by Jacob Whaler
Below him, a small figure with dark hair walks out from behind an outcropping of rock. Two other women stand next to her, shoulder to shoulder. The small figure raises her fist as if in defiance of the ships.
A bubble of blue light appears around the three of them. Concentrated pulse fire throws up rocks and dirt above and below.
Under a hail of laser cannons, Matt rushes down the slope and pulls up behind them. His bubble merges with Yarah’s.
They all hear the attack ships approaching from the south and west.
Alexa grabs Matt’s shoulders. “Can’t you just blow them out of the sky?”
“It’s no use,” Matt says. “More will come. We have to lose them.”
“How?” Jessica says.
“Follow me.” Matt reaches for Jessica and Yarah. The little girl finds Alexa.
“Where are we going?” Alexa screams.
“The only safe place left on the planet. Back to New York.”
Under a barrage of pulse and laser fire, the bubble around them burns bright, made of pure plasma.
Then it’s gone.
CHAPTER 74
Ryzaard follows Jerek to the central staircase and down two flights. A tube structure of metal and plastic winds around the floor like a massive sausage with an assortment of holes and glass windows along its length. A half-dozen workers in white lab coats tend what is clearly a production process running through the interior of the tube.
“This is quality control and packaging.” Jerek walks to a square opening near the end of the tube and reaches his hand into the darkness, coming out with a clear cube of Lucite nestled in the center of his palm. He hands it to Ryzaard.
Ryzaard stares at the blue jewel encased in the plastic like a fly in amber. “Beautiful.”
Jerek points at it. “Touch the white dot on top.”
Ryzaard sees a white circle with an elegant red torii gate inside. “Has Miyazawa approved the packaging?”
“He designed it.” Jerek turns and pulls out another cube. “He insisted on the Shinto symbol.”
Ryzaard presses a finger to the dot. As the top of the cube separates and moves horizontally to the side, the implant lights up with a blue aura and rises a centimeter on a tiny pedestal. The faint smell of Jasmine tea mixed with cedar oil emanates from the open cube and finds its way into his nostrils.
“Impressive.” Ryzaard looks down through the glass floor at a forklift moving pallets stacked high with boxes ready for shipping.
“The first batch goes out tonight. 500,000 units. For Japan. Miyazawa will be presenting them at a special ceremony at the Itsukushima Shrine tomorrow.”
“I know it well,” Ryzaard says. “The floating torii gates. A most beautiful—”
“Dr. Ryzaard!” The voice of Diego Lopez comes from an emergency channel on his jax. “Dr. Ryzaard!”
“What is it, Diego?”
There’s a long pause. “Two Stones just showed up on our location algorithm.”
Ryzaard exchanges a glance with Jerek. “Is it him?”
“Yes. And the little girl. Two others as well. Jessica and Alexa.”
Exuding calmness, Ryzaard reaches into his pocket. “Where did he appear?”
“Out on the Wyoming desert.”
“We’ve already discussed this.” Ryzaard takes the jax out of his pocket and holds it on his palm. Diego’s image floats above it, a disembodied head in perfect color. Ryzaard faces the image squarely. “Engage the intercept protocol. Show them no mercy. If you can’t kill the boy, at least kill all the others.”
“We tried everything, including a tactical nuke and sat-lasers.” Diego speaks quickly. “Even three squadrons of attack ships.”
“And?” Ryzaard’s voice rises slightly in volume.
“Nothing worked. They jumped away.”
Ryzaard’s eyes stare coldly at the image of Diego. “Follow them. Use all our resources. Harass, attack and torment them. Do not let up. Be unrelenting until they are dead or jump away from this planet.”
“Understood,” Diego says. “But it’s gotten a little complicated.”
Ryzaard’s eyes narrow. “Complicated?” There’s a long pause. “Where are they?”
“Across the street.”
CHAPTER 75
Made it.
Matt’s eyes are naturally pulled upward. The outer skins of the buildings blaze pure video intensity into the night air, pushing the latest motor-tones and virtual companions. He knows what’s inside. Young people grazing twenty-four hour malls oblivious to the time of day.
Flipping the lid open on the cloaking box, Matt’s Stone goes flat black.
“Everyone follow me,” Matt says. “We’re going inside.” They pass through a revolving door and slip into a current of young people moving across the floor.
He looks around at waves of youth swimming in a sea of floating screens and holos, each immersed in their own simulated world, oblivious to the four of them.
Jessica drops the tip of her pulse rifle down. “He knows we’re here, right?” She studies the faces bobbing up and down to internal music.
“Absolutely,” Alexa says. “I don’t think he’ll try the nuclear detonations in mid-town Manhattan. But he’s not going to ignore us. Keep an eye out.”
They jump on a moving sidewalk that takes them up an incline that crosses close to another path moving down in the opposite direction to form a giant X in the center of an open atrium. They look down at ten stories of open space below. Massive bluescreens wrap around them with a full panoramic view of the latest sim-holo riding waves of popularity on the Mesh. All of them are silent as they stare in different directions.
“Down there.” Matt points five floors below at the edge of the floor. Ten men in black armor fan out and start surveying the crowd with heavy goggles over their eyes. “I’m sure they have bio-recognition algorithms.” He slumps down on the floor to be even with Yarah’s height. “We’ll stand out like neon in the dark.” He reaches behind him and slips the black barrel of a rifle from his backpack.
At the point where the two paths cross in the middle of the atrium, they see a young man coming down with a round bluescreen implant in his forehead. He stares at Jessica holding the pulse rifle.
“Must be some party you’re going to,” he says.
As he stares at Jessica, her image with the pulse rifle appears on the bluescreen above his eyes.
A second later, the down-path explodes into shards of glass around the young man. A blue streak of light burns a fist-sized hole through his chest. His body goes into freefall.
“Laser cannons!” Matt pulls out his Stone. “Join hands. Get ready Yarah.”
Another blue streak tears through the glass walkway beneath their feet and turns it into a river of white fire. The surface below them disappears. As Matt drops backward into emptiness, he snaps the lid of the cloaking box shut.
They float in the air, encased in a translucent white membrane thinner than an eyelid.
Laser blasts slam into the bubble around them from a large gun set up on a tripod in the middle of the floor five stories below. Small dimples form at the points of impact and quickly fade.
Scattered applause drifts up from young people watching the action as if it were just another holo advertisement for the latest blockbuster movie.
Matt brings the floating bubble to the side away from the open atrium. They step onto the floor just as more troops emerge from an open store, pulse rifles blazing.
“Let me do this,” Yarah says. “I saw it in an old movie.” With her Stone between her palms, she pushes her arms away from her body. An invisible shockwave jumps out and knocks down the approaching troops.
“Good job.” Jessica turns around, lowers her rifle and gets a string of shots off across the atrium just as more men dressed in black armor burst through the front of a store on the opposite side. Sparks shower down on them from above. A section of roof drops on their heads, taking half a dozen of them to the floor.
/> Matt raises his hand and throws up a screen of thin light on all four sides of them. As more soldiers come into view, pulse projectiles pop and burst into the screen from all sides, their impacts revealed by tiny ripples of distortion flowing across its surface.
“They keep coming,” Alexa says. “If I know Ryzaard, he’s been preparing for us to come back.” She casts her gaze around at the combat troops gathering and setting up more powerful weapons. “I don’t think it’s going to stop. Ever.”
Matt turns to Jessica. “Any ideas?”
“We’ve been to one of the least populated areas on the planet.” She looks around and motions with her hands. “Now we’re in one of the largest cities. Looks like he’s got everything covered.”
Yarah moves closer to Matt and pulls on his shirt. “He’s here.” She points to the right. A man stands ten meters away.
Stones cover his chest.
CHAPTER 76
“Too many innocent people here.” Matt casts his eyes around. “We need more room.” His left hand reaches out for Jessica. “Follow me, Yarah.”
Alexa grabs Yarah’s hand just before the white flash.
The battle scene at the mall merges into the darkness of a deserted street. Thunder cracks in the sky above them. A cold rain begins to fall.
Matt looks down at Yarah. “Watch out for Jessica and Alexa. Get ready to follow me if I need to jump away.” He walks into the middle of street and looks up at the brilliance of old Times Square blazing in the night.
A man materializes twenty body lengths away. Light moves in waves through his shirt and pants. A half-smile hangs on his face. His chest glistens with dozens of Stones.
“The game has changed in my favor.” Ryzaard takes a step and lets the smile spread across to the other side of his lips. “I don’t know why you keep trying. There’s nothing you can do. Trust me on that.”
Matt throws a sidelong glance at Jessica, Yarah and Alexa standing in the shadows against a wall off to his left. A thin blue light envelopes them like a blanket. The little girl’s Stone shines with an intensity only matched by her eyes.
“Trust you?” Matt says. “Is that what you said to Jhata just before you killed her?” His eyes scan the Stones floating on Ryzaard’s chest like a breastplate.
“Her power was extravagant and excessive for someone entirely focused on the self.” Ryzaard takes another small step forward. The rain glistens on his broad forehead.
Matt runs his fingers through his own wet hair so it flows smoothly down the back of his neck. “And you’re different?”
“In too many ways to count.” Ryzaard holds up empty palms. “She acted only for herself. I act for the good of the entire human race. She turned everyone into slaves serving only her.” Ryzaard shakes his head as if in disgust at the very thought of Jhata’s excesses. “I am just the opposite. The servant of all in the search for Paradise.”
A lone rat the size of a small dog scurries across the road between them. It pauses and stares at Ryzaard, and then runs away at the sound of Matt’s voice.
“I have news for you,” Matt says. “Paradise is lost. It happened when power became concentrated in a few elite. All you’re going to do is accelerate the world’s descent into Hell.” His grip on his Stone tightens. An aura of blue light shimmers around him. “I can’t let that happen.”
I’m ready.
Yarah’s voice echoes in the caverns of Matt’s inner mind. Avoiding the temptation to glance at her, he tips his head slightly and casts a delicate lace pattern of luminous particles around himself, Yarah and the others.
“Do you really think you can stop me?” Ryzaard glances back and forth between Matt and Yarah. “Even by working together?”
“Watch me.” Matt’s eyelids float down. As the curtain of darkness is drawn over his sight, an energy pulse from Ryzaard slams into his shield. It begins to buckle and bend inward. Matt finds Yarah’s mind, crosses the divide between them and jumps inside.
She is ready.
In a blur, he is pulled down several levels to her Core. Looking through her eyes, he reaches for her Stone and lets his fingers wrap around it, instantly coming back to himself on the street. Limitless power surges through his veins.
The bubble around him begins to decay and collapse under the weight of Ryzaard’s attack. Just as the last layer of particles is stripped away, light bursts through the pores of his skin.
It flings Ryzaard back and drops him to the pavement. Looking down at his arms, Ryzaard’s clothes hang in rags and great swaths of his chest are seared red. Rage wells up in his eyes. His hands curl into fists. Leaning forward, he begins to stand.
Matt drops his head down and rushes at Ryzaard, his feet never touching the ground. Passing through a thick protective field of tiny white diamonds around Ryzaard, the top of Matt’s head connects with the Stones above the old man’s sternum. A sickening crush of bones ripples down Matt’s spine.
Ryzaard stumbles back and clutches his chest.
Matt falls hard to the street with his head hanging limp. Taking a quick peek inside his body, he diagnoses the crushed vertebrae and severed spinal cord. Trying in vain to look up, his vision clouds over and he sees only the pavement a few millimeters from the tip of his nose. The inside of his mouth tastes of salt. Saliva mingles with blood and pours onto the concrete.
The bones move and reform under Matt’s skin. Sensation floods back into his hands and feet. His mind lights up with clarity.
Ryzaard stands over him.
As blue lightning shoots out of the old man’s fingertips, Matt rolls away. The street explodes and a deep pit opens up like an impact crater. In the darkness, a cloud of burnt tar and carbonized steel rises above Ryzaard’s head.
Matt gets to his feet. “You murdered my father. You murdered half a dozen Stone Holders. You murdered thousands in the freedom camps. You even murdered Jhata. How many more murders will you commit to create Paradise?”
“As many as it takes.” Ryzaard looks from Matt to Jessica, Alexa and Yarah on the sidewalk near the side of a building. “At least four more.” Tongues of yellow plasma rip from the Stones on Ryzaard’s chest through the night and slam into the white lace floating around Jessica and the others. The thin veneer shimmers and holds.
“No,” Matt says. “No more killing.” Pressing the heel of his hand against his chest, blue armor flows through his skin like a chameleon. Its surface tingles with the fleeting touch of thousands of dancing threads of blue light. He walks calmly forward and drops his Stone into a pocket.
As he comes within a few feet of Ryzaard, the old man holds his ground and allows one eyebrow to rise, lips curling with contempt.
They stand eye to eye and stare at each other.
At first, rage burns within Matt. His fists are like rocks on the end of his arms and his jaw drawn and tight. He fights back the instinct to lash out until the anger settles and begins to pull away like a black poison being broken down, molecule by molecule, by a carefully concocted anti-toxin.
Silence descends over him.
Staring into the darkness of Ryzaard’s eyes, Matt digs deep to find what he’s looking for.
Images begin to form in his mind.
A young Polish boy of eight in the baseball field across from his family home. Matt runs with the boy to catch a pop fly in deep left field and feels the sting of the ball as it drops into the leather mitt. The green pastel of freshly cut grass floats under a cloudless sky. Matt inhales its sweet aroma that sings of life and youth.
Ryzaard’s lips move without sound. Both his hands grope forward and grab Matt’s neck. The fingers tighten their grip, thumbs overlapping in front. The old man’s teeth grind and gnash beneath dry lips.
Taking a relaxing inhale, Matt sees an older boy standing in the doorway as men with swastika armbands march his father to a waiting car. Its backdoor opens. One of the Gestapo officers puts his hand on the back of his father’s head and roughly thrusts him down into the seat. Then the office
r turns to the boy and flashes a grin and a two-fingered salute as the door slams shut. The car speeds away, its tires stirring up a cloud of dust that hangs in the air and drifts onto the baseball field. As the car grows smaller and smaller, the boy’s thin shoulders lean forward.
The muscles of Ryzaard’s forearms go taut as his fingers tighten their grip on Matt’s neck. Air no longer passes through his throat. The old man’s lips stretch thin to reveal almost canine teeth. His mouth opens wide, and he throws his head back in a primal scream that bleeds through the envelope of silence around Matt.
Letting his eyes close, Matt sees a grieving boy, older and thinner, kneeling at the side of his mother. Her jaw falls open below lifeless eyes. Bowing his head, great sobs shake the boy’s bony chest. His hands reach up to clasp his mother’s fingers. Then he stops. With effort, he lifts his face and stares upward with bloodshot eyes. Trembling hands reach to the top of his head and tear off the yarmulke. He wipes his tears with it and stares down as it slips through his fingers to the ground.
The image blurs into the tall figure of a teenager, bent over with a makeshift crutch under one shoulder. Walking with a limp, he moves past the open gates of a Nazi death camp, his eyes sunk deep into his skull like half-immersed ships going down to a watery grave in the ocean. He clutches a dagger in his left hand, still wet and dripping.
Matt reaches out to the boy, a figure of walking death. He senses the rage and despair that burns in the boy’s thin chest and holds his bones together. A connection forms between Matt and the boy, like filaments binding together into a cord.
Matt is inside Ryzaard’s mind.
It awakens his senses. New images, smells and sounds become a part of him. He inhales the smell of dust and ancient paper on the spring morning when a college-aged Ryzaard pulled a new copy of A Guide to Field Methods in Archeology off a library shelf and discovered his calling. He inhales the crisp spring air of the University of Warsaw campus and glories in the triumph of Ryzaard’s graduation at the top of his class. He cradles the lush diploma in his fingers, printed on fresh Italian vellum. His heart is heavy with the pain of knowing that Ryzaard’s mother will never witness her son’s rise in the world. He tastes the thrill as Ryzaard moves aside a trowel of dirt, reads a stone inscription and discovers the lost tomb of Genghis Khan. He sits with Ryzaard as he travels by train across Europe to Oxford where a new professorship awaits him.
