Crystal Horizon: A Short Prequel to Crystal Deception (2 page)

Then her heart rose in her chest. Sid opened his suit, wriggled
his way out into the open water and, dressed only in his shorts, swam into the
chamber.
You’re mad
, she thought.
There were no air pockets
anywhere that she could see.

He moved along the chamber wall and positioned himself above
the tube where the instructors would appear. She started counting seconds in
her head.
He can hold his breath for maybe two minutes.

She reached twenty in her count when the two instructors popped
into view. They moved without hesitation, dashing for Sid’s gold suit lying in
the adjacent tube. Sid caught them both by surprise, dropping behind them and “killing”
them in rapid succession.

One of the instructors swung his elbow when Sid’s baton
touched his abdomen. Arguably the instinctive reflex of a trained combatant, his
elbow caught Sid on the side of the head. Sid went limp and began to drift. The
two instructors, engaged in an angry exchange that included finger pointing, didn’t
seem to notice.

Cheryl watched her partner’s motionless body for a full heartbeat
before she reacted. Straining every muscle, she raced through the water in his
direction. Her body screamed in protest as she struggled to increase her speed.

Reaching Sid at the one minute mark, she got behind him, wrapped
her arm across his chest and, kicking and pulling, tugged him toward his suit.
Small relative to the big man and hindered by her space coveralls, she moved him
at a crawl. He hadn’t exhaled—yet—and she knew that the air in his lungs was
his only resource for survival until she could get him to his suit.

Her frantic efforts attracted the attention of the two
instructors, and her hope grew when they rushed to help. They hooked arms with
Sid’s lifeless body and pulled with practiced efficiency. Swimming ahead, she lifted
his suit and exposed the emergency mouthpiece tucked beneath the front collar.

The moment he was near enough, she pried open his jaw, slipped
the air tube into his mouth, and pinched his nose. Eyes closed, he drifted
without moving, edging her toward panic.
C’mon, Sid.
She moved behind
him, wrapped her arms around his chest, and tightened in a short, hard squeeze.
Repeating the motion, she appealed to the instructors with her eyes.
Help
me.

With her third squeeze, Sid convulsed. Bubbles burst from
his mouth, and then his chest rose. He inhaled, then inhaled again. His eyes
fluttered and she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She studied his face as his eyes focused. Seeing her, he
formed a broad grin around the mouthpiece. Relief washed through her when she understood
he was out of danger.

Resuscitated to the point where he could assist with his own
rescue, Sid wrapped his arms around his suit and let the instructors help him down
the tube and out of the maze. Cheryl followed.

For the second time that day, her com activated when she emerged
into the open water. “You’re the first team to beat the maze since I arrived at
camp twenty years ago,” said Dooley. “Let’s see if you can continue your
success in the weeks ahead.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

Looking up, she watched Sid and the instructors disappear
into the glistening diamonds of the sunlit lake’s surface. She followed, trying
to decide if her partner was brilliant, crazy, or stupid.

* * *

Cheryl stopped in the doorway and scanned
the briefing room, her stomach gurgling as it rebelled against the breakfast
she’d gulped down just minutes earlier. About a dozen of the twenty or so chairs
were occupied, and not seeing anyone she wanted to sit with, she sat in a chair
at the end of a row. Over the next couple of minutes, stragglers scurried in to
fill a few more seats. She checked the time.
Six hundred hours on the mark.

Jasmine, a camp instructor whose tough persona stood in
contrast with her petite frame, strode through the door and marched to the
front of the room. Sid slipped in like a shadow behind Jasmine and plopped into
the chair next to Cheryl.

“Good afternoon,” Cheryl said to him, keeping her eyes forward
and wondering if her unveiled sarcasm pierced his consciousness.

Dressed in the all-black, formfitting athletic suit popular
with instructors, Jasmine began the briefing. “Today marks the first day of
week three.” She crossed her arms behind her and made a show of studying the
group. “You’ve been through a rotation of partners and a series of challenges.
Six of you are clustered at the top with outstanding scores. That will change
for at least four of you this morning.”

Cheryl snuck a glance at Sid, who was slumped in his chair
with his eyes closed. He seemed to be scowling. Checking her com for the team
assignments, she learned they were partners for the day. They were also two of
the six with top scores.

“Will you be awake by the time this starts?” she whispered
to him.

His scowl turned to a smile, but his eyes remained closed.

“Today’s task is simple, folks,” said Jasmine. “The theater
has been staged with the layout of a space freighter. You’re to start from the ship’s
command bridge and make your way to the engine room. The clock stops when you cross
the engine room threshold. Shortest time wins.”

A hand went up in front of Cheryl. It was Qi—a middling
talent in this year’s class. “Do both team members have to cross the threshold,
or is it just the first one across?”

Good question.
Cheryl looked at Jasmine.

“Clock stops when the first one crosses.” Jasmine paused,
adding drama to her next words. “Of course, three opposing teams will be spread
throughout the ship, and they’ll be hell-bent on stopping you from getting
there.”

Looking down at her lecture panel, she said, “Check your com
for your offense and defense schedules.”

Cheryl scanned the room and counted eighteen people, not
counting Jasmine, then looked at her com. “There are nine teams total. We’re on
defense for runs one, two, and five,” she whispered to Sid. “We’re the last
team up to make our scoring run.”

Jasmine watched the group with an impassive expression, and
Cheryl imagined her counting seconds in her head. After most of a minute, she
resumed her instruction.

“There’s an extra twist to our exercise this morning. Last
week we upgraded the simulation capability inside the theater with a third
generation SmartCrystal. This model supposedly brings artificial intelligence to
a whole new level. The techs who installed it swear this AI crystal has a
reasoning ability like that of a human.”

 She looked up at the ceiling the way one might when
addressing a disembodied presence. “Three-gen, it’s your show.”

The head and shoulders of a clean cut, forty year old man
appeared as a life-like three dimensional image floating above Jasmine’s
lecture panel. “Hello, everybody.” The three-gen smiled as it scanned the room
with its eyes.

Jasmine looked at the group. “The crystal will manage the
competition today. You may ask it questions for the next twenty minutes.”

Qi’s hand shot up and Jasmine acknowledged him. “The teams
who go later will know what works on offense. Doesn’t that give them an
advantage?”

“I will be changing the ship’s layout after every
challenge,” replied the crystal. “Strategies that are successful for one team
may not be so for another, and may even prove detrimental to a winning outcome.”

Hands raised across the room, and the next questions sought hints
and information useful in the upcoming challenge.
Not bad
, Cheryl
thought as the AI answered them all without divulging any secrets.

The tempo of the questions slowed and she raised her hand. “You’ve
surely analyzed probabilities and know the likely winners. Won’t you be tempted
to tweak the competition so your prediction becomes prophecy?”

“No,” said the crystal.

A moment passed, and then Cheryl realized that was its
complete answer. Before she could follow up, Jasmine clapped her hands. “Time’s
up, people. Let’s move down the hall to staging.”

Tables arrayed with munitions and gadgets lined the staging
area outside the theater. Jasmine had explained that the armaments were set to
dummy mode, but in the theater, the crystal would use projected image
enhancements to make everything seem real.

Cheryl picked up two Fleet-issued firearms and slapped one
on each wrist, then hefted an energy cannon and returned it to the table. “What
are you bringing?”

Sid slapped a firearm on each wrist, the distinctive
snap
punctuating his words. “My secret weapon.”

She eyed him, waiting for him to expand on the cryptic
remark, but he acted like he didn’t notice. Moving to the end of the row of
tables, he sat on a packing crate near the wall. She selected several items,
distributed them among her pockets, and sat next to him. They watched their
competition sort through the weapons, and then they waited for the action to
begin.

They were on defense in the first round, and Sid “killed”
both members of a top-ranked team in under a minute. They weren’t on the
schedule when the other top-ranked team took their turn, and one of them made it
across the engine room threshold in six minutes and eleven seconds.

Teams rotated in and out of the theater as the morning
progressed, and Sid and Cheryl returned to their crate whenever they weren’t
part of the action. A
s their time on offense
approached,
C
heryl’s nervous anticipation grew.

 “Want to hear something pathetic?”
she asked, picking an imagined piece of lint off her sleeve. “Two years ago, I
told my dad I wanted to be captain of a Fleet ship by the time I was thirty-five.
He said it was impossible. No one had ever done it.”

She caught Sid’s eye. “I want to
win today to stay on track for that goal.”

“You’re here to prove something to
your dad?”

“There’s no deep psychology, Dr.
Freud,” she said, shaking her head. “My dad and I are great friends. It’s just
that we bet a bottle of Scotch on the captain thing. He gloats so much when he
wins.”

“So you’re doing this for a bottle
of Scotch?”

“It depends. What kind?” She laughed
and bumped her leg against his. “I’m having fun, Sid. This is where I want to
be.”

He nudged her leg in return. “No worries, then. We got this.”

Their names were called, and Cheryl’s heart raced as she led
the way into the theater. The spaceship was staged as a combination of real physical
objects—floors, doors, consoles, and chairs—enhanced by three-dimensional
projected images. The projections were sophisticated tricks of light that added
life-like illusions of reality. The crystal would use image projection to
update the set as events unfolded.

Moving behind the ship’s main operations bench—the starting
point for their run—she exhaled through pursed lips, seeking to dispel the tension
from her body. “Six minutes ten wins it,” she said as she primed her wrist
weapons.

They lowered themselves to the deck and sat back against the
ops bench, their shoulders touching, as they waited for the horn that would
signal the start of the clock. Tilting sideways, Cheryl peered around the
corner and surveyed the room.

For their run, the command bridge was configured with a navigation
bench and a communications bench positioned halfway to their first goal—either
of the two passageways that led off the bridge. She eyed each passageway
entrance in turn.
They start us off pinned down, and our only way out is
through choke points
.

She sat up straight and looked at Sid. “They’re waiting for
us in those corridors.”

“Yup,” said Sid, folding his hands in his lap and closing
his eyes.

She nudged him. “The horn is about to sound.”

“We got this,” he said for the second time.

Before she could respond, the clock started.
Booop
.

Cheryl peeked around the corner. “I’m gonna try for the nav
bench.”

She rose up into a squat and poked her head out.
Zwip. Zwip.
Zwip.
A fusillade of energy bolts—bright but harmless—passed all around
her. Jerking back in reflex, she fell behind the ops bench and sprawled on the
deck, her head landing on Sid’s thigh.

“How’s it going?” he asked, looking down at her.

“I’m confused.” She raised up on her elbows. “What are you
doing?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t try for the passageways.”

“What are we going to do, go through the walls?”

He winked, then leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.

Cheryl shoved his shoulder and wiped her mouth with the back
of her hand. “Seriously? That’s where your head’s at?”

She rose to a crouch and looked him in the eye. “You should’ve
asked first.” Shuffling to the corner of the ops bench, she used her com to look
around the corner. “So where’s your secret weapon?”

“I’m looking at her.”

“Stop with the games, Sid.” She let her tone reflect her determination.
“I told you this was important to me.”

Digging into her weapons cache, she pulled out a red
demolition disk and a blue smoke disk. She knew the wall behind her would be
part of the outer hull on a real ship. All paths forward required that they move
toward their opponents.

“Right or left wall?”

“Right.”

She glanced over at him. “So I’m going alone?”

He nodded. “There’s a team waiting in each of those
passageways. If I stay here, they will too. For a while, anyway. That means it’s
you against two. You can beat those odds.”

With time short and options limited, her adrenaline-driven frenzy
transitioned into a clock-slowing calm.
I can do this.

Setting the disks on the deck in front of her, she armed the
smoke disk. She counted to five as she scanned the bridge, and then armed the
demo disk. Sliding her arm in a smooth motion, she sent the smoke disk skimming
across the deck, cheating it toward the passageway entrance on the right. A
pop
signaled its detonation, and as smoke clouded the far end of the command
bridged, she thrust the demolition disk at the right wall.