneous activities and focusing his intellectual capacity on preparing to repel the alien invaders.

  Cycling through countless instruments and devices, he searched the heavens for the cause of that elusive shadow and distant glint of light. Focused on the sector of space he deemed the most likely place to find them, most of a second passed before he realized something was uncloaking at a spot near the scout.

  It was huge. It was Kardish. And it was minutes from Earth.

  Before he could act, every one of his inputs became overwhelmed with a terrifying sensation.

  * * *

  Goljat understood this mission was a face-saving gesture by the king. As the Kardish vessel approached Earth, he reached out and tapped into the planet’s central web. Between sips from his pleasure feed, he learned everything on record about Earth’s history, culture, and technology. He broke through blocks and walls and absorbed the secrets they protected.

  He felt a surge of satisfaction when, behind a convoluted maze of barriers, he discovered information about Criss. Scanning the concealed record, he learned that this insignificant scrap of crystal was the one who’d destroyed the prince’s vessel two years earlier. It murdered the king’s son.

  Upon receiving the news, the king ordered the capture of Criss. “Use any means necessary,” said the king. “But deliver it to me intact.”

  The king wants to bring it home as a symbol of his dominance, thought Goljat. Like a head on a pike, it would serve as a warning to all that no one defies His Royal Highness.

  Searching the planet, he discovered a coded transmission more sophisticated than the human populace could ever hope to develop. He slurped from his pleasure feed and, as his bliss escalated, deciphered the information in the web link. Got you.