The only sure way Criss knew to locate ships in deep space was by pinging the solar system with a quantum pulse. But like turning on bright lights during a theater performance, it would rouse everyone and they’d all be asking the reason for the disturbance. If Ruga didn’t know about the prospecting ships before, he would after the lights went on. And since Criss’s strategy of containment required that he maintain control of all wafers, he feared that he and Ruga would end up in a sprint across the solar system, racing to be the first to take possession.
As Criss searched for a solution, a group of rocket racers climbing above the horizon drew his attention. They’d just completed their loop around Earth and, following the prescribed course for the Moon Madness endurance sprint, were about to accelerate into their return leg back to the Moon.
Kyle Pickett had cheated in the past, so Criss wasn’t surprised when Kyle’s racer separated from the others. As his ship traveled below the Andrea, the heavy spray of charged particles spewing from his outsized rocket engine gave Criss an idea.
Look for scatter. Like crop dusters of old, rocket racers left a thin blanket of particles trailing behind in their wake. With these ships, though, the dusting they left was ionized exhaust. Kyle’s move away from the group broadened the swath of spray from the racers. If the Venerable was near, and if Ruga’s cloak interacted with the particles in any way, then for this narrow corridor of space Criss had an opportunity to see something he couldn’t see before.
Commandeering civilian and military instruments in the region, Criss pored over streams of data looking for hints of his quarry. Searching was a numbers game—keep trying until something worked. So he felt neither surprise nor discouragement when this idea didn’t pan out.
And then Kyle swerved. A dozen small maneuvering rockets on the Lucky Lady flared at once, pushing the craft in a hard, tight turn. When Criss analyzed the craft’s movement, he saw that Kyle’s main exhaust plume would sweep right across two synbods who happened to be tumbling in space because of an industrial accident.
Kyle wouldn’t waste time on this, Criss thought. The race is too tight.
The odd sequence of events triggered his suspicion, and as the glow of Kyle’s exhaust approached the tumbling humanoids, Criss added resources to monitor the situation.
In a tight sequence of events, a slit appeared in space above the tumbling synbods. From it, a blurry ball reached out to surround the synbods. The ball faded, leaving two service bots floating where the synbods had been. And then the fire of Kyle’s rocket exhaust consumed the bots as the slit disappeared.
Ruga! Criss felt a calm pass through him. This ends now.
Spinning through his options for a fast, lethal blow, his angst returned when he realized that every weapon with a clear shot and the ability to stop a Fleet space cruiser also pointed straight at the Andrea. If he missed the Venerable, he would hit the orbiting factory and kill dozens of people.
On Mars, Criss hadn’t accepted collateral damage because his forecasts promised him scenarios in the future where he could prevail. They didn’t offer such alternatives now, though, so delay was not an option.
The burden of this decision weighed on him, and it felt more like a weary sadness than anything else. His illness had not resolved, and now he found himself expecting or anticipating additional input from other voices about his plans.
Voices that did not speak.
He didn’t know who they might be or what they would have to say, but their silence unsettled him. Focusing, this time by force of will, he overrode security on a nearby Fleet ready-platform, accessed its main cannon, and fired twin energy bolts at the spot where the Venerable had been. The slugs flared out across space, traveling unimpeded until they reached the central truss of the orbiting factory. On impact, along with an impressive pyrotechnic display, the energy bolts opened a fracture along the Andrea’s containment shell.
As he charged the cannon for a second shot, he combed the data feeds for clues. Where are you? Finding nothing, he widened the spread on his next volley. It would cause significant collateral damage, and he—Criss—would be killing many innocents. But the bold action pushed the chances of killing Ruga up near ninety percent.
Before he could trigger the firing sequence, however, the cannon melted. A precision bolt appeared from empty space and hit it dead on, ensuring it would never fire again.
A second ship? Criss had not anticipated this, and a nervous prickle spread through him. Where did he get that? He spun through scenarios at a furious clip but could not forecast a single one where Ruga could gain such a prize without his knowledge. Is this more illness?
His matrix became a cauldron of confusion, frustration, and loneliness. The thought of Ruga escaping added anger to the mix. The mélange of sensations swirled inside him. For a moment Criss allowed his angst to distract him, and then he imposed calm.
Using secure communication protocols he’d created for just this sort of emergency, Criss linked to three massive weapons arrays. Arranged on mountaintops in South America to form a continent-sized triangle, these would fire at his command to erase a portion of the sky.
Or more accurately, reduce everything in that space to its fundamental components of matter. While the collateral damage would be horrific, it would kill Ruga, of that Criss felt certain.
The weapons gathered a store of power, and Criss synchronized their action, counting the milliseconds until they were ready to fire.
And just as the weapons arrays reached go-status, three perfect beams flashed down from space, disabling the lot before they fired a shot.
No.
Ruga could do that only if he’d broken Criss’s private communication protocol. And if that were true, Criss had no secrets.
Feeling exposed, he pulled back everything, hunkering down in his secure bunker in the Adirondack Mountains.
He wasn’t giving up. But he needed a new plan.
And he needed it soon.
Chapter 30
Cheryl sat up in bed and peered into the darkness of her apartment. Sid, his arms and feet askew, breathed in a rumbling half snore next to her. It wasn’t his sounds that had awakened her, though. It was the silence in her head, a silence she couldn’t quiet.
Criss had left them three days ago to battle Ruga, and the transition to self-sufficiency had caught her off guard. She’d expected a challenge, but living life as one of the masses was more difficult than she’d remembered.
For starters, her professional world was collapsing. Though she was President of SunRise, the huge space commercialization conglomerate, Criss had handled most of her daily chores. She loved the job—the one where he did the heavy lifting—because she could enjoy the creative aspects of developing space projects knowing he followed behind, cleaning up the details.
The company had been Cheryl’s idea, but Criss had been the one who made it happen. He valued having access to the skilled professionals that kind of venture attracted. And the company won so many Fleet contracts that its influence extended to having offices in government buildings, some just down the hall from admirals and generals.
The reason he worked so hard to grow the business was because he sought access to world-class construction capability for huge space projects. And he wanted that so he could expand Earth’s defenses in preparation for the day the Kardish returned.
Early on in the endeavor, after Criss had built a few secret installations, he’d voiced a concern. He envisioned a massive effort and recognized he could not keep it all hidden from humanity. Cheryl had convinced him to adopt society as a full partner. When he did, the company had flourished.
But what had been sustainable no longer was. She’d already transferred control of the company to her top-line execs, something she’d done in the past for short periods. Then, though, Criss had remained involved to keep things running smoothly.
She needed to make life-altering decisions. And not just for her, but for the tens of thousands of people who depended on S
unRise for their livelihood. Looking at Sid’s prone form stretched next to her, she announced her decision in a whisper. “I need to resign.”
Slipping out of bed, she put on her silk robe—a gift from Sid—and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Staring at the food service unit while it prepared her coffee, she acknowledged that her professional worries were small compared to the changes in her personal life. Everything was different.
For example, Criss had handled all details for her apartment, from payments to cleaning to stocking the shelves. And when she was out and about, she’d just step to the curb and Criss would glide a car to a halt, ready to whisk her to wherever she wanted to go next. If she decided to see a trendy Broadway show or eat at a popular restaurant, he’d secure great tickets and the best table on short notice.
She’d stopped asking how he did it and now felt some shame because it had been far too long since she’d paused to wonder why fate had blessed her so.
And that sentiment took on a new meaning when she looked at her finances, something she hadn’t done in years because with Criss money didn’t matter. She gasped when she saw the total. He’d left her wealthy, enough to last many generations, and she hadn’t even known it until that moment.
Yet all of this was minor compared to the emptiness of missing him.
A constant companion, Criss had lived in her head and co-mingled with her thoughts for years. An alter ego in every sense, he’d nurtured, supported, challenged, and protected her. He’d made her laugh when she felt silly and consoled her when she was sad. He’d whispered to her during conversations with others, helping her appear wise and informed. And he’d let her peek behind the curtain of their lives to understand their motives, and that had let her make decisions that were fair and compassionate.
When she was multitasking, she’d order him about like a lackey. And occasionally, when the burden became great, she would shift some of the weight to him by submitting to his will, knowing this private weakness would forever remain a secret.
The food service unit pinged and she took the cup of brew in both hands, letting it warm her fingers. “Yum,” she said as the coffee’s full body awakened her mouth and warmed her throat. Scanning the news feed as she sipped, she looked for stories that hinted at a battle between titans.
From around the corner, she heard Sid murmur and the bed sheets rustle. They had been lovers before Criss was born and had spent yesterday discussing not only Criss and the fate of the world but also relearning how to communicate between themselves now that there wasn’t a private voice to smooth the way.
It had gone well. So well that she now craved some nonverbal communication with him.
She slid out of her robe and under the sheets. He lay curled on his side and she cuddled him from behind—the big-spoon position—a challenge given she was a full head shorter and half his weight.
Reaching around, she tickled his stomach. Then she flipped over, putting her back to him, and started counting. The highest she’d ever reached was fourteen. She giggled when today he attacked her at the count of seven.
Afterward, he lay on top of the sheets, she under.
“When you talk to your dad,” he said, “will you ask him to get us access to the Bird Cage?”
“What are you thinking?” She’d been pushing for two days to get the Union of Nations involved, and he’d counseled a go-slow approach, expressing concern about sending Fleet off chasing ghosts based on incomplete information.
Now he acted like a conversation with her dad had already been decided. He’s got something going, she thought. Finally. While most of her thought Sid’s celebrated intuition was hokum, she had seen him use it with remarkable success.
Then she made the connection in her head and rose up on an elbow. “Do you think it will work?”
Bird was Fleet’s Brain Interface R&D unit, and the Cage was the room where they tested all of their high-tech toys. He wants to try for the scout.
Sid rose to his feet and bent to one side and then the other while stretching his arms above his head. “Criss took care of a long list of things for us before he left. He’d see it as logical that we’d want the scout. I’m optimistic, anyway.”
She heard his words but didn’t process them because her mind raced with possibilities. After spending all day yesterday brainstorming ideas for helping Criss in his showdown with Ruga, she’d said in the end, “Let’s face it. We’re not smart enough to help.”
“Dogs and horses are simple compared to us,” Sid had replied. “Yet they’ve helped humans for thousands of years. If they can help us, we can help him.”
She embraced the viewpoint because the alternative was to believe they were helpless. At least we’ll be doing something. And she knew the scout would give them the best tools for surveillance, the best weapons for defense, and the best cloak for stealth.
While Sid stepped into the shower, Cheryl sat on her couch and a projected image of Matt Wallace resolved across from her. “Good morning, Pops.” He looked tired and she dreaded adding to his burden.
A smart man, Matt had already figured out most of it. He knew Ruga was coming to Earth, that Criss was their last hope, and that humanity might not survive if the two crystals started a battle for supremacy.
But the fact that Criss had abandoned his leadership caught him off guard. “You can’t contact him at all?” Her explanation of the breakup didn’t sit well. “I’ve been keeping the secret about Criss from the world because my daughter—someone I trust without reservation—controlled him. This changes that.”
“I understand,” she said, nodding. “Do what you must.” Then she leaned forward. “Sid has an idea we’d like to pursue, but we need access to Fleet’s Bird Cage. Can you get us in? This morning?”
Matt exchanged private words with his assistant. “I’ve heard of it but I don’t know who would need to approve that.” After another private exchange, he nodded. “I’m told we should have it sorted out by the time you get there.”
Joining Sid in the shower, she handed him a loofah and turned so he could scrub her back while she shared the news. An hour later and they were in a car and on their way to Fleet base.
“I spoke with Juice again,” she said as the car accelerated onto the expressway. “She cried this time. She feels so guilty because she separated from Criss as a symbolic act to show Alex she could stand on her own. She never thought in a million years that we would sever ties at the same time.”
“Can she get him back?”
“She won’t know until she gets here, and that cruise ship she’s on is still a couple of weeks out. She did say that Criss did this for a reason and her vote is to respect that decision, at least until Ruga is stopped.” She looked up at him and met his gaze. “I agree.”
“Yeah, so do I. For now.”
The car they rode in pulled to a stop in front of the TPA Building—Fleet-speak for Technology Programs, Advanced. A tree stump of a man in a master chief’s uniform introduced himself as Clem and escorted them into the building and along a series of corridors. He stopped at a set of sturdy doors. When they opened, he said, “I’ll be out here if you need me.”
Cheryl thanked him, then realized Clem was speaking to Melody Weathersby, a thirty-year-old, very pregnant brunette standing just inside.
Melody greeted Cheryl and Sid without making eye contact. “This way,” she said, leading them across a ramp, through another set of doors, and into the Cage—a small, dimly-lit room with black, featureless walls. Two plush chairs faced each other in the middle of an otherwise-empty floor. The doors shut and it became so quiet that Cheryl heard only the faint ringing in her ears she’d lived with for years.
Melody kept her back to them as she started her briefing. “The walls, floor, and ceiling are constructed from thousands of micro-thin layers of insulating materials. The room itself is wrapped in a dozen different layers of special wire netting. All that is encapsulated inside a vacuum chamber. And the entire assembly is suspended so not
hing touches anything else.”
She turned to face them but still looked at the floor. “I understand that what you’re doing is top secret and all, but can you tell me how long you’ll be using the Cage?”
“In a perfect world,” said Sid, “we’ll be done in an hour.” Then he shrugged. “But it could be a week, too.”
“A week!” she said, putting a hand to her mouth.
When she started blinking, Cheryl thought Melody might be crying and bent forward until their eyes met. “What’s the issue?”
She spoke in a rush. “Lots of people want access to the Cage. I waited a year for this chance and the line has only gotten longer. I’ve been granted one week,” she pointed at the ground. “This week right now, to test something I’ve been working on for four years.”
Her voice took on a pleading tone. “If you bump me, they don’t shift everyone back a week. I lose my turn.” She patted her stomach. “Between that and this guy, it will be more than a year before my next chance.”
Cheryl looked at Sid, who shrugged again. Just a few days ago, she would have granted Melody a wish. Criss would whisper something in her ear, like, “The fellow scheduled in three weeks is quite ill and will have to cancel. We can give Melody his spot.” She’d then convey the good news knowing Criss would follow up.
In her new non-Criss world and with Earth’s survival at stake, Cheryl settled for not sounding too cold. “I’m sorry, Melody. We wouldn’t do this to you if we had other options. Stay close and we’ll let you know the moment we’re done.”
Melody lifted her head for the first time. “Thank you.” Turning in to the room, she waved her hand in a single “come here” motion. An ops panel projected in front of her. “The sooner I get you started, the sooner you can be finished.”
Crystal Rebellion Page 27