Crystal Rebellion (4 page)

The pipes running along the rise moved clean water out to
the grow tiers and dirty water back for purification. Accessing the prime
record, Ruga confirmed what he already knew: as it snaked through the farm
tract, this particular leg of the water system passed by the community garden
plots.

Ruga monitored events through the Greens as the lorry bumped
along the service path next to the pipes. Traveling at the pace of a brisk
walk, it took twenty minutes for them to reach a shallow hole in the ground.
Two construction bots moved in synchronous efficiency around the hole, working
to install a new pipe support structure.

Through the Green’s eyes, Ruga surveyed ahead.
Perfect
,
he thought. This particular spot on the path, elevated waist high above the
land itself, had an unobstructed view of the adjacent gardens. The BIT plot lay
ahead and to the left.

To create a plausible reason for their presence in the area,
Ruga directed the Greens to inspect the work of the construction bots. He
wasn’t sure if this acting performance was necessary—colony citizens regarded
Greens as nonthreatening—but he wanted to err on the side of caution.

Then he had the Greens unpack the surveillance repeater from
the carry bed and install it on a pipe support. When activated, the repeater
would provide Ruga a comprehensive monitor of everything that happened at the
BIT plot and surrounding community gardens.

As the surveillance feed came alive, Ruga listened to the
discussion in progress between Alex and Marcus. They sat at the picnic table
near the shed and ate while they talked. Anya contributed to the conversation,
though her input centered on the ingredients and preparation of her soup.

“You can’t be thinking that Blues are good but Reds are
evil,” Marcus was saying. “How can you not see them as one and the same?”

“You think so?” Alex sampled the tomato soup, nodded as he
looked into the bowl, and took another spoonful.

My enemies
. Ruga felt calm as he made a decision.
I
want to see, hear, touch, taste,
feel
you
.

With that declaration, he surrendered to his impulsive
nature. He’d been forecasting scenarios for weeks about how this would work.
Now he wanted to try, or at least give it his best effort. His forecast
analysis indicated that he would succeed, and if it didn’t work, there would be
no harm to him. After all, he was launching from a first-rate console.

Collecting himself into a tight ball, he paused and then
pushed in a long, determined stroke. As he propelled himself up and out, he
flipped from a pushing to more of a pulling behavior. And then he scrambled to
find a braking action that would slow him down.

Plop.
He landed in the Green.

Ruga hadn’t physically jumped. Quite the opposite, for the
first time since his awakening, he had projected his awareness from his console.
It’s so easy.
He couldn’t be more delighted.

He tingled as he processed the sensations flooding into him
from the synthetic body. His cognition steadied and he took tentative steps
along the service path. Mastering the synbod, Ruga stepped to the edge of the
low rise and, glaring at the conspirators, struck what he imagined to be a
defiant stance.

Listening through biosynthetic ears, Ruga heard Anya say,
“There’s a Green watching us from the rise.” She tilted her head in Ruga’s
direction as she spoke.

Turning partway in his seat, Marcus looked over his shoulder
and returned Ruga’s glare. “What do you think of them now?” he asked Alex.

I’ve been discovered!
Still adapting to the
exhilarating but strange experience of projecting his awareness, Ruga reacted
and yanked himself out of the synbod. After a moment of disorientation, he
stabilized in his console located deep beneath a mining complex east of the
colony.

There he sorted through his emotions. He felt anger at being
discovered, heightened suspicion of the three human conspirators, annoyance at
the incompetence of his partners in the Triada, and euphoria from the vivid
physical sensations he’d experienced from within a synbod.

Chapter
4

Sid lifted Cheryl’s arm and, taking
care not to wake her, slid out of bed. Setting her arm back on the mattress, he
looked at her face framed by her sleep-rumpled hair. Then he traced the outline
of her athletic body evident through the thin bedsheet.

Pleased by the visual tour, he leaned down and kissed her on
the shoulder.

On the second kiss, she rolled away from him and pulled the
covers up to her chin. “Maybe later,” she said, the pillow muffling her voice.

He nipped her arm with his teeth. She remained curled in a
ball.

I’ll be waiting
, he thought, wrapping a towel around
his waist as he stood.

The door to Cheryl’s room whispered shut behind him as the
door to his room, four steps down the passageway, opened. He washed and
dressed, grabbed a mug of coffee from the food service unit, and made his way
onto the bridge of the scout.

“Good morning, Criss,” Sid said as he walked to the
operations bench. Criss, sitting in his favorite overstuffed chair, itself
wedged in front of the polished console that held his AI crystal, raised his
coffee mug in silent acknowledgment.

Positioned toward the front of the bridge, the ops bench
provided a sophisticated command and control interface that linked the pilot to
all ship subsystems, including navigation, communications, engineering, and
weapons. Sid slid into the pilot’s chair and touched the cool bench top. An
array of displays popped up and hovered in an arc in front of him. Ignoring the
colorful arrangement, he slouched back in the chair and took a sip of coffee.
“How are we doing?”

“All systems go,” Criss replied, using jargon from the early
days of space flight.

They raced across the vastness of space in the scout, a
small craft Criss had appropriated from Fleet Command in his first weeks of life.
The scout was his travel home, and he’d customized it with so many
modifications and upgrades over the years that it held little resemblance to
the original vessel.

They had two days remaining in their journey, and Sid’s
anticipation began to supplant his boredom. “How’s our shadow?” A display to
his left moved to the center and enlarged, and he skimmed the information.

The
Venerable
—a Horizon-class Fleet space cruiser
dispatched by the Union of Nations for Cheryl’s trade mission—fell farther
behind with every passing day. Bigger and slower, the Fleet ship would be a
week behind by the time the scout reached Mars.

“Captain Kendrick contacted the Mars consulate to get
Cheryl’s schedule,” replied Criss. “I’ve modified the record so it appears as
if she is on a private tour of a mining complex east of the colony.”

Good work, Kendrick.
Sid stared at the projected
image of the
Venerable
but was too deep in thought to focus on it.

Kendrick’s orders were to travel to the colony, wait for a
VIP, and when she was ready, escort her back to Earth. The captain knew little
of trade missions or corrupted intelligence data. Such details weren’t
necessary for him to complete his assignment.

He also didn’t know that the scout was traveling out in
front of him.

Invisible to everyone and everything, the scout employed
Criss’s private cloaking technology. The concealment it provided was so
complete—bordering on magic from Sid’s perspective—that Mars patrol and Fleet
Command were also unaware of the scout’s existence.

So in Kendrick’s mind, if he was traveling this great
distance to meet Cheryl, then she must already be on the planet.
And he
knows to locate his assignment prior to his arrival.
Sid nodded his
approval.
Kendrick’s diligence forced Criss into a charade.

Criss swirled his coffee and took a sip. “She’s being
escorted on this phantom tour by industrialist Shi Chen. Chen is anxious to
maintain a liberal business climate on Mars so he can continue making obscene
profits. And he’s loyal to the Union when it serves his needs.”

“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 nothing 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?”