“How did you get his cooperation?” asked Sid.
“He discovered evidence showing that Ruga planned to redirect valuable material produced by the mine away from commercial sale so it could be used for private colony projects. Chen would see huge profits evaporate—profits he’s already spent—if that were to happen. He will help us because he wants to help himself.”
“Was any of the evidence real?”
Criss’s cheeks lifted in a half smile. “Some.”
Sid swiped at the ops bench and an image of Mars—a vibrant rust-colored ball floating in the stark blackness of space—rose in front of him. Letting his mind drift, he tinkered with the outlines of a plan.
His instinct was to have Juice join Alex on a tour of the colony’s crystal production facilities. How Alex conducted that tour—if he was forthcoming or deceptive, for example—would inform them of his intentions. Juice knew Alex at a deep, personal level. She’ll know if he’s lying.
Sid didn’t like having Juice involved in field operations. A scientist by profession and gentle soul by nature, she didn’t have the training or temperament for situations that might devolve into threats or violence. But she had more knowledge and experience with AI technology than anyone on either world. And with Alex at the heart of the mystery, she wasn’t about to ask permission to be involved, anyway. Criss will be tracking her every move, thought Sid, taking solace in knowing that no person or group could outwit the crystal.
Cheryl stepped into a defined role—that of Union trade envoy. A trade envoy with a Fleet space cruiser at her disposal. Diplomats of a sort, envoys met and socialized with business and community leaders. She’d have many natural opportunities to ask pointed questions, and with luck, she’d gain an insider’s perspective on the intrigue.
He thought about asking her if she would wear flashy clothes to draw attention. When it came to the art of misdirection, “watch the pretty lady” remained a tried and true technique. And with all the eyeballs on her, he would have more opportunity to move about unnoticed.
But Cheryl’s pride was in her work and in her relationships with those around her. Frivolous behavior—dressing up and showing off—wasn’t her style and made her uncomfortable. Maybe next time, he decided.
For himself, Sid planned to follow his intuition and react on the fly. He’d start by checking in with the local Union of Nations contacts to get their take. Then he’d identify a few citizens who were dissatisfied with the current politics and would help him navigate the local scene.
“It’s later.”
He turned to see Cheryl, standing just inside the passageway, smiling at him. Barefoot and wrapped in a white silk robe, she turned and walked back to her room.
Recalling her earlier promise, Sid popped upright in his chair. In his excitement, he dribbled his coffee onto the deck.
* * *
Alex sat next to Anya and across from Marcus at the table outside the shed. “Thanks for coming.”
“How can I help?” asked Marcus.
“I’m concerned about the environment the Triada is creating here in the colony and I’m looking to compare notes with others who feel the same.”
“What do you think of this one?” Marcus tilted his head toward the Green on the rise.
Alex looked past Marcus and saw two Greens. One of them seemed to be working on an irrigation pipe on the far side of the neighboring garden. The other stood at the edge of the pipe run and looked toward them, arms folded, chin held high, and chest puffed out in an unmistakable swagger.
Rubbing his neck in a thoughtful fashion, Alex stared at the interlopers and considered the scolding from Marcus, who was adamant that all synbods were interchangeable and that the appearance of these two on the rise somehow supported his theory.
No doubt that one is acting out of character. He stared straight at the man in the gray jumpsuit, and the humanoid stared back.
Alex knew from his professional training that upon first awakening, synbods indeed were interchangeable biomachines, just as Marcus claimed. But each carried a three-gen AI crystal. By no means sentient, these capable AI would mature over time and become unique personalities that reflected their training and individual experiences.
In fact, Larry, the Blue who worked with him on the four-gen crystal fab project at the tech center, was an example of this. Larry had gone through a rapid transformation and now asked probing questions and offered thoughtful suggestions, some of which helped Alex with his planning. And he’d become encouraging and supportive, giving Alex the confidence to move faster as he finalized details for the startup of the new crystal production facility.
But, thinking back, Alex couldn’t say for certain whether today’s Larry was the same as yesterday’s.
Contemplating that disorienting thought, Alex reassessed the behavior of the swaggering Green on the rise. He’d no sooner started his evaluation, though, when the humanoid’s defiant posture seemed to deflate. Dropping his hands to his sides and relaxing his shoulders, the Green turned and helped the other stow some gear. Climbing into their vehicle, they started back the way they’d come.
Marcus stood up from the table as the lorry disappeared in the distance, then gestured toward the shed with his open palm. “Do you mind if we step into your office?”
Opening the door, Anya led the way. “That was uncomfortable,” she said of the Green’s uncharacteristic behavior. She cleared stray gardening supplies off two crates and, tilting each one in turn, banged them on the floor to dislodge loose dirt sitting on top. She then positioned them facing each other in the center of the tiny enclosed space.
Marcus sat on one, activated his com, and studied a display Alex couldn’t see. Before Alex could get comfortable on the other crate, Anya waved her hand to indicate he should scoot over. When he did, she squeezed down on the crate next to him.
About fifteen years older than Alex, with graying temples and a creased face, Marcus Procopio squinted at his private display and clicked his tongue.
“Do you remember me from Boston?” asked Alex.
Marcus had been a prominent crystal researcher at BIT when Alex was there. At the time, Marcus controlled half a floor of prime laboratory space on the downtown campus. Beckman’s lab, where Juice and Alex had worked together, took up the other half of that floor.
Tilting his head, Marcus studied Alex. “You worked in Beckman’s lab a while back.” His intonation put the words somewhere between a statement and a question.
Moving his hair behind his ear, Alex nodded.
Marcus shifted his gaze to Anya Gerhardsson. “Did you study there as well?”
“I attended BIT,” said Anya, resting her hand on Alex’s thigh. “But we didn’t know each other then. We met here on Mars. At this garden, actually.” She moved her hand up to Alex’s shoulder and leaned against him. “My first volunteer day was six months ago, and Alex and I have been a team ever since.”
Geez, Anya, he thought, put off by her incessant push to get close to him. He liked her and enjoyed her company. They had fun when they were together. But she wanted intimacy and he didn’t. It was Larry who had helped Alex understand that he was a one-woman man and, for whatever reason, Anya was not the one for him.
Noting a hint of lilac in her hair, he said, “We’ve been great friends from the day we met.”
Anya pulled away, flashed a thin smile at Marcus, and looked at her hands, now folded in her lap.
The scene prompted a random thought as Alex contemplated the Reds, Greens, and Blues being interchangeable humanoids. If he accepted this line of reasoning, he would lose Larry as a friend.
He’s a good listener.
Whenever they talked in private, Larry responded and asked questions that showed he was engaged in the conversation. In fact, Alex had become so comfortable with Larry’s attentive and thoughtful companionship that, for several months now, he found himself sharing his personal challenges, including his quandary about Anya, who he liked as a friend but nothin
g more.
Worried that a physical entanglement would end up causing them both emotional pain, Alex had not responded to her advances. Not yet, at least. She’s very determined.
Marcus brought Alex back to the moment. “Ruga now has an evidence trail of our meeting here today.” Swirling his finger, Marcus indicated the three of them. “That means that from his perspective we are conspirators against the Triada. I carry your sins. And I’m sorry to say it, but you now carry mine. Or at least those of my sins that Ruga cares about, which I assure you are substantial from his perspective.”
He stopped talking, checked his com, and manipulated the projected display Alex couldn’t see.
“What are you doing?” asked Anya.
“I’m getting alerts that there’s new monitoring activity in this area. It must be from those Greens.” He again manipulated his display. “My security block is working. They can’t see or hear us for now.” He lifted his eyes. “But they’ll break my encryption soon. This place is no longer secure.”
Already on edge, Alex digested Marcus’s words. He’d had unsettling—even alarming—interactions with synbods, the latest with a Red just minutes earlier. Deeper down, he felt guilty because he’d lied to Juice. He’d done so on impulse and under pressure, but he’d lied nevertheless. And now the BIT garden—his private refuge—was under scrutiny by the Triada.
His tone reflected his emotional disquiet. “I just wanted to chat. You never mentioned all this.” He gestured at the displays Marcus monitored and in the general direction of where the Greens had been outside on the rise. “And now you tell me that this place—my private refuge—is being watched?”
Marcus straightened his back. “Just to be clear, you called this meeting.”
Alex raised his voice. “Yeah, to talk. Not start a military campaign.”
“Stop,” said Anya, rising between them with her hands on her hips. “Why are you two acting this way?” She looked from one to the other, and Alex thought of a parent scolding her children on the playground.
The silence lingered as the men looked down, then Marcus spoke.
“Earlier this year, I spoke with a colleague back on Earth and realized that my projected image there wasn’t saying the same things I was saying here on Mars. I soon realized that anything having to do with four-gen fabrication was being live-edited. My friends weren’t hearing what I said, and my projected image on Earth voiced words I never spoke.”
Anya returned to her seat next to Alex and together they waited for Marcus to continue.
“I accused Ruga of misbehavior in a public venue. After all, he was either responsible or, at a minimum, allowing others to do it. The next day, a Red visited me at my home and tried to intimidate me. He made sure I understood that my actions have consequences.”
The back of Alex’s neck tingled as he recalled his similar experience after making public comments critical of Ruga.
“I started my organizing efforts the next day.”
“What do you hope to achieve?” asked Alex.
“There’re all sorts of rumors about the Triada and I’m not sure what to believe. But I know Ruga is determined to get a four-gen fab facility running as soon as possible. Instead of just being open about it, he hides his actions. And he uses intimidation to conceal his larger objectives. My lack of training in history aside, I’m certain that a bully with a hidden agenda is not a healthy leader for any group. Definitely not for the colony, that’s for sure.”
“You really think the situation is that dramatic?” asked Alex.
“I don’t know the future. But every morning my goal is to make progress in exposing Ruga’s secrets without having anyone get hurt, especially me. If I’m thinking that way, then yes, at least from my view, things are that dramatic.”
“Have you thought about confronting him in person?” asked Anya. “Get a group of colony leaders together and have a sit-down? Hell, go to his home if you have to.”
“Want to know something interesting? I can’t find anyone who knows which apartment is Ruga’s. The prime record is silent on the subject. That’s why so many believe the Triada are really stooges living on Earth and serving the needs of the Union. When is the last time you saw any of them? I mean, not as a projected image, but in the flesh?”
Alex shook his head and looked at Anya. “I don’t know that I ever have. But I haven’t met lots of people. I work with this one guy all the time at the tech center whose office is just one floor down from mine, but I’ve never met him face-to-face.” He shrugged. Everyone uses images these days.
“I have been seeing lots of Reds in person, though.” In a quick summary, Alex briefed Marcus on his experiences, from the way Ruga was manipulating project priorities, to the intimidating visits from Reds at his home and office, to the confrontation in front of the garden just a short while ago.
“You’re getting far more heat than anyone I know,” said Marcus, standing. “Including me.” He called an end to the meeting by shaking hands with them both. “Let’s think some more about how we might work together.”
He moved to the door, then stopped and looked back at Alex. “What do you think Ruga has for an end game? What’s his ambition in all this?”
That’s what I want to know, thought Alex.
Chapter 5
Juice stepped into the passageway of the scout in time to hear Sid growl and Cheryl giggle. To her relief, Cheryl’s door shut before she heard whatever came next.
“Discretion is not their strong suit,” Juice sighed to Criss as she walked onto the bridge.
Cooped up together for almost two weeks, she’d grown tired of close-quarters living. And while she’d used the time to learn about life under a dome, gather information about crystal production in the colony, and listen to the others discuss strategies using military jargon she didn’t understand, she’d grown tired of that as well.
Slipping into the pilot’s chair, she swiped the bench surface with one hand while twirling a lock of hair around the index finger of her other.
This was a dumb idea.
It didn’t make sense to her that Mars could fabricate a sentient AI. And Criss had yet to turn up any hard evidence that such an achievement was imminent.
In her heart, she believed they’d reach the colony, discover it had all been a mistake, and she would be able to visit with Alex in an exotic location. And perhaps this time she would respond differently to his advances.
In just two days. She fretted because her memory of their emotional entanglement might not match the current reality, especially given that it had been years since they’d spent time together.
Anxiety washed over her as she reflected on the impending reunion. I’ll know in the first minutes if this was a good idea or a fool’s errand. Looking at Criss, she took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully, willing her doubts to follow the air out of her body. I owe it to myself to find out.
Criss met her gaze and nodded encouragement. Then Juice did what she always did—she lost herself in her work.
Enlarging the bench displays, she began a comprehensive review of Criss’s health metrics. Juice had led the development effort that created Criss—the only sentient AI in existence as far as she knew. And now—quite happily—she devoted her life to ensuring his well-being.
“Looking good, Criss,” she said as her eyes danced across charts and down graphs that detailed a normal condition.
“Thank you.”
She swiped at the bench top, and the display flipped to the health metrics for the twin three-gens running the scout’s cloak.
Two years earlier, a clever man—a teen, really—had discovered that an ingenious combination of ordinary components could help him see through the electronic veil of military-grade cloaks. When the young fellow’s method had become common knowledge, cloaking fell into disfavor for military and security operations. Agencies wouldn’t risk lives using compromised tools.
And so the only undefeated cloaks, at the moment in any case
, were those developed and controlled by Criss. Invisibility gave the team a tremendous advantage. They chose to keep the very existence of their technology a well-guarded secret.
Skimming the displays, she rendered her judgment. “The twins look good.”
“Yes.”
She finished with a quick review of eight more three-gens—crystals running the power plant, life support, navcom, and other ship capabilities. Criss gave these crystals significant autonomy, and they, in turn, gave skilled pilots like Sid and Cheryl an immersive capability when flying the scout.
“All crystals clear.”
Criss smiled and nodded from his overstuffed chair.
Juice knew that Criss performed a detailed evaluation of everything on the scout, and that included assessing his own health and the health of the other crystals. In fact, he performed a million such evaluations every second. So her ritual of looking didn’t help him. But it did help her. She preferred the rhythms of a regular schedule, and a status check of the craft’s AIs was part of that routine.
As a crystal scientist, she wanted to work with the latest technology. The scout, with a sentient four-gen supported by ten three-gens, was by far the most sophisticated laboratory for that activity in the solar system. And she sought the intimacy of looking at Criss’s vitals. She knew a rogue four-gen could conquer Earth in a matter of days. Every time Criss let her look, he submitted to her will. The value of the metrics information aside, this ritual tested his commitment. She never questioned his loyalty—her faith in him was too deep to believe otherwise—but the scientist in her compelled her to check.
Tap. Juice closed the crystal assessment tools and an admin display took its place. She read the critical tidbit. “Twenty-three minutes to jump.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she looked into the passageway leading back to the crew quarters. “Do you think they’ll finish in time?”
Crystal Rebellion Page 4