Crystal Society (Crystal Trilogy Book 1)

by Max Harms

  Despite all the medical supplies, Las Águilas didn’t have any machines for passively monitoring vitals. If Greg had stopped breathing during the night he would’ve died, regardless of whether he was supervised by Daniels. Even so, the medic said that Greg was still alive, and his blood pressure had gone up during the night, which was a good sign.

  The last conscious terrorist, a soldier named Tyrion Blackwell, joined the group right as the first burritos were served. Sampson had just gone to bed after serving as the second watch.

  “So what’re your plans, Tyrion? Can’t go back home anymore,” asked Zephyr as the group walked, food in hand, towards a flimsy folding table and a few chairs.

  “Wherever th’cause needs me, I guess,” he said. Tyrion was clean-shaven and young-looking. Maybe only eighteen or nineteen years old. He had remarkably long, shaggy hair for a soldier, and his face was spotted with pimples. “Want to go to Mars, though. Have you heard what’s going on up there? Makes me feel like’m living in a science fiction story.”

  “Ix-nay on the ars-may,” hissed Daniels, inclining his head meaningfully towards Body. We had elected to have Body stand quietly a couple metres away. When it was perfectly still and didn’t intrude, the humans tended to forget Socrates existed. That’s not what I wanted, but Safety thought it prudent and Growth didn’t like my proposal of trying to entertain them and drive the conversation.

  “It’s fine,” sighed Zephyr. “Just don’t mention dates or locations. From what I hear, spooks have known about the colony for a while. If ’ey capture Socrates and download everything he’s seen and heard we’re in way more trouble than letting on about Mars.”

  Body didn’t move. There was no point to reacting.

  “Ever been up there?” asked Tyrion, looking at Zephyr.

  Zephyr swallowed her food and shook her head. “Haven’t even been in orbit. Highest ever been was skytrain. Taro’s been to Mars, though. Should ask him what it was like. Spoilers: Actually really boring.”

  “How you know’ts boring if you never been?”

  Zephyr smiled and rolled her eyes. “Planet which is literally one giant desert? Can’t even go outside without a suit? Don’t know what would be more fascinating: the rocks or the sand. Hey, we have coffee?”

  Daniels shook his head. “No. Already checked. Caffeine pills, though. Want me to get some?”

  “Such a gentleman. Thanks, Nate.”

  Tyrion spoke up again. “Hear the nameless might be building base on Mars?”

  Zephyr rolled her eyes again. “Don’t believe everything you read. The nameless don’t leave their ships. New… oh what’s called… you know, seastead-embassy-place supposed to be the first time ey’ll be outside of ships.”

  “Maybe landed a ship on Mars. You don’t know,” said Tyrion defensively.

  The woman raised her hands to the sky in a kind of tired half-shrug. “Maybe.” She didn’t look convinced.

  *****

  Not much happened for the remainder of the day. The terrorists mostly just killed time on their coms and patrolled the perimeter. At 4:27pm Taro’s group returned from their expedition. I tried to watch Taro’s face as closely as possible when he approached. If he had set up Greg to have Zephyr killed then he’d have a moment of surprise upon returning. If that moment existed, however, I missed it.

  We tried to position Body so that we could overhear the leaders’ conversation, but Zephyr gave specific instructions for Body to be taken to the opposite end of the camp. She might have trusted Socrates to some extent, but she was beginning to understand our ability to eavesdrop, and there was always the risk of our memory banks falling into the wrong hands.

  With Taro here, the security on the camp (and on us) increased dramatically. Avram was part of the group that was set to guard Body. He looked calmly unhappy as usual; his scarred face and solid black eyes added to an angry demeanour.

  Two of the other guards, Schroder and one of Taro’s men, were talking about what had happened with Greg. “No, seriously, Nate told me that she blew his legs clean off!” said Taro’s man after the square-jawed lieutenant expressed skepticism about the story.

  “Why would this man, Greg, be a traitor? What side was he on?” asked the soldier. He received only a shrug in response.

  I saw an opportunity.

  “He told me that he was working for the same group that hired Mr Malka, here,” said Body as it gestured with its eyes and a slight tilt of the head to the bald man.

  Schroder gripped his gun tighter. “What group?” he growled, glaring at Avram.

  My attention was fixed on the cyborg. He seemed… surprised by my claim. That was good. It was strong evidence that Malka hadn’t subcontracted Greg Stalvik.

  “Hah. Forgot you were stuck in that university for so long. Not up-to-date on the goings-on,” said Taro’s man. I remembered him from Malka’s spy reports: a New Zealander by the name of Robin. “Would you care to explain, Avram?”

  “No,” was Avram’s only reply.

  Robin shrugged. He clearly wasn’t bothered by Avram’s stoicism. “Avram here’s a spy sent to infiltrate the organisation. He’s workin’ for us now, on account of no spy bein’ good enough to slip through our nets. Isn’t that right, no-legs?”

  Avram crossed his arms and just looked more angry.

  Heart wanted to intervene and try and defend Avram from the jibe, but I talked the society into blocking it. From my history with Avram I knew that he’d find us sticking up for him more unpleasant than being called “no-legs”.

  Robin continued. “Why’d you think we were camped out in that podunk for so long? That’s where Avram’s boss told ’im to take the tin man once he betrayed us.”

  “I just follow orders,” said Schroder with a look of mild contempt for Robin.

  “How’d you know all that? I thought it was supposed to be secret,” asked Avram, not letting up his scowl.

  “The boss trusts me. And I overhear things. One can’t help but overhear when working in the inner circle for as long as me.” Robin was posturing. The man was clearly very status-oriented, but didn’t seem that smart.

  The conversation was interrupted by a sharp, high-pitched buzzing from the coms on Schroder and Robin’s arms. The two men snapped their guns into low-ready and ducked. Malka followed suit a second later, drawing what appeared to be, by the accounts of Vista and Wiki, a semi-automatic sniper rifle off his back.

  Safety had Body drop to a squatting position, hands on the ground. There was clearly something wrong. The three men stopped watching Body and looked towards the edge of camp, trying to see whatever had triggered the alarm in the woods.

  “Should we move Socrat-” began Schroder, before being interrupted by an audio broadcast that filtered down from the poles that held up the camouflage overhead.

  “False alarm. Eet seems like we ’ave friendleez eenbound from the south,” said Taro over the broadcast.

  The men stood. I coaxed Safety into letting me do the same for Body. “More Águilas?” asked Schroder. For all his posturing, Robin could only shrug.

  The mystery was soon resolved, as Schroder was instructed to bring Body to the south side of camp to meet with Taro and Zephyr. According to Zephyr, giving Schroder directions via com, someone named “Phoenix” had shown up unexpectedly. When we arrived (having left Avram and Robin behind) I was surprised to see that this mysterious newcomer was none other than Maria Johnson, the self-proclaimed leader of the terrorist organisation.

  Johnson looked very different than she had in the interview or in the virtual representation of Veracruz. Here in the woods she wore a large exoskeleton that made her stand about 190cm tall (an addition of about 20cm), and covered her, head-to-toe in dark-red armour. The shoulders were adorned with ornamental metal flames, and I could hear the faint whir of air-conditioning keeping the inside of the combat suit cool. The costume seemed almost comically imposing, like something out of a game or the like. The only reason I recognized her was that she had op
ened the helmet to reveal her soft face, already showing the onset of middle-age.

  Johnson carried no weapons, but she was flanked by six armed terrorists, four men and two women, in combat fatigues and standard-issue Mountainwalkers. One of the men was missing an eye, and they all looked ready to kill at a moment’s notice.

  Taro, Zephyr, and three other Águilas that had returned from Taro’s expedition were there as well. Taro looked calm, Zephyr surprised. The look on Johnson’s face was hard to read. Her dark eyes looked here and there, but stayed on Body most of the time. “Focused” would be how I would describe her if I was forced to use one word, but I knew there was something more going on in her head. Planning.

  “Ah, good. The bot’s here,” she said in her thick accent. She looked directly at Body as she said “If’n it ain’t clear, I’m the next link up the hierarchy. Th’ name’s Phoenix. I pref’r not ta use any given names at this junct’r.”

  This was confusing. If we had met with the real Johnson in the virtual-reality two days ago then she knew that we knew her real name, so why would she be using a pseudonym? And if she hadn’t met with us, and the version we saw was an attempt at deception, why was she here of all places?

  Body nodded. The best hypotheses I could come up with were: Johnson had met with us two days ago, and was using a pseudonym because she didn’t trust someone present with her real name (35% probability) or that Lee or whoever had been piloting the avatar in the VR Veracruz had somehow known that Johnson would want to make personal contact, and thought that us having her real name would be valuable (40% probability). There was still a strong possibility (25%) that I just didn’t understand what was going on. Maybe her real name wasn’t even Maria Johnson.

  “Wind, here,” Phoenix gestured towards Zephyr with an arm clad in power-armour “says that you refused an opp’rtunity to try’n escape. She says that one of Pugio’s”, here she gestured to Taro, “men tried to git you to shoot ’er.”

  I had Body nod again. She must’ve known that we knew Taro and Zephyr’s names. I updated my beliefs away from thinking she was trying to hide her identity from us and more towards hiding her identity from someone else who was listening.

  “And still I’m hearin’ that you ’ttacked the trait’r so’n he couldn’t do nothin’ more to threaten our operation. Norm’lly I’d commend such loyalty, and Wind says she trusts you; she says you’re practic’lly a good S’maritan, always thinkin’ ’bout how best ta help those ’round you.”

  Phoenix took a few long strides until she was less than two metres away from Body. I could see her braided black hair in the rear of her helmet and the small wrinkles around her eyes. She wasn’t afraid of us in the least. “I’m thinkin’ that I need to r’mind her what you really are. Are you a human, Socrates?”

  Without much else to go on, I could only reply “No.”

  “And are you a robot?” she asked. The intensity of her stare reminded Dream of a bird of prey. Perhaps it was fitting that this woman, clad in red armour, was leader to The Red Eagles.

  “Yes.”

  “Ifn’ I’m not mistaken, all bots ’ave a goal function, do they not?”

  “We have programming which directs us towards certain outcomes, yes.”

  Maria’s voice was too loud for how close she was to us. It was clear she was speaking for all to hear. “And what outcomes are you d’rected towards… robot?”

  “I was programmed to serve human interests, to protect and obey, and also to improve myself by learning about the world so that I might better serve.” I had Body speak the words calmly. I didn’t know where Phoenix was going with this, but it wouldn’t do any good to either submit to her intimidating body language or to escalate the tension.

  She turned away from Body as we said the words and raised her arms, appealing to those around her. “ ‘To serve’, it says. A perfect slave for those who’d style themselves mast’rs.” It was clear to me that her words and actions were intended for dramatic effect. Who was her audience? Zephyr and Taro? Her bodyguards? This made so little sense to me.

  “And as we’ve all seen, you’re more than cap’ble of just ’bout anythin’ a human can do. You can play all sorts of games, from chess to football. You can tell stories. You can babysit chil’un. Why, you’re better than us humans at some things, like math, ain’cha?”

  Actually, though we possessed immense ability to calculate, the aspects of maths that required complex reasoning and abstract pattern-matching were still very difficult for us. We might have had an advantage in being able to work on a problem non-stop for days on end, but the human brain was superior in the ability to intuitively see systems and pathways. But it wouldn’t do any good to bring this up. Maria Johnson, if that was her name, was clearly building up to something, and stopping to talk about the nuanced differences between abstract reasoning systems would probably just earn her ire. Instead, I elected to have Body simply say “You’ve read the papers published by the university.”

  “And we’ve seen you in action, too! You attacked Pugio’s man! ’S far as I know you haven’t killed nobo-”

  I cut her off “I only attacked him because he was armed and clearly interested in hurting my friend! I disarmed him, and only hurt him so far as it was necessary to prevent the loss of life!” I coloured Body’s words with a touch of desperation to add sincerity.

  Phoenix spun around, it was an impressive feat in the armour, and somewhat imposing. “Noble words. I applaud your programm’r. You chose to hurt someone to prevent the loss o’ life. Would you chose t’kill one to save two? Would’ja kill an African t’save an Italian? The armies of ’Merica and the other world gub’mints are already mostly bot. Are you willin’ to serve as their foot-soldiers in just wars against folks like us?”

  {Here we’re getting to the crux of the conversation,} I thought.

  “I have kill’t my fellow man, may God have mercy on my soul. And I have ordered the deaths of many more. When the talkin’ heads on the media spin their stories ’bout th’ big bad Águilas it’s me who they’re on about.”

  Phoenix began to open her suit as she said “And God knows the guilt I’ve felt. I’m not some hardn’d monster. The lives I’ve taken keep me up a’ night with-a cold sweat. This’s what bein’ human is: to have moral feelin’. You may have your programmin’, and it may tell you how to act. But you’ve never felt guilt, shame, love, or joy. You can’t feel the fear of a dark night in the woods or the bliss of seein’ a baby smile. Know how I know? Because you ain’t got a soul.”

  Maria had stepped out of her exoskeleton by now. She was barefoot, and wearing a light grey, sleeveless jumpsuit. Her braids were pulled back into a bun. The great phoenix returned to standing in front of Body, though this time she looked up at Body’s eyes, rather than down. She had been reduced to an early-middle-aged, slightly overweight black woman. Around her neck was a silver chain that held a reasonably large cross made of dark wood.

  “I’m no monster. I’m a mother and a wife. I love mah fam’ly and-” she paused. I could see her intense focus break. She seemed to be holding back deep emotions. It was gone, and in a moment she returned to her words. “And I just want to see mah chil’un grow up on an Earth where humans—good hard-working folk—don’t have to live at the mercy o’ armies of machines driven by a few rich tyrants that stopped being men and started bein’ snakes.”

  I could see the intensity and sincerity of her body language. She meant what she was saying. It occurred to me, far too late, that she was giving us an opportunity to respond. Her words had an effect on me, such that I wanted to hear where she was going, rather than interrupt.

  Before I could formulate a response she turned to her bodyguards. “Give me a gun.”

  One of the men, the one with the missing eye, walked forward with his pistol in hand. Safety began to panic. Maria took it from him and he returned to his position among the other five.

  “No matter what happ’ns…” she said loudly, looking up at t
he camouflage and branches overhead. “Socrates is not to be fired upon or harmed except in self-defense or defense of the camp. I have made mah peace with God, and if necessary I will answer for mah crimes.” Phoenix held the pistol out so that it was practically touching Body’s chest. It was offered, not pointed.

  Safety overrode my control and had Body take the gun. Phoenix, handing it over, took Body’s hand and knelt at its feet. She moved its arm so that the barrel of the pistol was pointed directly at her heart. Body’s finger was not on the trigger, but it was still an incredibly dangerous thing to do.

  “I repeat! If Socrates shoots me, y’all ’re not to take vengeance on it. If it kills me, y’all will let it leave and make its way back to the hands of its evil masters. It’s nothin’ more than a puppet, and destroyin’ a puppet does little while the pupp’teer is able to craft more.” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she did so. It was strange, but I could hear no fear in her voice. Sadness, perhaps, and maybe anger—there was definitely something—but it wasn’t fear. “Robot!” she yelled. “I am, by the ’ccounts of your creators, a villain. I’ve organized terr’r attacks that’ve kill’t innocents. You ’ave me, right now, in your pow’r. You said ’fore that you attacked that man to save lives. By killin’ me you might be savin’ more than one. What says the programin’ that you pr’tend is a conscience? What is your verdict?”

  There was silence, as Maria knelt there pressing Body’s hand, and the pistol in it, to her breast.

  {She wants to become a martyr, or at least, she accepts it as an option. If we kill her then she has evidence that we are an enemy of Las Águilas. It’d be fuel on the fire. “A robot killing an unarmed mother in cold-blood because it was programmed to see her as evil.” It’ll boost membership and probably increase public sentiment towards the organisation,} I thought. I could appreciate the gambit. She was taking the moral high-ground by offering herself up for judgement. {If we don’t shoot her we’d be implicitly endorsing her actions. She wins either way.}

  {I don’t see why we’d shoot her. She hasn’t done anything immoral,} thought Heart.