by Jacob Whaler
With hesitation, she pulls out a red handkerchief and accepts the Stone, still wet from Kalani’s tongue, wiping and polishing its surface. Then she reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and takes out a jeweler’s loupe to examine it as if grading a diamond.
Her lips move and mutter soft words in Chinese.
Ryzaard stands up. “Can you see anything of interest on the Stone, Jing-wei?”
Everyone turns their attention to her large eyes.
She looks up and blushes at being the focus of attention. “Incredible. It has no micro markings on its surface. It’s entirely smooth, unbroken, perfect.” Her eyes drop back down to the blue shape in her hand. “Very rare for a rock of this size and shape. It must be synthetic, manufactured.” With a subtle bow, she hands the Stone to Diego Lopez, the twenty-something mathematical prodigy from Chile with curly black hair and matching eyelashes sitting on her right.
“Yes, very perceptive, Jing-wei,” Ryzaard says. “You may be right, although I’ve never been able to discover the origin of the Stone.”
Diego holds the Stone like one would a dagger, the large end grasped in his fist and the point sticking out past his little finger. Rotating his wrist, he makes a few playful thrusting motions with it, and then deposits it into Ryzaard’s outstretched hand.
Ryzaard leans back in his chair, satisfied that the Stone has traveled full circle around the table, giving all a chance to touch and feel it. He brings it up to his eyes. “Ancient artifacts have always been a matter of intense interest to me. Especially those with sacred or magical powers.” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “All cultures have legends about holy stones. The Jews have their Urim and Thummin. Christianity has its white stone in the Book of Revelation. The Japanese have the sacred Magatama stone, said to have come from the Sun Goddess herself, and which is still rumored to pass from emperor to emperor. The list goes on.”
All of them lean in closer, listening intently.
“Many years ago, I was working on an archeological dig in Jaipur,” Ryzaard says.
Kalani tilts his head to the side like an inquisitive puppy, a look of confusion in his eyes, passing the wooden club back and forth between his hands.
“North India,” Ryzaard says.
Kalani relaxes.
“Several weeks into the dig, a local worker told me about a holy man with a mysterious white stone that helped him see the future.”
Elsa raises a corner of her mouth into a half-smile, nodding at Ryzaard’s last remark. “The ultimate tool for stock trading.”
Ryzaard takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “I decided to investigate. At the end of the digging season, I spent two months living in a grove of Kadamba trees near the holy man’s hut, getting to know him, gaining his trust. It wasn’t hard. Not many Europeans speak Hindi.”
Jing-wei plays her jax with nimble fingers as she listens.
“Sorry, but you won’t find anything about this on the Mesh, Jing-wei.” Ryzaard straightens his bowtie. “I had it purged long ago.”
She puts the device down on the table.
“There have always been self-proclaimed holy men in India. But this one, Varanasi, was different. He really could see the future. Not predict or foretell or guess, but see. He knew weeks or months in advance when babies would be born, who would die, how they would die, when it would rain. He could see it all in his mind, like watching images on a slate. All he had to do was sit on the dirt floor in his hut and meditate with this Stone in his hand.”
Ryzaard passes his Stone, now blue, back and forth between his fingers and stares at it, lost in a reverie of memories. The sound of breathing around the table is the only noise floating in the silence.
“Varanasi showed me a picture of himself standing next to a British officer in front of their army headquarters in Meerut, a town in Northern India.” Ryzaard stops and looked around the table for a hint of recognition in anyone’s eyes, but he doesn’t find it. “The entire town, including the army headquarters, burned to the ground in 1857 and was never rebuilt.”
Diego, the resident mathematician, jerks his eyes back and forth, like he’s adding and subtracting numbers in the air.
“Are you saying the holy man was 200 years old?” The disbelief shows in his face.
“At least.” Ryzaard leans back in his chair and lets his gaze drift up to the ceiling. “Perhaps much older. I asked him if he could see how and when he would die. He laughed and told me that the manner of one’s death was always hidden from a Stone Holder.”
“Is that true?” Elsa draws herself forward in her chair with an unusual amount of interest in the answer.
Ryzaard ignores her. “The point is, Varanasi knew the power of the Stone, but refused to exploit it. Lack of imagination and ambition is what makes the common man so… common.” His lips curl up in a derisive smile. “He could have used the Stone to change the world. Others have. Instead, he lived in a poor village and foretold the births and deaths of a few insignificant people. It was utterly wasted in his hands.”
“So you took his Stone?” Kalani grips the wooden club and brings it down in a mock killing motion.
Ryzaard closes his eyes, recalling the distant past. “Let’s just say I decided to acquire it and put it to better use.”
“But you did kill him, didn’t you?” Kalani’s fingers wrap around the handle of a dagger he pulls from under his shirt.
“I tried. And then I discovered a very important fact.” Ryzaard pauses, swiveling from side to side in his chair, and speaks slowly so that his words are clear and distinct. “It is impossible to take the Stone or kill its Holder by violence. Guns, knives, swords, spears, arrows, it doesn’t matter. You may be able to hurt, but you can’t kill. Weapons simply didn’t work.”
“What do you mean?” Kalani looks at the club in his hand.
Ryzaard’s eyes shoot open. “The Stone protects its Holder.”
Jerek spreads his arms across the table. “Then how did you get it?”
“I’ll tell you how I got it.” Ryzaard takes a pack of black Djarum cigarettes from the inside of his tweed jacket. Working one loose, he grabs it with his lips and lets it hang as he talks. “I left some well-paid contacts in a nearby village to keep an eye on Varanasi. Two years later, I got word he was deathly ill. I rushed to India and arrived a few days after the funeral. The villagers had burnt the corpse and his possessions on a pyre. No one dared go near the burial site. One night, I approached it alone and found the Stone in the ashes.”
Alexa shifts in her chair with a subtle twist appearing on her lips.
Glancing at her, Ryzaard exchanges a brief knowing look. He’s left out the part about how he paid a small fortune to a trusted friend of Varanasi in the village to contaminate the holy man’s hut with a specially prepared poison that accumulated in his body until, one day, he suddenly fell into a coma. Then Ryzaard showed up again and finished Varanasi off for good with a few dagger thrusts to the heart.
He offers the black smokes to the youngsters, knowing there will be no takers. Diego and Alexa, the ones closest to him, push their chairs back from the table.
“My sincere apologies.” He brings a lighter up to the tip of the cigarette and inhales deeply, cocking his head back and blowing the smoke up to the ceiling where it disappears into a vent installed for this very purpose. “It’s an old habit I picked up during the war.” After a moment of contemplation, he flicks his cigarette and watches the ashes drift to the floor. Then he stares squarely at Jerek, the physics whiz kid, and speaks loud enough for all to hear.
“I’ve told you how I got the Stone. Now let me tell you about the Stone itself.” Ryzaard balances it on his open palm as if displaying it to the world for the first time. “In essence, it’s a piece of incredibly advanced technology, not of this world. It gives you access to a higher level of reality, one where you can see and manipulate your natural environment in novel ways. Time, energy, matter. All of it can be shaped by the mind of the Holder.”
Jerek leans forward, mouth hanging open. “Can others use it?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Ryzaard’s fingers close into a fist around it. “I would gladly share it with you all, but it forms a bond with only one person at a time.” He looks for a negative reaction from his young audience, but they all sit like poker players, revealing nothing.
Next to Ryzaard, Alexa lifts one leg and crosses it over the other. The movement reminds Ryzaard of her subtle hints that she would like to have a Stone of her own. He wonders if the others at the table share a similar interest.
One thing is certain. Though he has never stated it openly, he has no intention of ever sharing the power of any Stone.
Elsa’s blue eyes are like darts from across the table. “What happens after it bonds with you?”
Ryzaard blows more smoke up to the ceiling. “The Stone Holder starts to have dreams. Or visions. Future events are revealed. Other worlds. Other realities. The holy man in India exploited this quality to see who would die and who would live. And, as you may have guessed, the Stone prolongs the life of the Holder. Indefinitely.” Ryzaard leans back in his chair and blows coils up to the ceiling.
“What else can the Stone do?” Jing-wei says.
“Good question. You’ve all read history.” Ryzaard avoids the temptation to glance at Kalani, whose educational background is questionable at best. “Have you ever wondered how obscure people came from out of nowhere to become kings and emperors and hold power over millions?”
“Like Genghis Kahn?” Jing-Wei says.
“Or Attila the Hun?” Elsa smiles so they all can see the ultra white teeth matching her blond hair.
“Precisely,” Ryzaard says. “If you know what you are looking for, evidence of the Stones pops up all over in history, both ancient and modern.” He strokes his mustache with the tip of an index finger.
“So there’s more than one?” Kalani has a hopeful look in his eye.
“Yes, of course.” Ryzaard blows another line of smoke, this one straight across the table where it loses momentum and begins to expand outward.
“How many in all?” Elsa asks. Her elbows go on the table.
“Another good question. I’d like to know the answer myself.” Balancing the cigarette on the edge of the table, Ryzaard brings his hands together. “The point is, the Stones give their Holders an edge. Whether you’re playing poker, fighting a war or just shopping for lettuce at the grocery store, you roll the dice with every decision. Even a slight edge helps. A significant edge turns out to be an immense advantage.” He picks up the cigarette, takes another drag and blows at the ceiling, watching the smoke disappear into the vent. “Imagine being on eve of a great battle and knowing in advance where your enemy will attack. Where they are weakest. You would be invincible.”
“Like Alexander the Great.” Diego Lopez pushes his chair back away from the growing cloud around Ryzaard.
Ryzaard drops his gaze down from the ceiling to the Stone in front of him. “Very true,” he says. “But the ancients could never exploit the full power of the Stones. For them, it was still parlor tricks, folk magic and divination. The real power of the Stones can only be unlocked by another, more modern path.” He runs a finger along the surface of the Stone. “And that’s where each of you come in. Now that we have all the resources of MX Scientific under our control, the human race is finally in a position to reap the full benefits for which the Stones are intended. We will remake the world, my young friends. It has already started.”
CHAPTER 20
Kent eases the Chikara into the garage a little after 12:30 in the afternoon. Distant whale calls fade off into silence as he kills the engine. He runs to the back door, hoping to get busy with a project before thoughts of despair break through the barrier he has built in his mind on the way home. He bounds through the door and into a wall of residual garlic and ginger smells.
He makes it to the picture window in the kitchen and slumps down into a chair, catching a glimpse of the mountains, before it hits.
When the big clock above the sink chimes 3:00, he hasn’t moved and is staring up at the Mosquito Range like a child begging for help as its head slowly sinks beneath the surface of the water.
And then, like a lifeline tossed onto the waves, a low pinging sound comes from the table.
His slate is calling.
An important news event must have just hit the Mesh. Reaching for it, the glass surface is cold as he brushes his finger across the bottom and leans back into the chair. A holo in the shape of a square rises up to form a floating blue screen.
He reads the headline.
MX Global Announces Corporate Restructure: MX Scientific and MX Financial Merge to Form MX SciFin.
Just below the headline, there is a picture of a smiling man with silver hair and a goatee in a tweed suit and bowtie. Kent reads the article.
MX Global Corporation announced today that its directors approved the merger of two major subsidiaries, MX Scientific and MX Financial. The unexpected move came after an all-night meeting of the board. Although marred by the accidental death of a director traveling home, the meeting ended late last night at which the merger was unanimously approved. Rudyard Van Pelt, President and CEO of MX Global Corporation spoke this morning at a press conference and detailed the reasons for the merger.
“In today’s competitive global economy, it is imperative that we continue to deliver the value our stockholders have come to expect. As the line between our investment and research arms continues to blur, combining the resources of both into a single entity will create greater efficiencies and opportunities for growth. We have full confidence in the new management team that will take over.”
The new management team is headed by Dr. Mikal Ryzaard, a former professor of archeology at Oxford University turned corporate visionary. Dr. Ryzaard arrived at MX Global as a consultant only three years ago from the world of academia, but enjoyed a meteoric rise through the ranks to become the new President and CEO of MX SciFin. He recently guided MX Financial through a period of eight record-breaking profitable quarters. At the press conference, he shared some insights about his new vision for SciFin.
“I look forward to the challenge of leaving my mark on this new entity and the opportunity to use our unique resources to not only increase shareholder profitability, but also play our role as a model corporate citizen in making the world a safer and happier place. We fully intend to do that. You can be assured that there will be further exciting developments as we move along this new path.”
Kent sits back in his chair, stunned.
Why the merger of Scientific and Financial?
Blurring the lines between investment and research. Delivering value. Greater efficiencies. Better shareholder return.
It’s all just corporate mumbo jumbo thrown into a blender, recycled and then spit out for public consumption. None of it makes any sense.
Little by little, worries about Matt seem to melt away as a new purpose takes form in his mind.
Who is Dr. Mikal Ryzaard? Why is a former professor of archeology heading up the management team for the new combined entity? What is MX Scifin?
It’s time to get some answers.
But getting answers isn’t easy. Over the years, since he and his son fled New York and disappeared from common society, MX Global has been a constant object of his attention, like monitoring a sleeping dragon from afar. Long ago Kent exhausted all public sources of information about this corporate monster.
The search for new data might require that he do the unthinkable.
Go back to MX Global headquarters, the source of all his woes.
CHAPTER 21
“Would you like a quick demonstration of what the Stone can do?” Ryzaard blows a cloud of smoke in the direction of the young Tongan face on the other side of the table. “To help you understand what I have been talking about.”
Kalani’s tongue droops out of his mouth in the shape of a long J and then flicks back in. “Sh
ow us.”
Ryzaard stands up and makes a fist around the Stone. “Watch carefully.”
And then he vanishes.
A gasp, half terror and half delight, rises from everyone at the table except Alexa. Diego Lopez falls backwards into his chair and crashes to the floor. Jerek Grey slaps the cone device onto the table and stares into the holo screen above it at a graph and flowing numbers. Elsa Bergman thrusts her blonde head under table. Kalani grabs his wooden club. He and Jing-wei both jump up and search the room. But it is no use.
Ryzaard is gone.
Silence is the only sound in the room as they scrutinize each other’s faces for an explanation.
The first to speak is Kalani.
“Where’s my jax?” He rifles through his pockets and gets down on hands and knees to scour the floor, the white soles of his bare feet visible as he bends over. The others discover their jaxes are gone as well, stripped from pockets or hands. A general sense of panic engulfs the room.
Alexa sits quietly with her hands in her lap, watching the scene unfold.
There is a clicking sound of footsteps coming from the corridor. Kalani fingers his club again. As the door slides open, Ryzaard walks through, wearing a dark blue jacket and bright green bowtie, as if to emphasize the fact that he’s changed his clothes.
“Please don’t be alarmed.” He raises his hands to calm the room and walks back to the table. “I believe you’re missing these.” He scatters five jaxes in the center of the table. Hungry hands reach out to snatch the devices. All of them return to their seats and stare at him.
Ryzaard remains standing.
“That was nothing more than a simple demonstration.” He looks down in an apologetic manner. “It’s an old professor’s trick. Do something completely unexpected to fix the attention of the students.” His hand opens around the Stone, glowing dark purple. “I trust it worked.”
Uneasy laugher floats through the room.
