Crystal Rebellion
Doug J. Cooper
Crystal Rebellion
Copyright © 2016 by Doug J. Cooper
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Published by: Douglas Cooper Consulting
Beta reviewer: Mark Mesler
Book editor: Tammy Salyer
Cover design: Damonza
ISBN-10: 0-9899381-6-6
ISBN-13: 978-0-9899381-6-7
Author website: www.crystalseries.com
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thank you, sweetie
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Chapter 1
“It’s time,” said the Red from across the desk.
Alex Koval had never done anything brave before and wished he didn’t have to start now. Hands trembling, he acknowledged his com and smiled at the projected image of Dr. Jessica “Juice” Tallette. A fit woman in her mid-thirties, Juice flashed a broad grin and waved.
She’s as pretty as I remember, he thought, enjoying the welcoming spirit and healthy radiance she projected from her otherwise tousled appearance.
He’d intended to keep the exchange formal, but his excitement at seeing her won out. “You look great, J! It’s so good to see you. How have you been?”
“Life is good, Alex. How is Mars treating you?”
“Fantastic. It has the predictable rhythm of Beckman’s lab,” he said, referring to the time they’d worked together on an artificial intelligence project at the Boston Institute of Technology.
Juice frowned, and Alex nodded when she did, hoping to reinforce her confusion.
“So,” he said. “The construction of our crystal fab facility is nearing completion. We start production next month and should be exporting AI crystals to Earth soon after.”
He flicked his eyes to the Red and then back to Juice. “We’d like to have you here as a consultant during those critical first days when the fab facility is coming online. You’ve got experience we can’t find anywhere else.” He did his best at an earnest sell. “It’ll be first-class travel all the way, and you’ll be generously compensated.”
“Geez, Alex. It’s kind of you to think of me. I’m flattered.” She twirled a lock of hair around her index finger as she thought, then she shook her head. “But I can’t break free for that long.”
“We’ll send the Colony Express and pick you up at Albany Spaceport. She’s modern, luxurious, and fast. You’ll be here before you know it.”
Her cheeks lifted in a smile. “You’re always so good to me. Maybe another time?”
He’d harbored feelings for her for years and now he lied to her. “Our fab facility will be mass-producing four-gens.”
“Wait. What?” She sat upright, her smile gone. Four-gens were sentient AIs with tremendous capability for good or evil.
“We’ll be fabricating fourth-generation AIs. Lots of them. For export to Earth.”
“Whoa,” said Juice, her face clouding. “Let me get back to you.” She started to disconnect and paused. “It’s really great to see you, Alex.” Her image blinked away.
Alex glowered at the synbod across the desk. Human in appearance and action, the Red’s perfection was his flaw. No real man had the precise symmetry, unblemished skin, and graceful strength of the Red’s synthetic body.
Dressed in a simple gray jumpsuit, unadorned except for a bright red patch on each shoulder that identified him as a member of the Security Assembly, the synbod glowered back.
When he’d entered Alex’s cubicle unannounced, the Red had presented Ruga’s request in five words: “Get Juice Tallette to Mars.” The “or else” part of the request, though never stated, made Alex nervous. He’d heard unsettling stories about Ruga and didn’t want to learn first-hand if they were true.
But that wasn’t why Alex had traded on his relationship with Juice. We need outside help, he thought. Juice had the rare skills and personal connections to make a difference. Whatever happened, though, it had to happen soon. Once the fab facility starts operating, it’s too late.
“I did what Ruga asked,” he said to the scowling humanoid standing in his cubicle.
The Red glared for a moment more and then, softening his expression, nodded once and said in a neutral voice, “He thanks you for your service today.” With fluid elegance, the humanoid turned and exited the cubicle.
Exhaling, Alex sat back in his chair and willed his heart to slow. Do the right thing.
As lead tech for new colony projects, Alex had access to the infrastructure development schedule. So he was one of the few who knew that Ruga manipulated project priorities behind the scenes. And perhaps more alarming, Ruga’s actions were becoming ever bolder.
The first time he’d noticed a change in the schedule, Alex had been strident at a tech directors meeting. “Processes and procedures are being ignored,” he’d told the group. That night, two Reds visited him at his apartment and engaged him in a chilling discussion of actions and consequences. He’d kept his mouth shut ever since.
Until now, he thought.
Tall, lanky, and with a full head of wavy brown hair, Alex left his cubicle and strode down the hall to a side door, exited the tech center, and stepped onto the walkway along Civic Avenue. Keeping pace with the other pedestrians, he walked past a colorful patchwork of shop fronts and office entrances.
Civic Avenue widened into a small plaza, and a circle of vendor carts and tables lined its perimeter. People moved in every direction, buying, selling, and trading merchandise; eating, laughing, telling stories, and enjoying the community that was Mars Colony.
Alex saw Petra, a late-thirties free spirit who grew some of the colony’s most prized specialty crops, slap a customer’s hand. He laughed and waved a greeting, his mouth watering as he thought of the tart snap from her Braeburn apples. She nodded in return, then turned her attention to her produce and the customers handling it.
Stopping at Marty’s Deli, Alex bought lemon water and loitered on the walkway outside the shop, holding the bright yellow pouch where it would be visible from across the street. The clandestine act seemed overly dramatic, but he wanted to meet privately with Marcus Procopio and this was how to make that happen.
Alex had discussed his concerns about Ruga with friends in the Tech Assembly, and they had told him about Marcus, who was documenting cases of wrongdoing to use as ammo for the next elections. A standoffish man, Marcus had been blunt when Alex had approached him after an Assembly meeting.
“Talking to me makes you part of the opposition,” said Marcus. “Politics get magnified in a small community li
ke this, and things can get complicated in ways you haven’t imagined. We should talk in private, and then you decide if you want to be involved.”
Alex was uncomfortable becoming involved with anything that considered itself “the opposition,” but he deplored even more the thought of living with Ruga’s intimidation. To talk further, Marcus had told him to signal his interest by holding a yellow water pouch while standing on this corner. Marcus’s associate, Bobbi Lava, would tell Alex where and when they would meet.
Now waiting in the designated spot, he started feeling anxious. C’mon, he thought as he moved his hair behind his ear. Then, to his relief, Bobbi stepped out the front door of Hoff’s Supply and crossed the street in his direction. A skinny, disheveled young woman who dressed like she lived on the street, she was rumored to be Marcus’s daughter.
She walked past him, filled her coffee mug at the deli, and turned back to the street. They stood side-by-side for an awkward moment.
Looks painful, Alex thought of the flashing metallic earrings stretching her earlobes and the shiny silver chain looping off her eyebrow.
Then she started back the way she’d come.
Alex walked next to her, matching her stride. Staring straight ahead, she sneezed, and with her hand still covering her mouth, said in a loud whisper, “BIT garden. Tomorrow at ten.”
Bobbi turned left when they reached the other side of the street. Turning right, Alex headed back toward the tech center.
So far, so good, he thought, pleased that the meet-up with Bobbi had gone well. He was already scheduled to work at the Boston Institute of Technology’s private garden—the BIT garden—the next morning. I don’t need to move anything on my schedule.
Then he sucked in his breath. A Red—he couldn’t tell if it was the same one who had been in his office—strode toward him on the walkway. Imagining that the synbod could somehow read the secrets inside his head, Alex looked down. But the man in the gray jumpsuit shifted his gaze and walked on past.
Calm down, Alex scolded himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking. Entering the tech center lobby, he started for his cubicle but stopped when a Blue approached.
“Lazura would like to review the startup schedule for the new crystal production facility,” said the synthetic man in the gray jumpsuit, his tone pleasant and embracing.
“Let me grab my things, Larry. I’ll be there in a minute.” Shifting to a work-oriented mindset, Alex didn’t reflect on the fact that, except for the bright patches on his shoulders, the Blue in front of him was identical to the Red who’d been in his office and the other who’d passed him on the walkway.
Blues were members of the Tech Assembly, and that made them familiar. In fact, Alex worked side-by-side with this smart, friendly man every day.
* * *
“That was weird,” Juice said to Criss after disconnecting with Alex. She sat at her desk—that of the president and chief technologist of Crystal Sciences.
Criss sat across from her in his favorite overstuffed chair. “In what way?”
“Pretty much from start to finish.”
Rising from her seat, she began a series of flexibility exercises to warm up for her daily run, continuing the conversation as she progressed through her athletic routine. “First off, I’d describe the time we spent working together in Beckman’s lab as chaotic. We had fun, but there were no predictable rhythms.”
“Could it have been an attempt at sarcasm?”
“He seemed pretty serious when we were talking just now. I didn’t hear any sarcasm.”
“What else?”
“He kept shifting his eyes to look past me, almost as if he were speaking to me, and at the same time to someone else I couldn’t see.”
Criss nodded.
“Then there’s the little issue of a four-gen fab facility. Could that be for real?”
“I expected you to start with that one.”
“I’m trying to sort through it.” She propped a toned leg on her desk and, flexing toward it, looked at the projected image of Criss—the only fourth-generation AI in existence as far as she knew. “How would it work if there were lots of you? I’m not sure humanity would survive.”
From his secure bunker buried deep in the side of a mountain, the artificial intelligence named Criss—a four-gen crystal with the cognitive ability of a thousand humans—animated the projected image sitting with Juice to respond, “I’m not sure I would either.”
“And up until five minutes ago,” said Juice. “I would have sworn that Crystal Sciences is the only outfit with the ability to make one.” She stood straight and crinkled her brow. “Where would Mars get a four-gen fabrication template?”
She didn’t wait for Criss to answer. Moving with purpose, she exited her office and strode across the hall to her private lab. She didn’t see the image of Criss disappear from her office, nor did she see his overstuffed chair vanish along with him.
In the few steps from her office to her lab, Juice heard Criss say, “My template remains secure.” She heard him as if his voice were wired through her ear and into her brain. No one else could hear him when he spoke to her this way. No signals could be traced.
The door to her private lab hissed shut behind her as she weaved through a clutter of equipment on her way to a vault in the back. Criss’s life-like projected image—tall, fit, handsome, and now dressed in athletic clothes that matched hers—leaned against the wall next to the vault, his arms draped across his chest. He watched, not speaking, as Juice accessed and opened the sturdy door.
Reaching inside, she picked up a rectangular silver box. Small enough to fit in one hand, she turned it in different directions and examined it. Seeing no evidence of tampering, she moved to her tech bench and slid the box into a slot designed for that purpose.
A three-dimensional image of a crystal lattice rose above the bench and shimmered with a colorful glow. She lost herself for a moment in the mesmerizing beauty of the dancing sparkles of light. And then she turned her attention to the activity profile.
“Huh,” she said, satisfied when the profile showed normal status. The one four-gen template she knew of remained secure. Resting her arms on the tech bench, she looked at Criss, the uncertainty of the situation weighing on her. “I’m out of my depth on this. I think we need to get Sid involved.”
“I’m hiking with him right now.”
“Is it Highback Mountain?”
Criss nodded. “It’s always his first hike when he’s staying at the lodge.”
“Hi there, Sid,” called Juice, knowing Criss would convey her voice to him. Sid, the second member of Criss’s leadership team, interacted with the sentient AI in the same private manner as Juice. “I have a situation and need a consult.”
She heard Sid’s labored breathing and imagined him scrambling up a trail in an effort to best Criss, even knowing the crystal’s projected image was nothing more than a sophisticated trick of light that never tired.
“Can it wait until dinner?”
“Sure. Meet at the lookout loft?”
“It’s a date,” said Sid.
During her own workout, Juice mulled the idea of a fabrication facility producing four-gen AIs. Mars Colony had started producing three-gens only in the last few years using commercially available technology. And while three-gens had a cognitive ability approaching that of a human, they were not self-aware. Fabricating a sentient four-gen was so difficult, the expertise so rare, it had happened exactly once—when Juice created Criss.
Since Criss’s fab template was secure, she decided Alex’s claim was an overstatement. Perhaps they’d made progress on producing crystals that were somewhat more powerful than three-gens, and the colony would gain a heightened status by branding them as four-gens.
No way they’re four-gens. She shook her head as she dismissed the thought, though why Alex would give her that pitch didn’t make sense either. If anyone would know, Alex would.
For the remainder of her r
un, she thought about how he’d made a play for her affections when they worked together years ago. She really liked him—they still kept in touch—but other priorities always seemed to take precedence in her life.
“Criss, this is just hypothetical, but what would a trip to Mars look like if I were to go? How would I travel, how long would it take, that sort of thing?”
* * *
Soon after, Criss entered the spline, moving cautiously and scanning for danger. The primary pathway for connectivity across Mars Colony, the spline started in the Central District and spiraled out to link everything with everything else.
Though Juice had not yet made a final decision, Criss’s forecasts predicted she would travel to Mars to see Alex. And duty-bound to protect her, he traveled there now to perform a forward risk assessment.
Finding the spline free of peril, he darted in several directions at once, gathering information about the colony and its citizens. He monitored the ebb and flow of pedestrians in the central neighborhoods, toured the outlying districts, and gathered background material from the colony’s prime record.
As he pieced together details for a trip, he started to fret. Mars and Earth were so far apart that he couldn’t protect Sid and Cheryl at home and also protect Juice if she were to travel here to the colony. The distance made reaction times too slow to be effective in both places at once. Even this forward assessment forced him into a no-win situation. His leadership was on Earth, away from his protection, while he took this quick glimpse.
I need to keep them together to ensure their safety.
And as he gathered information, he couldn’t discount the mounting conflicts in his observations. Foremost among these was that the colony didn’t have people with the skills to build a fourth-generation AI crystal fabrication facility, among the greatest technological undertakings on either world.
But Juice’s friend Alex had stated with certainty that crystal production was imminent, and his demeanor had conveyed alarm at the notion. Yet for Mars to produce four-gens, they’d need to convince some key technologists to move here from Earth. And even then, they had years of work ahead of them before they could produce a sentient crystal.
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