Authors: Doug J. Cooper
Crystal Rebellion
Doug J. Cooper
Crystal Rebellion
Copyright © 2016 by Doug J. Cooper
This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or places or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the
right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Published by: Douglas Cooper
Consulting
Beta reviewer: Mark Mesler
Book editor: Tammy Salyer
Cover design: Damonza
ISBN-10: 0-9899381-6-6
ISBN-13: 978-0-9899381-6-7
Author website:
www.crystalseries.com
~~~
thank
you, sweetie
1
“It’s time,” said the Red from
across the desk.
Alex Koval had never done anything brave before and wished
he didn’t have to start now. Hands trembling, he acknowledged his com and
smiled at the projected image of Dr. Jessica “Juice” Tallette. A fit woman in
her mid-thirties, Juice flashed a broad grin and waved.
She’s as pretty as I remember,
he thought, enjoying the
welcoming spirit and healthy radiance she projected from her otherwise tousled appearance.
He’d intended to keep the exchange formal, but his
excitement at seeing her won out. “You look great, J! It’s so good to see you.
How have you been?”
“Life is good, Alex. How is Mars treating you?”
“Fantastic. It has the predictable rhythm of Beckman’s lab,”
he said, referring to the time they’d worked together on an artificial intelligence
project at the Boston Institute of Technology.
Juice frowned, and Alex nodded when she did, hoping to
reinforce her confusion.
“So,” he said. “The construction of our crystal fab facility
is nearing completion. We start production next month and should be exporting AI
crystals to Earth soon after.”
He flicked his eyes to the Red and then back to Juice. “We’d
like to have you here as a consultant during those critical first days when the
fab facility is coming online. You’ve got experience we can’t find anywhere
else.” He did his best at an earnest sell. “It’ll be first-class travel all the
way, and you’ll be generously compensated.”
“Geez, Alex. It’s kind of you to think of me. I’m flattered.”
She twirled a lock of hair around her index finger as she thought, then she
shook her head. “But I can’t break free for that long.”
“We’ll send the
Colony Express
and pick you up at
Albany Spaceport. She’s modern, luxurious, and
fast
. You’ll be here
before you know it.”
Her cheeks lifted in a smile. “You’re always so good to me. Maybe
another time?”
He’d harbored feelings for her for years and now he lied to
her. “Our fab facility will be mass-producing four-gens.”
“Wait. What?” She sat upright, her smile gone. Four-gens
were sentient AIs with tremendous capability for good or evil.
“We’ll be fabricating fourth-generation AIs. Lots of them.
For export to Earth.”
“Whoa,” said Juice, her face clouding. “Let me get back to
you.” She started to disconnect and paused. “It’s really great to see you,
Alex.” Her image blinked away.
Alex glowered at the synbod across the desk. Human in appearance
and action, the Red’s perfection was his flaw. No real man had the precise
symmetry, unblemished skin, and graceful strength of the Red’s synthetic body.
Dressed in a simple gray jumpsuit, unadorned except for a bright
red patch on each shoulder that identified him as a member of the Security
Assembly, the synbod glowered back.
When he’d entered Alex’s cubicle unannounced, the Red had
presented Ruga’s request in five words: “Get Juice Tallette to Mars.” The “or
else” part of the request, though never stated, made Alex nervous. He’d heard unsettling
stories about Ruga and didn’t want to learn first-hand if they were true.
But that wasn’t why Alex had traded on his relationship with
Juice.
We need outside help
, he thought.
Juice had the rare
skills and personal connections to make a difference. Whatever happened,
though, it had to happen soon.
Once the fab facility starts operating, it’s
too late.
“I did what Ruga asked,” he said to the scowling humanoid
standing in his cubicle.
The Red glared for a moment more and then, softening his expression,
nodded once and said in a neutral voice, “He thanks you for your service today.”
With fluid elegance, the humanoid turned and exited the cubicle.
Exhaling, Alex sat back in his chair and willed his heart to
slow.
Do the right thing.
As lead tech for new colony projects, Alex had access to the
infrastructure development schedule. So he was one of the few who knew that Ruga
manipulated project priorities behind the scenes. And perhaps more alarming, Ruga’s
actions were becoming ever bolder.
The first time he’d noticed a change in the schedule, Alex had
been strident at a tech directors meeting. “Processes and procedures are being
ignored,” he’d told the group. That night, two Reds visited him at his
apartment and engaged him in a chilling discussion of actions and consequences.
He’d kept his mouth shut ever since.
Until now
, he thought.
Tall, lanky, and with a full head of wavy brown hair, Alex left
his cubicle and strode down the hall to a side door, exited the tech center, and
stepped onto the walkway along Civic Avenue. Keeping pace with the other
pedestrians, he walked past a colorful patchwork of shop fronts and office
entrances.
Civic Avenue widened into a small plaza, and a circle of vendor
carts and tables lined its perimeter. People moved in every direction, buying,
selling, and trading merchandise; eating, laughing, telling stories, and
enjoying the community that was Mars Colony.
Alex saw Petra, a late-thirties free spirit who grew some of
the colony’s most prized specialty crops, slap a customer’s hand. He laughed and
waved a greeting, his mouth watering as he thought of the tart snap from her
Braeburn apples. She nodded in return, then turned her attention to her produce
and the customers handling it.
Stopping at Marty’s Deli, Alex bought lemon water and loitered
on the walkway outside the shop, holding the bright yellow pouch where it would
be visible from across the street. The clandestine act seemed overly dramatic,
but he wanted to meet privately with Marcus Procopio and this was how to make
that happen.
Alex had discussed his concerns about Ruga with friends in
the Tech Assembly, and they had told him about Marcus, who was documenting
cases of wrongdoing to use as ammo for the next elections. A standoffish man, Marcus
had been blunt when Alex had approached him after an Assembly meeting.
“Talking to me makes you part of the opposition,” said Marcus.
“Politics get magnified in a small community like this, and things can get
complicated in ways you haven’t imagined. We should talk in private, and then
you decide if you want to be involved.”
Alex was uncomfortable becoming involved with anything that
considered itself “the opposition,” but he deplored even more the thought of living
with Ruga’s intimidation. To talk further, Marcus had told him to signal his
interest by holding a yellow water pouch while standing on this corner.
Marcus’s associate, Bobbi Lava, would tell Alex where and when they would meet.
Now waiting in the designated spot, he started feeling
anxious.
C’mon
, he thought as he moved his hair behind his ear. Then, to
his relief, Bobbi stepped out the front door of Hoff’s Supply and crossed the
street in his direction. A skinny, disheveled young woman who dressed like she
lived on the street, she was rumored to be Marcus’s daughter.
She walked past him, filled her coffee mug at the deli, and turned
back to the street. They stood side-by-side for an awkward moment.
Looks painful,
Alex thought of the flashing metallic
earrings stretching her earlobes and the shiny silver chain looping off her
eyebrow.
Then she started back the way she’d come.
Alex walked next to her, matching her stride. Staring straight
ahead, she sneezed, and with her hand still covering her mouth, said in a loud
whisper, “BIT garden. Tomorrow at ten.”
Bobbi turned left when they reached the other side of the
street. Turning right, Alex headed back toward the tech center.
So far, so good,
he thought, pleased that the meet-up
with Bobbi had gone well. He was already scheduled to work at the Boston
Institute of Technology’s private garden—the BIT garden—the next morning.
I
don’t need to move anything on my schedule.
Then he sucked in his breath. A Red—he couldn’t tell if it
was the same one who had been in his office—strode toward him on the walkway. Imagining
that the synbod could somehow read the secrets inside his head, Alex looked
down. But the man in the gray jumpsuit shifted his gaze and walked on past.
Calm down
, Alex scolded himself, stuffing his hands
in his pockets to stop them from shaking. Entering the tech center lobby, he started
for his cubicle but stopped when a Blue approached.
“Lazura would like to review the startup schedule for the
new crystal production facility,” said the synthetic man in the gray jumpsuit,
his tone pleasant and embracing.
“Let me grab my things, Larry. I’ll be there in a minute.” Shifting
to a work-oriented mindset, Alex didn’t reflect on the fact that, except for
the bright patches on his shoulders, the Blue in front of him was identical to
the Red who’d been in his office and the other who’d passed him on the walkway.
Blues were members of the Tech Assembly, and that made them
familiar. In fact, Alex worked side-by-side with this smart, friendly man every
day.
* * *
“That was weird,” Juice said to
Criss after disconnecting with Alex. She sat at her desk—that of the president
and chief technologist of Crystal Sciences.
Criss sat across from her in his favorite overstuffed chair.
“In what way?”
“Pretty much from start to finish.”
Rising from her seat, she began a series of flexibility
exercises to warm up for her daily run, continuing the conversation as she progressed
through her athletic routine. “First off, I’d describe the time we spent working
together in Beckman’s lab as chaotic. We had fun, but there were no predictable
rhythms.”
“Could it have been an attempt at sarcasm?”
“He seemed pretty serious when we were talking just now. I
didn’t hear any sarcasm.”
“What else?”
“He kept shifting his eyes to look past me, almost as if he were
speaking to me, and at the same time to someone else I couldn’t see.”
Criss nodded.
“Then there’s the little issue of a four-gen fab facility.
Could that be for real?”
“I expected you to start with that one.”
“I’m trying to sort through it.” She propped a toned leg on
her desk and, flexing toward it, looked at the projected image of Criss—the
only fourth-generation AI in existence as far as she knew. “How would it work if
there were lots of you? I’m not sure humanity would survive.”
From his secure bunker buried deep in the side of a
mountain, the artificial intelligence named Criss—a four-gen crystal with the
cognitive ability of a thousand humans—animated the projected image sitting
with Juice to respond, “I’m not sure I would either.”
“And up until five minutes ago,” said Juice. “I would have
sworn that Crystal Sciences is the only outfit with the ability to make one.” She
stood straight and crinkled her brow. “Where would Mars get a four-gen
fabrication template?”
She didn’t wait for Criss to answer. Moving with purpose,
she exited her office and strode across the hall to her private lab. She didn’t
see the image of Criss disappear from her office, nor did she see his overstuffed
chair vanish along with him.
In the few steps from her office to her lab, Juice heard
Criss say, “My template remains secure.” She heard him as if his voice were
wired through her ear and into her brain. No one else could hear him when he
spoke to her this way. No signals could be traced.
The door to her private lab hissed shut behind her as she
weaved through a clutter of equipment on her way to a vault in the back. Criss’s
life-like projected image—tall, fit, handsome, and now dressed in athletic
clothes that matched hers—leaned against the wall next to the vault, his arms draped
across his chest. He watched, not speaking, as Juice accessed and opened the
sturdy door.
Reaching inside, she picked up a rectangular silver box. Small
enough to fit in one hand, she turned it in different directions and examined
it. Seeing no evidence of tampering, she moved to her tech bench and slid the
box into a slot designed for that purpose.
A three-dimensional image of a crystal lattice rose above
the bench and shimmered with a colorful glow. She lost herself for a moment in
the mesmerizing beauty of the dancing sparkles of light. And then she turned
her attention to the activity profile.
“Huh,” she said, satisfied when the profile showed normal
status. The one four-gen template she knew of remained secure. Resting her arms
on the tech bench, she looked at Criss, the uncertainty of the situation weighing
on her. “I’m out of my depth on this. I think we need to get Sid involved.”
“I’m hiking with him right now.”
“Is it Highback Mountain?”
Criss nodded. “It’s always his first hike when he’s staying
at the lodge.”
“Hi there, Sid,” called Juice, knowing Criss would convey
her voice to him. Sid, the second member of Criss’s leadership team, interacted
with the sentient AI in the same private manner as Juice. “I have a situation
and need a consult.”
She heard Sid’s labored breathing and imagined him scrambling
up a trail in an effort to best Criss, even knowing the crystal’s projected
image was nothing more than a sophisticated trick of light that never tired.
“Can it wait until dinner?”
“Sure. Meet at the lookout loft?”
“It’s a date,” said Sid.
During her own workout, Juice mulled the idea of a fabrication
facility producing four-gen AIs. Mars Colony had started producing three-gens only
in the last few years using commercially available technology. And while
three-gens had a cognitive ability approaching that of a human, they were not
self-aware. Fabricating a sentient four-gen was so difficult, the expertise so
rare, it had happened exactly once—when Juice created Criss.
Since Criss’s fab template was secure, she decided Alex’s
claim was an overstatement. Perhaps they’d made progress on producing crystals that
were somewhat more powerful than three-gens, and the colony would gain a heightened
status by branding them as four-gens.
