by Jacob Whaler
“And what is that end, Dr. Ryzaard?” Jing-wei lifts her head.
“To remake the world into Paradise, we have to reach every man, woman, and child on the planet. They must want what we offer. Freedom from pain and suffering. Freedom from the shackles that bind their lives. A complete change of heart and mind. They must be born again, and there is only one path that will work such a mighty change.”
“One path?” Jing-wei says.
“Yes.” Ryzaard makes a complete circle around the table, looking down on the heads of his children, and walks back to his chair. “It is beyond logic, beyond reason. Even beyond science.”
“Beyond science?” Jerek wrinkles his brow. “I thought science was to be our path.”
“It is our path, Jerek.” Ryzaard eases himself back into his seat. “But not the path for the masses. Their path will be a different one.”
“But what other path is there?”
“There are only two paths.” Jing-wei presses her fingers together until the palms touch. “If it’s not science, then it must be . . . religion.”
“I’m glad at least one of you understands.” Ryzaard leans back. His chair creaks.
“You’re going to start a new religion?” Kalani pulls his feet off the table and looks from right to left, alternating between Ryzaard and Jing-wei.
“Not start a new religion. I’m going to take an old one and give it a rebirth, a second chance. With shrines in every city, every village. All within the next few months.”
“But surely you don’t mean the Jesus-believers. That religion has lapsed into nothing more than chants and rituals followed by a few old people.”
“Correct.” Ryzaard looks down at his hands. “There is another one. One so old it can hardly even be called religion anymore. One much more malleable to our purposes.”
“Shinto.” Jing-wei whispers. “That’s why you had such an interest in Naganuma. And his successor.”
“And that’s why you need the money.” Elsa eyes open wide. “Shinto shrines and priests in every town. Millions of them.”
“I’m glad you understand.” Ryzaard clears his throat, a signal that he’s changing the topic of discussion. He turns his attention to Kalani at the other end of the table. “We’ve missed your unique skills, young man. How would you like a real challenge?”
Kalani lifts elbows off the table. “What sort of challenge?”
“Shinto’s first move will be to China.” Ryzaard’s eyes drift over to Jing-wei and back to Kalani. “We need access to all Chinese government Meshfiles, military, party leaders, local dignitaries. It will not be easy, but if anyone can do it, you can.”
Kalani wipes the crumbs off his lips. “They use quantum cryptography. To break through the Great Security Wall, I’ll need eight parallel cluster systems, maybe more.”
Ryzaard turns to Jing-wei. “Can you get them for Kalani?”
She chews her lower lip. “Impossible. That’s more than the U.S. military itself has. There are only twelve in the entire world.”
Ryzaard stands up. “Let me be clear.” He looks deeply into each pair of eyes around the table. “We are on the cusp of great changes. Power begets power, and ours is about to increase geometrically. Most people are afraid of success, afraid of great achievement. But not you. I’ve selected each of you with the utmost care. I know your hearts. You have the ability to embrace power without reservation or fear. The day is not far away when we will have more resources than the U.S. military. They will, in effect, become a wholly-owned subsidiary of MX Global.” He turns to Jing-wei. “Find out where the cluster systems are and what it will take to get them.”
“Understood,” Jing-wei says.
“Finally, we come to you, Diego.” Ryzaard turns his attention to his left, having come full circle around the table. “The location algorithm becomes more and more important. We can only achieve our ultimate purpose when we have possession of all the Stones.”
Diego Lopez nods his head. “The addition of the live Stone should be a game changer. I’m working on the algorithm to take full advantage of the new Stone.”
“And bringing the new Stone into operation is my next assignment, to which I now turn my full attention.” Ryzaard pushes away from the table and walks to the open door. “I look forward to an interesting visit with our new guest.”
“The girl?” Jing-wei says.
“No,” Ryzaard says. “The little fat man.”
CHAPTER 32
When Jake finishes his business in the bathroom, Kent is ready for him.
“I’ve been waiting,” Kent says.
“Waiting for what?”
“The rest of the story.” Kent stands up and looks into Jake’s aviator sunglasses. “Tell me how a man with no eyeballs can see.”
The small room jerks and heaves when the transport truck makes a sharp turn. Jake steadies himself against the wall. After a few seconds, he brushes past Kent and sits down in the reclining chair. Kent goes back to his seat.
“I don’t like to tell that part of the story,” Jake says. “People find it unsettling. Most don’t believe me. They think I’m a fool. Or a religious fanatic.”
“You may be half crazy,” Kent says. “But you’re not a fool or a fanatic. Tell me the rest.” He puts his feet up on a metal handrail that runs along the walls of the room.
The transport truck goes over some bone-jarring bumps on the road. The lights flicker, and the refrigerator moves a few inches to the right with the vibrations.
“Little John felt bad about what happened to my eyes down in Tijuana.” Jake cocks his head to one side and points his sunglasses at a corner of the ceiling. “He said it was his fault. The whole thing got him to thinking more about the future and the meaning of life. We stopped going to casinos and just camped in the Arizona desert for a while, only going to town when we needed money or supplies. In the meantime, I had become a blind, bumbling fool, half afraid that he would just abandon me.”
The room vibrates again, and this time the lights flicker out for several seconds before coming back on.
“Little John started spending more time with the Stone,” Jake says. “He’d go off into the desert by himself for hours to sit and mediate. That’s when his visions started.”
“What kind of visions?” Kent says.
“Sometimes he’d say he had a dream. Other times I’d hear him say he had a visitor from another world.” Jake turns, as if to gauge what Kent is thinking.
Kent takes his foot off the wall railing and sits up. “Did he tell you what he saw?”
“Someone came to him. A man with luminous skin. It sounded like an angel to me, but Little John never used that word. He showed Little John things about the world, the future.” Jake takes in a big breath and waits for a reaction.
Finally, Kent speaks up. “Angels from Heaven. Straight out of the Bible, or maybe the Koran.”
“Exactly my reaction,” Jake says. “That’s when Little John started talking about Abomination, about how it would all end.”
“How what would end?” Kent asks the question, but already knows the answer.
“Everything,” Jake says. “Civilization. The world as it now is. The beginning of something completely different. Something unimaginable. Total slavery of the human race. Mass mind control. And it would all happen with a new piece of technology.”
“What kind of technology?”
“Little John never said, exactly. But he said it would be impossible to resist. An object so beautiful, so incredible, that every man, woman and child would line up for hours to get one. The only path to freedom was a total denial of technology. Only those with an instinctive fear and hatred of anything hi-tech would escape.”
Kent nods his head. “That’s why technology is Abomination.”
“Exactly,” Jake says. “Little John’s job was to warn people about the coming plague of slavery. To be a voice crying in the wilderness. I got scared. I thought he was going crazy, little by little.”
<
br /> “What did you do?”
“I finally decided I had to get away. So I made plans to leave. I knew there was a highway close by. Little John always stayed up late and slept until past noon. I figured I’d just slip out in the early morning, wander out to the road, thumb a ride and make my way to the nearest city. Maybe the Red Cross would help me. Maybe I could find a new family that would take me in. But something happened the night before I planned to leave. I still can’t really explain it.”
“Try,” Kent says.
Jake swallows. “He came to me in the middle of the night.”
“Who? Little John or an angel.”
“Little John,” Jake says. “He said he’d been told in a vision to heal me so that I could see again, but in a different way. I thought he had completely lost it. He put his fingers in my empty eye sockets. I just froze.”
“This is getting a little freaky,” Kent says.
“Hold on. It gets worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it.” Jake leans forward in his chair and drops his voice to a whisper. “At first, I didn’t feel anything. Then, out of the darkness of my missing eyes, I saw a point of light. I know it sounds cliché, but it came closer and I saw a Man.”
“An angel?”
“Yes, an angel, if that’s what you want to call him. No wings or anything, but his body glowed.” Jake brings a hand up to brush away tears that aren’t there. “I felt something indescribable. An overpowering love emanating from him. That’s when he put his fingertips on my forehead.” Jake shakes his head. “Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me that my mind was playing tricks on me. I can’t deny what I saw, what I felt.”
“I believe you,” Kent says.
“Don’t kid me.” Jake leans back in his chair and laughs. “I’m just another religious lunatic that claims God came to him. Right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re thinking it. Everyone does.” Jake’s aviator glasses turn up to the ceiling.
Kent stands and walks around the small room. “OK, maybe a little. But you can see. You’ve proven that to me. What is it you see?”
“It’s funny,” Jake says. “It’s like my brain has been rewired. I don’t really see images, not the way I used to. I perceive objects, colors and textures. When you threw the beer at me, I felt it coming and my hand instinctively just flew up to catch it. Sort of like when someone is standing behind you and you feel them looking at you. And there’s more.”
“More?”
“I understand things about people, what they think, what they feel, what their intentions are.”
“So you can read minds?” Kent’s eyes open wider. He shifts in his chair. “That changes everything.”
Jake shakes his head. “No, I can’t read minds. Not exactly. But I know when people are lying, when they’re telling the truth, when they’re hiding something important. When they intend to do harm. It’s almost like I can detect good and evil in their heart.”
“A sort of sixth sense?”
“Maybe. Little John says the Man who came to him in his visions gave me a gift. The ability to really see.” Jake smiles. “It makes some people uncomfortable, but I don’t sense that from you.”
“What do you sense from me?”
“Fear.” Jake rubs his forehead. “Fear for your son. Fear of the Stones. Fear of what you don’t know. What you can’t know. You’ve done a good job of hiding it for the past few hours, but I know it’s there. In the background.”
Kent drops his gaze to the floor. “The more I hear you talk, the more I fear.”
CHAPTER 33
Dr. Small speaks into the jax in his hand. “Dr. Ryzaard, the implant surgery was successful, and the patient is starting to wake up. Would you like to see him?”
“Very much,” says the voice on the other end. “I’ll be right there.”
Ten seconds later, Ryzaard opens the door and enters the room. Dr. Small stands alone, looking down.
The patient is screaming.
Sound reverberates off the walls.
“Who are you? Where am I? Why won’t you let me go? What the hell’s going on?”
Arching his back, the patient struggles to free himself from the wide carbon straps binding him to the bed. Drops of sweat bead up on his face. His bare chest and belly are drenched, the gray hair matted and sticking to his pasty skin. Flecks of spittle fly from his mouth when he speaks.
Dr. Small looks at Ryzaard. “Shall I give him something to calm him down? The implant has stimulated an acute stress response. Fight or flight. He’s in a state of hyper arousal. Why don’t I just give him a little—”
“No,” Ryzaard says. “I prefer this man to be fully awake and lucid.” He puts his hands behind his own back in classic professor style and looks down. “My friend and I have important business to discuss.” He turns to Dr. Small. “Please leave us for now. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
Dr. Small moves to the door. “I tested the controller.” He nods in the direction of a nearby table. A green bar lays exposed on a white cloth. “The connection is fully operational.” He walks to the exit and then stops. “Shall I shut the door?”
“Please do,” Ryzaard says. “I don’t want to disturb the rest of the lab down the hall.”
Smiling, Dr. Small leaves the room, allowing the door to silently close behind him.
The man on the bed draws breath in and out with great heaves of his chest. His bare arms and legs convulse with spasms. “Dr. Small, I can’t breathe,” he says between gasps. “Please, Dr. Small. Please help me.”
“Dr. Small has taken a break from his duties.” Ryzaard walks closer to the right side of the bed and looks down into the face of the man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Dr. Michal Ryzaard. I don’t believe I know your name. Would you mind telling me?”
The man opens his eyes. A look of terror registers on his face. His back arches against the band across his chest. Hands turn into fists that beat in the air. “It’s you,” he says. “Abomination of abominations.” Sinking back down on the bed from utter exhaustion, his eyes dart around the room. “Jake. I need your help, Jake. Where are you?”
Backing up slightly, Ryzaard puts his hand into his pocket. “I’m afraid there were no survivors in your camp. You were the only one we could save.”
“Killed them.” The man closes his lips, trying to breathe through his nose. “You killed them all.” Unable to get sufficient oxygen, he opens his mouth and sucks in air with desperation. “MX Global. Ryzaard. Abomination.”
“I can see that you’re having a hard time focusing. Perhaps this will help you so that you can help me.” Ryzaard opens his hand.
The man sees the Stone in the open palm, and his eyes grow large. The depth of his breathing and heaving increases. A green liquid wells up around his tongue and spills out the corners of his mouth, staining the white sheet under his head. He finally manages to open his mouth and speak.
“Won’t. Help. You.”
“I think you will.” Ryzaard takes a thin gold card out of his shirt pocket and gently brushes a finger against its surface. A stainless steel cube—the first prototype of the Null Box—is a few meters away with fat cables running from it. It begins to hum. Reaching down, Ryzaard uses both hands to forcibly uncurl the man’s fist. When he drops the Stone into the open hand, its fingers close tight around it like a steel trap. “Good. At least your hands remember.”
The man closes his eyes and struggles to calm his breathing. His eyeballs sweep from side to side under the eyelids.
“Don’t try to jump yourself anywhere,” Ryzaard says. “It won’t work.”
With the Stone in his right hand, the man’s chest rises and falls less violently. A grimace crosses his face when he swallows. He manages to whisper. “What do you want?”
“Now that sounds more reasonable.” Ryzaard steps closer to the bed and bends down close to the man’s face, staring into his swollen eyes. “I’ll tell you what I want. The same thing
you do. Peace on earth. Freedom for all. The return of Paradise.”
“No!” The man shakes his head violently and spits a gob of green bile into Ryzaard’s face. It dribbles down onto his lips.
Ryzaard takes out a white handkerchief and wipes his mouth and eyes. “I could kill you now and just take your Stone. Is that what you want?”
“Yes!”
“I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy.” Ryzaard walks to a table and picks up the green bar that lies exposed on a white cloth. It’s half metal and half glass, as long as Ryzaard’s middle finger and a little wider. Walking back to the bed, he makes sure the man can see it in his hand.
“What are you going to do?” the man says.
Ryzaard senses a new flood of fear washing over his victim. “Tell me your name.”
The man looks away, his lips pressed tightly together.
A half smile flickers across Ryzaard’s face. He picks two transparent earplugs off a nearby table and gently pushes them into his ears, making sure the man can see him. With the slightest effort, he brings his finger down to brush against the green controller. The implant below the man’s ear glows and veins of bright light streak across its surface.
The next instant, the man’s chin drops down onto his chest, his mouth gaping wide open and his spine arching up. The restraining straps cut into his shoulders and belly. Trickles of blood appear along the edges. A low buzz in Ryzaard’s ear is all he hears of the screams that saturate the emptiness of the room. He audibly counts backward from ten. When he reaches one, he brushes the green controller again with the tip of his index finger. This time, Ryzaard loosens one of the earplugs so he can hear and feel the agony that rises from the man’s mouth. It lasts for another ten seconds.
In the silence that follows, Ryzaard’s voice drops to a whisper. “Tell me your name.”
The man hesitates, as if he is doing a calculation in his head. “John McIntosh,” he says, with a quivering voice. “My friends call me Little John.”
“Then Little John it is,” Ryzaard says. “You and I are going to be best friends.”
