by Jacob Whaler
Taking a step back and bending down to her level, Matt stares until the lines appear, faint hair-like structures floating four feet off the floor. When he stands, they disappear.
“Interesting,” he said. “Looks like some kind of sonic trip wire. A second line of defense against intruders. Adult intruders, that is.” He gets down on his knees and sees the wispy lines crisscrossing the room like stray threads from long forgotten spider webs. “Good thing you noticed. If we cross one of those, my guess is it triggers a silent alarm. The place will be crawling with soldiers in seconds.” He reaches out a hand and pats her on the head. “We need to find the stairs. You follow the floor lights, and I’ll follow you.”
Yarah bends low and passes under the white lines floating in the air. Matt moves forward behind her on hands and knees.
When they get to the base of the stairs, Matt looks up and sees dozens of the thin lines zigzagging across the stairs like the broken remains of exploded squares, rectangles and triangles.
“This might take a while,” Yarah says.
“Don’t worry,” Matt says. “Only twenty-five floors.”
The little girl starts up on her hands and knees. Matt follows behind.
CHAPTER 40
In the faint light of the single lamp, Saatuk looks down at the woman’s swollen feet and ankles, running her brown fingers over the hot flesh.
Her husband, Kutaas, kneels beside her. “I do not approve. We should carry her back to the cliff and leave her there. This will only mean trouble.” His head shakes gravely. Thick wrinkles stretch across his forehead and fan out from the corners of his eyes. “When the Spider Queen finds out we have taken this woman in, we will all be killed in a single stroke. The entire village. Perhaps all of our people.”
Saatuk doesn’t bother to look up through her gray bangs. “It is against the law of our ancestors to abandon a stranger in need.”
“The laws of our ancestors do not apply on this foreign world.” Kutaas moves away and sits on the dirt floor in front of a low table. His fingers play with a sharp blade set in a wooden handle wrapped in leather. “Besides, our ancestors are dead. We appealed to them, but they did not help us when the Spider Queen ripped our village away and brought us to this strange world. Why should we worry about them now?”
“Look at yourself,” Saatuk says. “You used to teach the children in the village of the old ways.” She dips a clean white cloth in a solution of warm water and black herbs. “You told them the old ways would guarantee the survival of the Chimpootee people. Have you changed your mind so soon?” She washes blood from the soles of the woman’s feet with the dark solution.
The woman’s eyes flutter open. She cries out in pain and struggles to breath. Saatuk quickly turns and picks up a tightly bound packet of green leaves and bites off a small corner. Dropping it into a bowl, she grinds the pieces into a thick paste and spreads it across the woman’s lower lip. The woman’s eyes shut and her breathing becomes deep and even.
“Let the drangee take you back to the land of rainbows and clouds.” Saatuk bends low and runs her fingers through the long brown hair of the woman. “Your pain and sorrow will float away.”
Kutaas holds the dagger up in the faint light. It casts an indistinct shadow on one side of his face. “The drangee leaves may hide the woman’s mind from the Spider Queen for a short time, but they will not work forever. The Spider Queen will find this woman, and when she does, our people will be destroyed.”
Saatuk smiles and nods to herself. “It will last long enough for her wounds to heal. The Spider Queen will look for her mind but will not find it. Perhaps she will give up looking and forget about this woman.”
“This woman has the same pale skin as the Spider Queen.” Kutaas shakes his head. “Perhaps they are related. We should not meddle. The Spider Queen always gets what she wants.”
“Then how did this woman get away?” Saatuk stares down at the strange face and runs her fingertips along the strong sinews of the arms. “She reminds me of our Sakutaas. Young, strong, beautiful, stubborn. I wonder what world this woman was ripped from. I wonder who is searching for her now.”
Kutaas drops the blade onto the wooden table. “If only our Sakutaas were here with us. Then we would be a family.” His face goes into his hands. Great tremors rake his body. “The Spider Queen takes everything from us. Our lives, our people, our daughter.”
Saatuk nods. “She has taken much. But she cannot take everything unless we allow her to. This woman got away. Does that not give you hope? Perhaps this woman is a gift from our ancestors. Perhaps she will be the one that leads us back home to our world. Back to the other Chimpotee.”
A fit of laughing overtakes Kutaas. “The drangee leaves have taken you into their dreams and left you there. When the others of our people were ripped away by the Spider Queen, did we ever see them again? All they left were craters in the ground where their villages used to stand.” The laughter slowly turns into uncontrollable crying. “And now it is our turn. We will never see our home world again.”
The sound of footsteps approaches the open door. A young girl walks through into the pale light.
“Come in.” Saatuk stands and walks to the girl. “You have brought me more of the drangee leaves?”
Without a word, the girl hands over a wicker basket full of green plants. A wide smile breaks across the small face.
“You are an angel.” Saatuk bows deeply. “Tell your mother the blessings of the ancestors will be with her.”
The girl turns and runs back out into the night.
Kutaas slips the knife into a leather sheath. “What will you do when the sun comes up and we see the Spider Queen standing in our village looking for this woman?”
“Go to sleep, my husband.”
CHAPTER 41
Matt straightens up and stretches at the top of the stairs. “Are you OK?” He whispers while looking down at Yarah.
“I’m fine,” she says. “What about you?”
“It’s the first time I’ve crawled up twenty-five flights of stairs.” Matt reaches his arms up to the ceiling, and then curls his back like an angry cat, touching the floor with his fingers, forehead against his knees, before standing up. “Much better. Do you see any more lines in the air?”
“Nope,” Yarah whispers. “Looks clear.”
“Where’s Ryzaard’s living quarters?”
Yarah points through the wall. “Straight across the floor in the corner. There’s a big spiral staircase in the middle. No elevators. If anybody comes, it’ll be up the stairs.”
“Or the stairs we came up.”
“When I looked around in the heads of Ryzaard’s helpers, none of them ever used these stairs.”
“Makes sense,” Matt says. “These stairs look like a fire escape. And it’s too much trouble to shut down the security protocol.” He moves to a metal door set in the wall. “Let’s get through the last obstacle. Need to find the security node.” With his jax in hand, he starts at the top of the door and runs it along the edge until stopping at a point midway down. A green line on the door lights up. “Right here.” He turns to Yarah. “Same key?”
She nods.
He runs his finger along the edge of the jax. “Let’s feed it the code.” With another tap, numbers begin to flash through the tiny holo screen as the green line shrinks in size until it disappears completely. They hear the crisp metal click of a lock opening. Matt slips the screwdriver into the seam between the door and the wall and gently twists.
The door swings open a couple of inches.
Matt drops his hand into a pocket and pulls out the cloaking box, taking care to place his finger under the lid to keep it open. Reaching back with the other hand, he pulls the pulse rifle from the backpack and holds it pointing out in front.
Yarah grips her Stone, jet black. Dead and cold.
Matt nudges the door open all the way. It swings silently on carbon hinges. He steps out onto the glass floor. Instead of being transparent, it appears blac
k and solid. Matt recalls that it’s constructed of multi-chromatic material that allows full color control. Faint lights and a low humming sound erupt from the open stairwell in the center, clearly visible through the sonic night vision goggles. Fifty yards away, in the opposite corner, they see the two walls of Ryzaard’s personal quarters.
Scattered across the floor, organic and abstract sculptures stand at random points, some at eye level and some towering over him. There are Greek goddesses, Roman emperors, Cambodian Buddha statues, Chinese terra cottas, Aztec feather serpents. All of them look like chess pieces dropped there by a massive hand.
Matt and Yarah walk across the floor, two dark forms moving silently through a forest of still shapes frozen in time. Yarah grabs Matt and pulls herself close. An eerie view of the neighboring buildings stares at them through the transparent outer walls.
They stop just outside the door to Ryzaard’s quarters. Curiously, it sports a doorknob. Matt looks down at Yarah and lifts an eyebrow. She shrugs her shoulders. Her Stone is still dead and cold. His own eyes close, and he reaches out to connect with his Stone. With equal portions of relief and fear, he feels nothing. The tip of the pulse rifle drops down to rest on the floor. Matt lays his palm against the doorknob. He twists clockwise.
To his surprise, the door opens.
Picking up the pulse rifle, he nudges the door open and looks inside.
It’s completely black, but the night vision goggles reveal the fact that there’s no bed in the room. A desk is set against one wall.
Switching his gaze to the other wall, Matt sees Ryzaard lying on a sofa next to the window, dressed in silk pajamas, his body pulled together in a loose fetal position. The string of Stones around his neck is bunched up to one side. They are cold and dark.
His heart beating in his ears, Matt moves forward. Lifting the tip of the rifle and pointing it at the figure on the sofa, he places his finger on the trigger.
In ten paces, Matt crosses the room and brings the gun close to Ryzaard’s forehead and stares down. The old man with the young face sleeps peacefully.
“Wake up,” Matt says.
Ryzaard remains silent and motionless.
An image of Jessica passes through Matt’s mind. Without thinking, he takes a small step forward and rams the rifle tip into Ryzaard’s forehead. Blood oozes from the wound, but still Ryzaard doesn’t move.
“Get up!” Matt yells.
Ryzaard’s eyes flip open and narrow. Confusion mixed with fear flashes across his face. His hand becomes a blur as it jumps up and grabs the rifle. The lights in the room come on.
Matt twists and pulls back hard on the gun. At the same time, he lands a hard kick on Ryzaard’s forearm.
Ryzaard winces with pain as the rifle comes free.
Taking a step backward, Matt still holds the open box in his hand. Yarah stands behind him.
Ryzaard sits up and reaches for the Stones with his other hand. The same look of bewilderment blazes through his eyes as he tries to make contact with them. He looks down at the dead black shapes on his chest, and then stares up at Matt.
Without taking his eyes off Ryzaard, Matt moves back another two paces. “Something wrong?” He hands the open cloaking box to Yarah behind him. She takes it and steps back.
“What have you done?” Ryzaard stands from the sofa, a snarl on his face.
“Where is she?” Matt points the pulse rifle at Ryzaard’s chest. His finger rests on the trigger applying light pressure.
Ryzaard studies Matt’s face. “You know what your problem is? You’re sloppy. You only care about yourself. The people around you, the ones you should be watching out for, they always die. Have you ever asked yourself why?”
“Save your breath,” Matt says. “I’ve learned a lot since the last time. It’s not going to work.”
“You’re afraid of power!” Ryzaard rubs the wrist that Matt kicked. A purple bruise has already formed. “Don’t you see that?”
“Just tell me where Jessica is. Then I’ll leave.”
Ryzaard’s hand goes to his chest, pressing above his sternum.
Matt sees a mostly transparent film flow across Ryzaard’s skin.
“You have a rifle,” Ryzaard says. “Why don’t you shoot me?”
Without a word, Matt lowers the point of the gun and squeezes off the trigger.
A black pulse projectile rips a large hole in Ryzaard’s pajamas. He stumbles backwards and falls on the sofa. Reaching his hand down to his leg, he opens up the pajamas where the wound should be.
The skin is flawless, unbroken.
“Upgrades.” Ryzaard smiles.
Matt pumps the rifle and takes a step forward. “Tell me where Jessica is.” He jerks the trigger back and shoots Ryzaard’s left arm.
The shell splatters into a fine mist against Ryzaard’s bicep, causing a grimace on his face.
“I mean it.” Matt clenches his jaw, pumps the rifle and sprays projectiles across Ryzaard’s chest.
The old man falls back limp on the sofa, twitching with pain.
Matt approaches. With his foot, he rolls Ryzaard down onto the floor. His other foot goes onto Ryzaard’s chest. The point of the rifle comes down and rests on his forehead.
“Tell me.”
Ryzaard closes his eyes. “You can’t kill me with bullets. You’re too smart for that, anyway. You’ll never find her if you kill me. You know that as well as I do.”
Sounds of commotion float up from the circular stairs. It sounds like dozens of heavily shod feet and guns clanking against battle armor. Muffled voices shout commands.
Matt turns to Yarah. “Stay behind me.” He turns back to look down at the floor where Ryzaard lies.
All he sees is a blur rolling to the left. With a broad sweep of his arm, Ryzaard brushes aside Matt’s legs and topples him. At the same time, he kicks the pulse rifle out of Matt’s hand.
Landing hard on his back, Matt rolls and jumps to his feet just in front of Yarah.
A smile graces Ryzaard’s face. “More upgrades.” He lunges and takes a swing at Matt, who barely manages to jump out of the way.
Ryzaard’s fist slams into the thick glass of the window. A spider web crack blooms and spreads from the point of impact.
Matt pivots on his left foot and lands a solid punch between Ryzaard’s shoulder blades, connecting with bone. It feels like hitting a steel girder.
The blow should have dropped Ryzaard to the floor, but there’s no reaction from him.
Matt bounds across the room and scoops up the pulse rifle. Yarah runs and stands behind him. Her eyes jump between him and Ryzaard.
“Get ready,” Matt says.
Yarah nods and looks down at the cloaking box in her hand.
Grabbing the Zeus statue off his desk, Ryzaard holds it up like a weapon and drops his gaze down to Yarah.
Anticipating his move, she jumps aside at the same moment he hurls it at her. It flies past her head and shatters against the wall behind her.
With hands clenched into fists, Ryzaard lunges.
Matt pumps three shells into the right side of Ryzaard’s chest. The old man stumbles backward, hits the window and slides to the floor, groaning with pain. No blood.
The sound of running feet has almost reached the top of the stairs behind them.
“Now!” Matt shouts.
He digs his hand into a side pocket and pulls out his black Stone. Then he drops to the floor into a lotus position and closes his eyes. Yarah sits beside him and holds out her left hand. Her small fingers move out from under the lid of the box.
She snaps it shut.
At the same instant, the Stone in her right hand glows white, as does Matt’s.
On Ryzaard’s chest, the necklace of seven Stones takes on a deep violet hue and becomes weightless, floating in the air like tiny balloons.
CHAPTER 42
Jhata floats closer to the opening in the tube where the black sphere used to be. It’s the control node, the point from which one can ove
rsee the entire network. Throwing her head from side to side, she sees a fragment of black glass, a remnant of material from the broken node. Catching it in her hand, she brings it close to her eyes for a careful study.
Quickly going all the way down to the subatomic level, it is unlike any material she has ever seen. It flashes in and out of existence like a wave on the ocean that suddenly appears on the surface and then crashes back down. As she draws in even closer, the material entirely vanishes. It seems to be composed of nothing at the most fundamental level. Much like the Lethonen themselves.
It must have been the peculiar material of the control node that had allowed them access to the planetary network.
The new control node she plans to install will be made of different material and will not afford this privilege.
She takes one last glance down at the planet with its fringe of cables and shark heads floating up from the surface like the cilia on a massive cell. After taking it all in, she jumps back to the lab.
Opening her eyes, she stares down at the green implant fragments in her hand. Now that she understands how they work, it’s time for the real work to begin.
The first task is to understand the reason for the failure of the Lethonen implant prototype. It wasn’t a flaw in the planetary network they found. It works perfectly.
She recalls what the Lethonen told her.
The implant connects the core of the slave’s mind to the floating head.
Looking down at the green fragments, Jhata recalls Ryzaard’s experiment with the implant, pulled directly from a scan of his mind.
The images play like an old video against the dark backs of her eyelids. A small fat man lies on a table. A doctor in a white lab coat performs the surgery to implant the jewel-like device. It connects to the man’s brain. His mind becomes part of the network.
So far, so good. What had gone wrong?
Jhata fast-forwards the memories lifted from Ryzaard’s mind. She sees him approach the fat man. Looking down through his eyes, she hears him call the man by name.
Little John.
And then Ryzaard places a dark Stone in Little John’s hand. His fingers grip it as it glows white.
