Caught off guard, Lazura became suspicious. Could this be activity related to his four-gen project?
And then her Blue called to her. It had made it through the market square and was approaching the area of the last sighting. Lazura looked through the Blue’s eyes and saw a shadowy being—one she didn’t recognize—coming toward her on the walkway.
The being stared at her. Through the Blue’s eyes, Lazura stared back.
Then Ruga imposed himself and took her synbod. “I need this one.”
She resisted his demand. “Wait. I saw…”
Ruga cuffed her—a sharp snap at the fringes of her tendrils.
Dazed, she released the synbod. As he assumed control, he gave his explanation. “It’s an emergency.” Then he was gone.
Confused and upset, she started to reach out to Verda but hesitated. Ruga had no choice. This is an emergency.
As she formed the thought, she knew it wasn’t true.
* * *
Alex stewed as he approached his apartment door. Does he really think Juice will show up after weeks of space travel and say “I’ll run the ICEU” like it’s that kind of decision?
Harrumphing, he stepped inside. The door started to shut, and then it opened again. He turned to look, and it whispered shut as he expected.
Grabbing a beer from the kitchen, he slumped onto the couch, closed his eyes, and focused on the nutty taste of the local craft brew. He finished the bottle in a half-dozen gulps, eyed the foam at the bottom, and tilted the bottle back to try for a last drop.
You’ve earned a second one. By the time he reached the kitchen, though, he’d controlled his impulse. Instead, he ordered a lasagna with asparagus tips from the food service unit. Standing at the kitchen counter, he took small bites while he reviewed his to-do list for the next day. Then, back on the couch, he replied to his messages while a spy drama played in the background.
Eyes heavy, he climbed into bed and started to read. The long hours are catching up with me, he thought after yawning for the third time in as many minutes. Turning off the lights, he pulled the bedsheet up under his chin and closed his eyes.
“Psst.”
Alex swatted at his ear.
“Hey, Alex. It’s me.”
He bolted upright. “Who’s there?” He turned on the lights and yipped. A woman sat on the floor next to his bed. Or, at least, the projected image of one did.
Petite and pretty in a natural sort of way, she sat cross-legged on his carpet.
“What the hell? J? Is that you?” He scooted to the edge of the bed and swung his feet to the floor.
“Hi, Alex. Yes, it’s me.” Her voice began as a whisper, then shot to a squeal. “I can’t believe you kept it!” She reached for a glass lump on his night table.
The two had been working at BIT for about six months when Beckman’s lab received a new production oven. When testing it, they opened the lid to find that their two silica samples had fused into clear glass lumps. Each stood upright like a squat candlestick. A short glass rod connected the two pieces.
She’d laughed at the mess and teased him. “That’s you,” she said, pointing to the taller lump. “And this one is me. And look.” She pointed at the connecting rod. “We’re holding hands!”
The clear lumps didn’t look anything like people, and the rod didn’t look anything like arms or hands. But the piece represented a moment in time when she’d thought of him as something more than a friend.
Declaring it a sculpture, he’d placed the piece on the shelf above his lab desk. When he’d moved on from Beckman’s lab, it had moved with him. Since then, no matter where he lived, it somehow always found its way to his bedside table.
When Juice picked up the sculpture, he smiled. Then the hair prickled on the back of his neck. Projected images are tricks of light, and as such, they can’t move physical objects. Yet Juice held the sculpture, turning it this way and that as she looked.
Leaning forward, he touched the top of her head. He felt hair.
She looked up. “What are you doing?”
He snapped his hand back. “Smokes! Are you actually here?”
She placed her hand on his bare knee. “In the flesh.”
“Oh no.” Seeking to hide her from the ubiquitous colony monitors, he reached back, grabbed the bedsheet, and with his arms stretched wide, stood up. The sheet spread behind him like an oversized cape. “They’ll see you.”
Juice looked up at him from the floor. Then her eyes traced down to his bare chest and, from there, to his stomach. Mortified, Alex sat back down and pulled the sheet around him.
She nodded. “Nice.”
He gushed. “Really?” And then the reality of the situation imposed itself. Ruga is looking for her. “When did you land? How did you get inside the colony? How did you get in my apartment?”
“Don’t worry, Alex. The Union gave me all kinds of neat spy stuff and the protection of people who know how to use it.” She set the sculpture back on his nightstand. “No one knows I’m on Mars, let alone here in your room. Whoever might be watching sees you sitting quietly on the edge of your bed, perhaps thinking about a bad dream you just had.”
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. I really have.” He swept his hand in an aimless gesture. “But my brain needs to catch up with this.”
“Alex, I have a few questions.” Her no-nonsense tone and use of his name caused him to pause. “Sorry,” she said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
He waited.
“Is Ruga human or is he a crystal?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ruga. Human or crystal?”
“Are you serious?” He considered the idea for a moment. “He ran for office with Lazura and Verda. The record has all of his speeches, appearances, and stuff.” He twitched his shoulders in a half shrug. “A lot of people voted for him.”
“Have you ever met him? Shaken his hand?”
“No. But I haven’t shaken hands with lots of people.”
“Do you know anyone who has?”
He thought for a moment. “Benny Henstridge. He works two floors down from me. He says he met all three.”
Juice nodded. “How is the Triada able to control the synbods?”
Scratching his chin, he considered the question. “I always figured they had a mess of crystals networked together.” He stopped scratching. “But when you put me on the spot, I realize that doesn’t make sense. We’ve counted twenty synbods, and they’d need a whole lot of crystal power to control all of them.”
“Doesn’t make sense to me, either. Would you think about how you might go about doing it—controlling twenty synbods?” Juice stood. “The Venerable arrives soon and the record will show me riding in with them. If you meet me at the shuttle, I’d enjoy spending time with you and catching up.” She made for the door of his bedroom.
“You’re leaving? You just got here.”
“I have to go, but I’ll be here for real, real soon.” She turned back to him. “Will you walk me to the door?”
He made an impromptu toga from the bedsheet and followed her out to his living area. Adjusting the sheet so he could give her a hug, he thought, kiss her. His lack of confidence won out and, giving her a chaste squeeze, he touched his cheek to hers. You smell great.
He took a chance and shared a secret with her. “I admit that I’ve been looking forward to your visit with…anticipation.”
It was her turn to gush. “Really?” She rubbed his arm and gave him a warm smile. “Wanna see a fun spy thing?” He was studying her lips when she disappeared.
“Whoa. How does it work?” He reached out to touch her, and his hand moved through empty air. “Wait. Are you still here?”
“I’m over here.” Her voice came from near the front door. “Would you mind opening it for me?”
He understood he was part of the misdirection. Filling a glass with water, he moved near the door. “Ready?”
“Wait,” she said. She came bac
k into view right in front of him. “I know there are colonists unhappy with the Triada.”
“That’s an understatement,” he said, his dry tone carrying his sarcasm.
“Who do people look to when talk turns to change?”
“There’s a guy, Marcus Procopio, who is closest to what you describe. He uses this young woman, Bobbi Lava, as his gatekeeper. That’s Bobbi spelled with an I and I don’t think it’s her real name. She hangs out in the Central District.”
“Thanks.” Standing on her toes, she pecked his cheek. “See you soon.” She faded again.
He signaled the door to open, stepped forward so it couldn’t close, and held the glass to his lips. “Be careful, J.” He took a sip.
The door whispered shut when he stepped back inside. Bringing his fingers to his cheek, Alex touched where Juice had kissed him and smiled.
Chapter 12
Sid considered giving Alex a pinch on the butt as he led the way out of the apartment, figuring that because they were cloaked, the man would think Juice did it. He succeeded in holding his infantile humor in check, although the idea made him smile. Juice joined him moments later and they started down the hall.
Alex’s apartment was on the building’s third floor. Since buildings on Mars went down into the ground, higher floor numbers indicated a greater depth below the surface. In spite of the underground nature of the construction, the hallway served the traditional role of being a balcony overlooking a central courtyard—this one larger than Sid had expected.
Walking along the hallway rail, Sid took in the ambiance of the open space. A medley of flowers, bushes, and trees filled the courtyard, creating a botanical oasis. Pathways weaved through the greenery, and a scatter of nooks held chairs and tables, creating private spots for conversation and relaxation.
They reached the stairwell, and as they climbed, Sid’s attention shifted upward. Capped with a transparent roof, the open courtyard extended up to the planet surface. An automated sweeper worked its way back and forth across the exterior of the clear cover, brushing away the grit that had accumulated from the latest sandstorm.
“Check it out,” he said, pointing upward. The sweeper had made enough progress to expose a quadrant of the nighttime sky. A bright white dot floated in the heavens.
“Is that Phobos or Deimos?” asked Juice, referring to the moons of Mars.
“Haven’t a clue.”
“Criss?”
“That one is Phobos.”
“Pretty.”
They reached a tall, utilitarian lobby staged with just enough decoration to lift it above the category of austere. Walking through it, Sid assessed the door to the street. Then he stopped in the middle of the room and scanned the area for anyone who might be on their way out.
“A resident will be exiting in about five minutes,” said Criss. “You can follow him out.”
Sid slumped onto a bench near the door. Juice joined him.
“What did you learn?” she asked.
While Juice had been reconnecting with Alex, Sid had searched the apartment. “He’s created a detailed itinerary of things to do with you. Do you prefer Italian or Mexican food before retiring to his place for a cordial?”
“Geez, Sid. Don’t spoil the good stuff. I’m talking about his intentions.”
“So was I.”
She swatted his thigh with the back of her hand. “Criss, you were there. What did Sid find?”
“That you’ll be offered the choice of watching a romantic comedy or an action-adventure while you drink your cordial.”
Sid laughed so hard he snorted.
“Please, guys. I’m stressing over this.”
Sid reached behind her and gave her a squeeze. “He’s a good guy, Juice. I didn’t find anything Criss didn’t know about already.”
“Oh, drat,” said Criss. “Our resident just got a call. He’s still the next one to exit, but it will be another five minutes.”
“What happens if we just go?” asked Juice.
“Doors are choke points,” said Criss. “By tracking everyone who crosses each threshold, security knows who is where at any time. The public doorways across the colony have been outfitted with a sophisticated monitoring suite—EM spectrum, audio, chemical, motion. It’s quite effective.”
Deciding he’d teased Juice enough, Sid expanded his target population. “Poor Criss. Are the big bad sensors too much for you?”
“Did you know they track air molecule movement near the door? Anything passing through will create eddy currents. Unexplained currents trigger an alarm.”
“Waah.” Sid balled his hands into fists and pretended to wipe away tears.
“The signals are funneled straight to the Triada secure area. If they detect you, I will know only because security will be reacting. I am working to avoid another situation where synbods are hunting for you.”
“Geez, Criss,” said Juice. “You sound defensive.”
“It’s important to me that you know I am doing my best.”
Juice sat upright. “Of course we know, Criss. Always.”
She looked at Sid, and he sensed a scolding “behave” behind her glower.
He’s not that fragile. He grasped that his humor missed its mark, though, and put a check on it. Out loud, he said, “What do we know about those two people that Alex mentioned?”
“Twenty-four years ago, Bobbi Lava was born Roberta Pompeii. Her mother, a lounge singer named Delilah Pompeii, raised her on the road while she traveled from one booking to the next. Her father is Marcus Procopio. He met Bobbi for the first time here on Mars. It seems that Marcus and Delilah did not keep in touch after that one night in Los Angeles.”
“So Bobbi and her dad are here on Mars?” said Sid. “Interesting. Why does Alex think they are part of a change movement?”
“Both have heartfelt beliefs that government should be open and transparent and should focus on helping citizens and bettering society. They give the Triada failing grades on all counts. That failure, combined with reports that they intimidate certain colonists, has pushed Marcus to his tipping point. He is laying groundwork to correct the wrong. Bobbi is helping.”
As Criss talked, he projected a small image of Marcus and another of Bobbi going about their day. Marcus was medium height, medium build, middle aged, and with average looks.
Sid turned his attention to the image of Bobbi, a scruffy waif marching along a lighted road. Yikes. Wearing several layers of clothing—the outermost grimy and torn—she bobbed as she walked. Spikes of hair stuck out every which way from an unkempt mop. Shiny metallic jewelry matched the sway of her body, swinging with a coordinated rhythm from several points on her face.
“Her eccentric behavior is a reflection of her artsy background?” asked Sid.
“Many would dispute that her mother’s work qualifies as art. But it’s fair to say that her upbringing influences her behavior. It’s more than that, though. People dismiss her. That lets her hide in plain sight.”
“Crazy like a fox,” said Juice.
“She’s a mess,” said Sid.
“She’s a mess with a degree in entwined systems architecture from Berkeley,” said Criss.
“University of California?”
“That’s the one.”
“Huh.”
Bobbi turned and entered the door of a supply shop just as Criss’s speech pattern sharpened. “Here comes your exit.”
Speaking in a muted voice to someone unseen, a man in his early thirties walked across the lobby. Contrary to his quiet tone, his hands moved in broad gestures to underscore his words.
Sid and Juice rose from the bench, tucked in behind the man, and followed him out of the building. Once on the street, they stopped following and let him continue his conversation in private.
Sid spun in a circle and performed a threat assessment. Good. As he expected for this late hour, pedestrian traffic was light. Floating arrows appeared, directing them to the tram station and the way back to the scout.
As they walked, Sid nudged Juice and pointed upward.
“Wow,” she said. Visible through overhead skylights, stars filled the heavens with a brilliant intensity.
Even in the quiet of night, the panorama proved effective at countering the fact that, in truth, they walked below ground through an enormous cavern. Though unlike the natural underground caves he’d seen, this had a uniform ceiling height high overhead.
Sid looked up and down a side street as they crossed. “Marcus must live here in the Quarter. Maybe we should drop in?”
“You can learn all about him from the safety of the scout,” said Criss. “Might I encourage a speedy return?”
The Quarter was the residential district of the colony, with the tram station serving as its central hub. Narrow streets radiated out from the station like spokes on a wheel. Cross streets joined the spokes at regular intervals to create what, if viewed from above, looked something like a spider’s web. Apartment buildings, one like the next, lined each street of the maze to create a stark sameness everywhere they looked.
“It’s incredible to be on Mars and all,” said Juice, “but I doubt Lovely Homes will be doing a piece out here. Not in the near future, anyway.”
“This is a frontier town,” said Sid. “The kinds of people who migrate to Mars don’t even know Lovely Homes is a thing.”
“Caution!” Criss barked. “Move off the street. Hurry.”
Sid put his hand in the small of Juice’s back and pushed her to the apartment wall edging the road. “What’s going on?”
He turned to the sound of laughter. Two teenage boys, each riding a personal hoverseat, burst from a side street. Hooting and hollering, they banked onto the road and raced toward where he and Juice had stood just moments earlier.
The one in front took a swig from a bottle. Then, rising on his seat, he flung the bottle at a wall—the wall where Sid stood with Juice—using the added leverage of height to accelerate his projectile. Not waiting for impact, he yipped with excitement and zoomed down the street, his buddy chasing behind.
Sid’s battle-honed reflexes told him the bottle would hit Juice, and he swiveled to push her out of the way. Juice had reached the same conclusion and dodged in Sid’s direction. They collided and Juice fell back against the wall. With a sickening thud, the bottle hit her square in the chest.
Crystal Rebellion Page 10