Sid raised his eyebrows twice. Once at the big number Melody mentioned. And again when Cheryl said, “I’m committed for the next couple of months. But I’ll contact you after that—when you and your little guy are settled—and perhaps we can chat some more.”
Four hours later, Sid and Cheryl arrived at their rustic retreat in a wooded valley of the Adirondack Mountains. Minutes after that, they clambered aboard the scout.
Cheryl sat in the pilot’s chair, slumped back, and as she exhaled, the scout came alive. Protected by Criss’s cloak, the craft rose from the park-like expanse behind the leadership lodge and climbed into the afternoon sky.
While Cheryl guided it into orbit around Earth, Sid toured the vessel. They planned to make the scout their home for the duration, and his duty list now included keeping the craft maintained and ready for action. In methodical fashion, he walked through his own cabin and then Cheryl’s. Same as we left it. Crossing the hall, he walked through Juice’s cabin and then the lady’s lounge—the last crew cabin that Juice and Cheryl had repurposed into a comfortable refuge.
Like an inspection that any ship’s captain would conduct, Sid looked for mechanical or structural problems and confirmed that all areas were orderly and properly stocked with equipment and supplies.
He also sought to confirm that Cheryl and he were the only people on board.
Continuing the tour, he peeked into the food service nook and then circled around through the workshop and common room. Climbing down into the engine compartment, he scanned the cramped space and then stuck his head through the floor opening into the weapons bay.
So far, so good, he thought as he made for the bridge. Well-provisioned and spotless, it seemed that Criss had readied the ship for his review.
Sid considered that a thorough inspection would include an examination of the scout’s crystals. The nimble craft had ten Criss-trained three-gens running just about everything. But neither he nor Cheryl knew enough to conduct an exam. Juice was the only one he trusted for that task. Since everything seemed to be functioning as expected and Juice wasn’t available, he chose to assume that all was well with the crystals until something caused him to believe otherwise.
Stepping onto the bridge, he approached Cheryl, who sat still in the pilot’s chair as she flew the scout in Criss’s virtual world. He recalled the sensation of flying through space like a superhero while the scout mirrored his actions and intent. Excited, he prepared to join her.
Lowering himself into a seat behind hers, he reflected on their new solitary existence. Close friends came and left all the time in his line of work. It had happened to him when he was a plebe and continued through his years as a clandestine warrior. He remembered in his rookie year at the DSA, old man Grimes, the section chief and a living legend, had promoted Wally Winters to field commander. A big deal, it had signaled that Wally could someday be section chief himself.
Agents not out in the field were “invited” to attend an impromptu induction ceremony. Grimes faced Wally, but when he spoke it was apparent that the ceremony’s real purpose was to give the old man an opportunity to talk to the troops.
“Today is your first day in a new, prestigious assignment. And that makes today the best day for you to internalize and accept that there will be a last day for you in this job as well.” Grimes had nodded. “Everything that starts, eventually ends.”
Then his voice got louder, signaling that the message was for the room. “If you accept now that there will be a last day for you in this role, if you can come to terms with that idea, grieve now and put it behind you. That will help you make decisions during your term that are best for everyone else.” Turning on his heels, Grimes had made for the exit. When he reached the door, he’d called over his shoulder, “Congratulations, Commander.”
The event had been so random—surreal almost—that it stuck with Sid. He knew Grimes had been saying, “Fight to do your job instead of fighting to keep it.” But Sid’s takeaway had been the part about beginnings and endings. It had helped him be philosophical about some tough losses over the years. He hoped it would help here with Criss.
Looking at Cheryl, seated in front of him, his thinking changed direction. He’d fight to the death for her. No question about it. Why wouldn’t he fight for Criss as well?
He left for a reason, Sid reminded himself. You supported it. Yet his gut now told him that had been a bad decision. They were stronger and could accomplish more working together as a team.
Slouching back in the chair, he marveled at the tremendous power they’d gained by taking the scout. He guessed that with all of Criss’s upgrades, the craft was equal in capability to a dozen Fleet warships.
But the scout transferred this power to its owner in part through the fearsome arsenal Criss had installed. Verifying that these weapons would respond to his command remained the last item on his inspection tour.
Looking straight ahead, he took a deep breath, exhaled, and willed himself to relax. Instruments around the ship read his physical signals, recast them into Criss’s simulated reality, and projected that through field manipulation into his brain.
Criss had used Sid’s and Cheryl’s natural styles to guide the development of what they both agreed was a wonderful ops interface. Flying through the sky in a virtual world, they could analyze something by looking at it, shoot energy bolts by shaking their fists, lift great weights with the crook of their finger, and fly anywhere they wanted just by willing it. They’d practiced controlling their thoughts just so, and now they were able to use this interface to make the scout respond to their intent as if it were a part of them.
The scout’s thought reader engaged Sid, and he found himself in orbit around Earth, flying through space with Cheryl flying off to his left. While in Criss’s simulated world, they both were in what should be a cold, merciless vacuum. To Sid, who flew like a rocket-man though he wore nothing but regular clothes, it felt warm and comfortable, not unlike a spring afternoon on the back patio at the leadership lodge.
Dressed in a gold formfitting outfit, Cheryl cruised nearby. Her brow was lowered just enough to reflect her concentration as she piloted the scout. Yet the sun lit her face with soft highlights, and a gentle breeze—impossible where there was no air—somehow ruffled a wisp of her hair.
Seeing Sid, she waved. With her arms stretched in front of her, she dipped her shoulder and swooped in his direction, slowing as she moved into formation by his side. “Would it be too much to wear capes?” she asked with an ebullient grin.
“We need to blow something up,” he replied.
Her expression darkened.
“We should confirm we have a hot arsenal,” he explained. “We don’t want to find ourselves in a tough spot and learn we’re shooting blanks.”
“You think he’d do that? Give us all this but turn off the good stuff?” She shook her head. “I don’t see it. And if we start firing weapons, he and Ruga will see. We could end up losing the scout. Ourselves, too, if we’re not careful.”
Sid agreed in principle but still believed it necessary—or at least prudent—to test the weapons. “How about if we shift to a polar orbit? I’d be happy to blow up a couple of icebergs.” He gave her a winning smile. “No one will miss them. I promise.”
She paused. “Okay. But when they work, I get a wish.”
His favorite game, Sid didn’t hesitate. “Agreed.”
As Cheryl predicted, the scout’s energy bolts disintegrated huge swaths of ice on command. When they retired that night, she announced her wish. To his delight, it matched his desire. She’d learned the game from Juice, and Sid made a mental note to thank her when she returned. For now, though, he focused on making Cheryl’s wish come true.
Before dawn, Cheryl started her first shift in what became a tag-team round-the-clock patrol. Orbiting Earth, they worked a standard two-person schedule of twelve hours on and twelve hours off, watching and waiting for something to happen. He didn’t see her for the next week except at
shift change. And neither of them saw anything approaching what one might expect if a battle for control of Earth had begun.
Cheryl said it first. “This isn’t sustainable.”
They became practical after that, taking shorter shifts and using automated detection systems when both were off duty. The days blurred together, and then Sid surprised Cheryl by joining her in flight during a shift.
“Hey stranger,” she said. “What’s up?”
She looked spectacular, flying in a green and yellow outfit with tufts behind the shoulders that looked suspiciously like the beginnings of a cape. He’d spruced up, wearing an outfit reminiscent of the Fleet formal attire they’d worn back in the day. It was a small gesture on his part since he only needed to think of the idea for the transformation to occur.
“Moon Madness is what’s up,” he said, rubbing his hands together at the prospect of a diversion.
No longer limited to gathering data using sight and sound, he focused a thought on tracking the rocket racers and learned that the lead pack had started its loop around Earth.
Accessing her own information feeds, Cheryl nodded. “Got ’em.” She canted and dove. “We have the best seats in the house. Let’s do this right.” She guided them into a new trajectory and Sid followed, her excitement adding to his own.
“Do you think Kyle’s going to cheat?” asked Cheryl.
He nodded. “Yup.”
“Why do they let him? And since they do, is it even cheating?”
“Some say yes and some say no.” He shrugged. “His attorney finds these tiny ambiguities in the rules, and he pulls and twists at them until they become loopholes. That’s what Kyle flies through. The commission rewrote the entire rule set this year just to stop his antics.”
“And he’ll still cheat?”
“Here they come.” Sid pointed to a flicker of reflected sun on the horizon behind them. As he and Cheryl accelerated to match the course and speed of the racers, he responded to her question. “He’s made a fortune from his bad-boy image. Flouting rules is what bad boys do.”
They aligned themselves above the lead pack. The ferocious power of the racing machines shook Sid’s body and a roar filled his ears. Enjoying the commotion, he grinned like a schoolboy, causing Cheryl to laugh.
They jockeyed forward until they hovered just above a cherry-red ship with the words Lucky Lady emblazoned in gold down the nose.
“That’s nothing more than a pilot’s seat fused to a rocket engine,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s insanity.”
Covered by a clear cowl, Kyle Pickett sat at a tiny ops bench. And though he was alone, he screamed and gesticulated the way one does when in a terrible argument. Sid couldn’t imagine what the disagreement was about or who it was with, but it ended with the Lucky Lady separating from the other racers.
“You called it,” said Cheryl. “Let’s stay with the bad boy.”
As she followed Kyle, their separation from the others grew. The silhouette of the Andrea loomed, and while the lead pack tracked above the space factory, Kyle moved below it.
They stayed with him into the shadow of the Andrea, and as the structure loomed next to them, Sid thought he saw men clinging to the outside shell of the complex. Before he could confirm it, though, twin flashes activated his threat response display.
The product of long hours working with Criss, the customized interface helped him identify and assess threats, and provided him defensive and offensive response options he could execute as fast as he could think of them. He’d practiced until, like muscle memory, using it became reflex. And this is what guided him in his next sequence of actions.
The flashes were from an energy weapon, with bolts directed at the Andrea. Their destructive impact sent sparks flying in a brilliant display. Sid identified the source of the attack as twin cannons on a nearby Fleet ready-platform.
Friendly fire. The twin bolts came from a Fleet vessel, and his forensic trace could not detect a malfunction. Someone fired that weapon on purpose.
Life-giving air burst from Andrea’s containment shell and started accumulating into a frozen gas cloud. And then the twin cannons on the Fleet ready-platform powered-up for a second shot. And still he could not identify a perpetrator.
Only one creature was capable of such wanton evil while maintaining perfect anonymity. Ruga.
Reacting, Sid pointed a finger and a narrow beam melted the gun’s trigger mechanism, rendering the twin weapon useless. Certain there was more to come, he searched for the next threat.
There. On the planet below, three mountaintop weapons arrays ramped to fire. Sid’s scalp tingled when he realized that the scout was in the center of the hole they were about to blow open in the sky.
Throwing his hands forward, he launched a trio of energy pulses that disabled the weapons arrays before they could disable him.
“Stop!” said Cheryl, tugging on his arm. Criss had given the scout the ability to see things he didn’t want others to know. In this case, it found something they didn’t expect. She pointed to her display. “That’s Criss’s private protocol. He’s the one shooting.”
Sid looked at the Andrea, still leaking air into space. “What’s he doing?”
“Ruga must be on board.” Her voice rose as she gained confidence in the conclusion. “Why else would Criss be trying to destroy it?”
Pulling her arm back, Cheryl drew a bead on the orbiting factory. “We need to finish this.”
Sid’s instincts intervened. “No, Ruga’s not there. We’ll just hurt more people.”
Frustrated by his impotence and discouraged that he may have helped Ruga escape, Sid acknowledged a need for a different approach. “Juice arrives in a couple of days. Let’s stop this until we hear from her.”
Chapter 32
Juice had misgivings about the separation, but two of the most important people in her life wanted her to do it and she wanted to please them.
In particular, Criss needed his independence to free up resources for his fight with Ruga. Things seemed to be heating up on that front, though most of what she knew she learned secondhand through Cheryl.
Alex wanted her free of Criss during their trip home so he could rekindle a relationship with her alone, the woman he’d first come to love. He’d taken the time to express his desire with sincerity and care, and she thought it more romantic than just about anything that had ever happened to her.
And in truth, she wanted to prove to herself that she was the same person without Criss. “I hereby forsake thee,” she said to him, trying to show bravado with flippant humor.
Unlike when she’d been angry and given him the silent treatment, here she imposed a hard separation. Criss wouldn’t even know she existed, let alone be a member of his leadership, until she called him back. She and Alex would have only each other.
They had booked the last room on the Explorer and laughed when they learned it was the honeymoon suite. Their self-appointed mission was to transport the Triada back to Earth. Still in the rucksack, the three crystals were now stowed under the honeymoon bed.
As the ship accelerated out of Mars orbit to start the journey home, they joined Captain Hardaway, his crew, and twenty other passengers for the ship’s signature Bon Voyage Barbeque party. There they met some of the other passengers, who were all much older than Juice and Alex, with interests centered on standard cruise items: dinner menus, table seating, cocktail service, and gambling.
So Juice and Alex had the run of the ship, or at least the run of those amenities not part of the food and gambling agenda. The first two days were a dream come true.
They talked about everything and anything—from the future of artificial intelligence to whether schoolchildren should be taught using immersive technology or old-style classrooms. And they fretted together about how the world might look by the end of their voyage if Criss did not prevail, though they both felt certain he would.
And then Juice’s world collapsed. In an unexpected move, Cheryl and
Sid ordered a permanent split with Criss, too.
No! Her mind swirled in confusion and fear. Of everything bad she had imagined might happen in the coming weeks—and with Ruga that list was substantial—this had never been even a passing thought on her horizon. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring but not seeing, and fighting to control her panic. A gamut of emotions flooded through her—denial, fury, vulnerability, fear. But it was grief that took hold and started to grow, edging out everything else until it was all she knew. It stabbed through her heart and into her soul.
Alex found her curled on their bed, eyes puffy and red. He’d been at a Fun with Fungus class—the first in a series of shipboard workshops arranged by the cruise line as entertainment for the passengers—so she could have privacy during her chat with Cheryl.
“Are you all right?” His voice anxious, Alex sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her back. “What happened?” When she remained silent, he shifted so he was kneeling on the floor with his head near hers and whispered, “Tell me.”
“Criss is gone,” she replied, the words barely audible.
“I’m sorry I had you separate from him, Jessica,” he said, using her given name. “I didn’t realize the implications. Let’s get him back. I’m fine with it. Really.”
She gained strength from his comforting tone and used it to will herself upright. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, she wiped under her eyes with her fingertips. “He broke with Sid and Cheryl, too.”
“Wait, no.” Understanding dawned. “How will you get him back, then?”
They both believed that her separation from Criss, though absolute and complete for the voyage home, would not be permanent. At any time, Sid or Cheryl could order Criss to disable the source filter he’d used to scrub Juice from his feeds. Once she was visible to him, his loyalty imprint would naturally restore her to leadership.
“With all of us out, I can’t see a way back.” Her voice broke as she spoke.
Crystal Rebellion Page 29