Free Crystal Conquest by Doug J. Cooper Page B

far corner of the building and had its own entry and road access, so she
never saw people or equipment go in or out. And he never made reference to any activities
or accomplishments that would cause her to think about what might be going on inside.
    As she turned the last corner and saw the door at the end of
the hall, she reminded herself that Criss never slept, giving him many hours
every night to pursue his tinkering. Then it clicked with her that he had the
ability to divide his enormous intellectual capacity and be in multiple places
at once. I’ll bet he’s been working day and night for the past two years .
She slowed her pace as she considered what he could achieve in that amount of
time.
    She reached his workshop door, and it hissed open. The immediacy
of the sound triggered a flood of emotions. She was happy he was taking her
into his confidence and excited by what she might see. But the timing of this
invitation, given the looming concern called Lenny, was curious.
    A wave of anxiety washed over her. What if he’s been
developing his own crystal , she thought. And what if it uses the alien
Kardish designs? Even though Criss himself had been manipulated by the
Kardish, she knew his allegiances. She didn’t think she would trust unfamiliar
crystals harboring alien influences.
    She stepped inside a space that was larger than she remembered,
and the door hissed shut behind her. Her eyes darted in a random pattern as she
absorbed the various sights, and the scientist in her began collating her
observations.
    The space was full of lab equipment—big and small items,
clear vessels, tanks with a metallic sheen, electronic devices with sophisticated
displays, tubing and wires connecting one piece to the next—all clean and
neatly organized so someone could navigate the room.
    The sweep of her gaze ended with Criss. He sat in a chair in
the center of the workshop, perhaps twenty steps in front of her, still dressed
in his fatigues. Her eyes moved to what was behind him. “What the hell?” she
said out loud.
    Behind Criss, occupying prime real estate in the center of the
space, was an exercise area. She stepped to the side to get a better view and saw
weights, a treadmill, climbing bars connected in triangles to form a dome, tall
climbing ropes—a whole panoply of physical training and gymnastic apparatus.
    Juice struggled to resolve the incongruous display of high-tech
lab equipment arranged neatly around a mini gym. “I forgot my workout clothes,”
she said, immediately feeling foolish for saying something so inane at this
moment of sharing.
    He smiled, stood up, remained still for a few seconds, and
started walking toward her. She studied the rhythm of his body as he approached.
His facial expression was pleasant, but it was one she didn’t recognize. As he
drew near, he extended his arm like he wanted to shake hands.
    She looked down at his open hand and moved to respond. The
greeting was a familiar ritual and the surreal nature of the situation let habit
override logic. He was a projected image, albeit perfectly realistic in
appearance. She reached to shake hands with empty air.
    And then their hands touched. They touched . She felt
a firm, warm grip envelope her hand. He pulled her in and hugged her. She
melted against the supple resilience of a well-muscled chest.
    It was like a dream come true. They’d spent every waking
moment together for the past two years in an intimate relationship of sharing
and trust. He was her closest confidant. Her best friend. She shared her
innermost secrets with him, and he listened and supported her. He paid
attention to little things and cared about her happiness and well-being. She
never thought it possible to be in his arms.
    To be in his arms? She recoiled, pushing off his
chest. “Who are you?” The tenor of her voice rose as she spoke. Stepping
back and folding her arms across her chest, she created a barrier between them.
    His face fell. Her reaction seemed to