by Jacob Whaler
The poison in her bloodstream stands out in stark contrast, huge spiked balls the color of neon green. It’s easy to sweep from the organs and cells. It’s even easier to formulate a molecule to break down the toxin into harmless organics. After doing a full body scan once and repeating it twice more, Matt is convinced he’s gotten all of it.
Turning her over on her back, he wipes the moisture from her forehead and lets her rest.
Only then does he realize exactly where he is.
Back in the freedom camp near Vancouver. He’s looking out across the open field where Ryzaard’s troops slaughtered hundreds of innocent men, women and children. At least three days have passed. Bloated bodies are still scattered on the field, left to rot where they fell, frozen in the last moments of a hundred gruesome deaths.
Casting his gaze on the field of death, he tries to remember what happened in his last moments here.
He had been standing close to the massive attack ships in the seconds before they spit out jagged lightning from their EM lasers. A man with a crossbow, one of the leaders of the freedom camp, was hurling insults at the black metal beasts. Matt tried to reason with him. Matt dropped his backpack to the ground.
His backpack.
Leaving Yarah where he can easily see her, Matt runs back out onto the field, frantically searching for the exact spot. It’s not hard to find, only a few meters from the remains of the man and his crossbow.
But the backpack is gone.
In its place, he finds a flattened pile of black ashes. Dropping to his knees, he searches and sifts through it with his hands. Everything has been incinerated. After searching the entire pile, his fingers brush against a hard object half embedded in the dirt at the bottom. He digs it out and holds it up.
The cloaking box.
He immediately cleans it out and drops his Stone inside, snapping the lid shut.
By the time he gets back to Yarah, her eyes are open.
He bends over her, kissing her forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Tired and hungry.” The girl reaches out her hands to Matt. “What happened?”
“It was Ryzaard.” Matt pulls her up into a sitting position. “He has a killing machine, a little green sphere that can capture a Stone Holder and hold them in place while he pumps them full of poison. He tried it on me once before and almost got me. From what I saw, he’s got six Stones.”
“Six?” Yarah’s eyes widen in disbelief. “He must be powerful.”
Matt nods. “He is, but I’ve learned there’s something that can make one Stone more powerful than six.” His eyes drop to the little girl. “Do you know what it is?”
As she looks up into his face, Matt can see the tiny back and forth motion in her dark eyes, flickering like little machines. She is inside his mind, reading his thoughts. He makes no effort to close her out.
“It’s love, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Matt nods. “Love is power.” His eyes glisten with moisture.
“You saved me.” Throwing her arms on his neck, she pulls him down. “You could have just left me there to die. But you didn’t.”
“Never,” Matt says. “We’re a family now. You, me, Jessica.”
Yarah turns her head to the side and stares off into the trees. “And Leo?”
“Especially Leo. He saved our lives by giving his own. Sometimes that’s what you have to do for someone you love.”
“Would you do that for me?” Yarah’s gaze goes up to Matt. “Give your life to save mine.”
“Of course I would. No question.” Jumping to his feet, Matt’s arm shoots out as if taking aim with his fist at an unseen enemy.
Yarah giggles and stands up, her face suddenly serious. “Did you do it?”
“Kill Ryzaard?”
Yarah nods.
“I saw him when we jumped away. He was covered in lava, not in good shape. With any luck, he’s dead.”
Yarah shakes the dust and ashes off. “It was Jhata. I felt her close. She’s already destroyed my world. Now yours is gone too. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. We’re alive. And it was worth it if Ryzaard’s dead.” Matt reaches into his pocket and pulls out the black box. “Take a look at this.” He hands it to her. “Any idea what it does? And no fair peeking inside my head.
Yarah turns it in her hands. Then she opens the lid and sees Matt’s Stone inside. It looks black and dead, like it’s lying in a tiny coffin.
“It turns the Stone off?”
“Exactly.” Matt takes it back. “Now give me yours. We need to put it inside.”
The little girl takes a step back. “Why?”
“Ryzaard and his people have a way to track the Stones. This box makes our Stones invisible.”
“But it won’t fit.”
Matt looks inside the small box. “Maybe not, but I have a hunch.” He holds his hand out. With some hesitation, Yarah drops her Stone in the open palm. Placing the little girl’s Stone directly on top of his, he gently pushes on it.
Incredibly, Yarah’s Stone merges into Matt’s, disappearing into the box. He flips the lid shut.
At the same time, Yarah winces.
“What’s wrong,” Matt says.
“It hurt a little when you shut the lid.” Yarah puts her hand up to her temple. “Like all the lights going out. My head is heavy, like it’s made of metal.”
“I know it’s hard, not to have a Stone.” He kneels and puts his hands on Yarah’s thin shoulders. “But it’s the only way for us to stay safe. Until we know for sure that Ryzaard is dead.”
She tries hard to smile. “It’s OK.”
“Now let’s look at the camp and see what’s left. We’re going to find Jessica.”
“Are you sure?”
“About what?”
“Are you sure she’s still . . . alive?”
Matt closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “I’m sure. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 87
Jing-wei forces herself to look.
Below her, a humanoid lump of flesh hangs suspended horizontally in a clear glass tank that bears an uncomfortable resemblance to a coffin. Yellow foam solution gently flows over and past the body, coming in at one end through a large tube and exiting out the other end in a slow current. Flakes of black, some as large as a man’s hand, slough off the body and slowly dissolve in the solution. Tubes run from the mouth, arms and legs. With the help of a respirator, the blackened chest moves up and down. A bank of medical equipment lines the wall a few feet away. The low beep of a heart monitor keeps time in the background.
She comes to a stunning realization.
In his weakened condition, it might be possible to kill Ryzaard. Right here. Right now. But there’s no way to know for sure.
Jing-wei can end the madness. Keep all the money she’s hidden over the past months, leave Ryzaard’s world behind and go into hiding. Back to some semblance of her prior life.
Have the other team members thought of this? If so, no has dared to say a word.
Her pulse jumps, out of control.
Can Ryzaard read my thoughts?
Perhaps. She quickly clears her mind and repeats the same mantra she’s been repeating for the last week.
Ryzaard knows what he’s doing. Don’t question. Just follow. For the sake of the world. For the sake of all you love.
A man brushes past her, startling her out of her thoughts. She looks up at the white lab coat.
“It’s a miracle he’s alive,” Jing-wei says. “Wouldn’t you say so, Dr. Zemikis?”
Zemikis moves to the opposite side of the tank. “No. Not a miracle. A medical impossibility.” He glances at the slate in his hand. “Massive organ failure. Fourth degree burns over ninety-eight percent of the body. Many outer structures burnt away. Muscle tissue half gone. Lungs seared beyond repair. Yet somehow, the heart is untouched and keeps beating. For now, all we can do is keep him under sedation while pumping in fluids and oxygen. And pray.”
Jing-wei look
s up. “He gave me strict instructions. We are to get him stabilized and then bring him out of the anesthesia.”
“Yes, I know.” Zemikis glances up at blue screens on the wall. “But that’s preposterous. Whatever this man’s qualifications may be, he is not a medical doctor. If we bring him out of the coma now, the pain will be so intense that it could kill him outright.”
Jing-wei eyes the six Stones on a small aluminum table a few inches from Ryzaard’s head. A subtle pink glow emanates from each one. She whips out her jax and brushes her finger along its side. A holo image pops up in the air between them. It’s a video recording of Ryzaard lying on the floor of his office taken just a few hours ago.
“Most important,” the blackened face says. “Have Dr. Zemikis wake me. Must be awake, no pain meds. No morphine. Nothing to dull the mind. No exceptions.”
She drops the jax back into her pocket. “Sounds clear to me.” She bends forward. “Wake him.”
Zemikis forces a smile. “I’m sorry, but it would be a breach of my professional ethics as a physician, and a stain upon my character if I were to—”
Reaching into the pocket of her lab coat, Jing-wei pulls out a small pulse pistol. Its silver-aluminum construction and polished green glass pick up the gleam of the overhead lights. As she slides a finger across the safety, a low whirring sound starts and reaches a crescendo, emphasizing the fact that the weapon is fully functional and she is fully ready to use it. A single red dot appears on the chest of Zemikis. As Jing-wei moves the pistol, the dot slowly travels up his sternum, over his lips and nose before coming to rest between his eyes.
“Now.” She cocks her head to the right, narrowing her eyes. Her hands tremble as a finger moves to the trigger.
“As you wish.” Zemikis puts down his slate and turns to face a bluescreen behind him. His fingers dance over its surface as he talks. “When he comes out of the coma, he’ll slam into a wall of intense pain. It may induce hallucinations and psychosis. He’ll become violent and need to be restrained. Beyond that, I can’t predict what will happen.” He puts his finger on a vertical green bar on the blue screen, slowing drawing it down until it disappears. “Commencing wake procedure. Prepare yourself. He’s going to come out quickly.”
Keeping the pistol pointed at Zemikis, Jing-wei stares into Ryzaard’s face, watching for a response.
At first, no change is apparent. The yellow fluid still flows over the charred body. Then finger stubs begin to twitch. The remaining eye moves, flicking back and forth as if reading a book. A tremor starts in the stubs of this legs and moves up through his body until it reaches his chest.
Zemikis takes a step back from the tank.
Ryzaard’s back slowly arches and his mouth opens wide, unleashing the sound of sandpaper scraping on bare skin.
Zemikis walks forward, looking down. “Vocal cords are mostly non-functional. He can’t even screa—”
Ryzaard’s upper body shoots up out of the foam, spilling yellow fluid over the sides of the tank and onto the floor. A long strip of black flesh slips from his back, leaving a deep red streak. For several seconds, the black form scans the room, gazing from side to side like a corpse raised from the dead, the same dry sound coming from somewhere deep in his throat.
Frozen with fear, Zemikis stands like a statue at the side of the tank.
Ryzaard looks squarely at Jing-wei and rips the tube out of his mouth. “No one is to see me. Now leave,” he croaks. “One more thing.” Bottomless pain is visible in his eye. “Search for the boy. Begin with the freedom camps.”
“You already gave the order to destroy them,” Jing-wei says. “We’re doing that right now.”
“Search anyway.” Ryzaard forces the words out with extreme effort. “He may have come back. He’ll be looking for the girl.”
Zemikis looks on with incredulity. His jaw drops open. “Dr. Ryzaard, how are you able to talk? In all my years of medical practice, I’ve never seen anything like it. What is keeping you alive?”
Suddenly turning to face Zemikis, Ryzaard raises his blackened arms and wraps them around the doctor’s neck. “You doubt me?”
With surprising strength, Ryzaard falls back into the yellow liquid, pulling Zemikis with him until the man’s head is submerged up to his shoulders and his feet come off the floor. A blast of bubbles burst from the doctor’s mouth, his eyes open wide and his fists beat against the side of the tank, but the black shape refuses to let go.
Jing-wei backs away, turns and runs for the door. On the way there, she hears the distinct crack of a spine. Stealing one last glance over her shoulder on the way out, she sees the body of Zemikis slump to the floor.
Then she is through the door, making sure it shuts securely behind her.
She runs through Ryzaard’s office and down the long hallway back to the lab. When she gets to her workstation, she drops into a chair and touches the bluescreen on her desk, quickly finding the v-cam feed from the room where she just left.
The image of the room comes into view. Dr. Zemikis lies motionless on the floor in a puddle of yellow fluid. Empty tubes and sensors hang in the air above the tank.
But Ryzaard is gone.
CHAPTER 88
Jhata stretches her arms out in a spread eagle as the last particles of dust from Matt’s world blow past her fingertips.
Ripping out the mountain range ringing the planet was like opening an immense zipper, exposing the molten interior. With the entire world engulfed in a plasma conflagration, she treated it in precisely the same way as Yarah’s world, turning it inside out, liquefying it, gasifying it and blowing it apart.
An elegant solution.
The next stop will be Earth with its billions of innocent inhabitants. But, of course, they aren’t innocent. Being of the same race as Matt, Leo and Yarah, they are guilty by association. And they will soon pay the price of their guilt with blood.
But first Jhata needs to rest and rejuvenate. The frenetic activity of the past few days has left her depleted in spirit. She lets her eyes drop and thinks of her sanctuary, her cathedral on the hill overlooking the city on one side and the ocean on the other. When she opens her eyes, she’s standing in the courtyard. A cloud of small yellow birds with bright red beaks scatters into the air.
A gentle breeze blows through her hair, bringing the fragrance of saltwater. Jhata inhales deeply, drawing in the ocean’s healing power.
The hint of an unpleasant odor wafts toward her from inside the cathedral. Her eyes drift in that direction. A groaning sound comes through the door. She turns and walks inside past the first emerald column.
Then she stops, staring at the middle of the floor.
The blackened form of a human lies face down in a puddle of yellow liquid. Six Stones are scattered a few feet away. Stubby remains of fingers push the upper body up. It twists to face Jhata. A single white eye devoid of expression looks out from a featureless black background. A hole opens. It may have once been a mouth, but now the lips are gone.
“Help me,” it says. The voice is dry, like dead leaves scraping over rock.
Instinctively, Jhata drops a hand to her belt and pulls out a Stone. She moves forward cautiously, eyeing the form before her. The putrid stench of decay makes her nauseous. As she walks, her mind is already inside the burnt creature, seeking its identity, sifting through fragments of its most recent memories, checking on its body functions, evaluating its strength.
Without a doubt, it is the man named Ryzaard. The one from Earth who tried to kill Matt. He is a hair’s breadth from death, in excruciating pain, barely managing to stay conscious.
An easy prey.
“I warned you not to follow me. Yet here you are. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you and take your Stones.”
Ryzaard struggles to speak without lips. He turns his face away from her, perhaps sensing that it only causes revulsion.
“You need me.”
Jhata throws her head back and laughs. It’s almost hilarious that such a weak creatu
re would speak to her in this manner. One small jolt of blue plasma from her fingertip and he will instantly die.
Pain is draining away his life. It’s getting so intense that she slips back out of his mind.
“The boy, Matt.” Ryzaard can’t hold himself up any longer and slumps to the floor. “You tried, but couldn’t kill him. Neither could I. Together we might be able to. If not, he will destroy us both.”
The toll these last few words have exacted from Ryzaard is clear as his head slams into the marble floor, splashing yellow liquid onto Jhata’s golden shoes.
A few more minutes and even she won’t be able to help Ryzaard. Perhaps it’s time to take a calculated risk. An investment.
“You will be my slave,” she says.
“Agreed.”
A few minutes later, Jhata stands in front of a transparent spherical tank. Its soft, pliable sides are composed of a semi-porous jelly-like material that can be penetrated from the outside with the right equipment, but which cannot be breached from the inside.
The burnt body of Ryzaard floats inside, bathed in a solution that maintains his life and holds him in a state of mental stasis, rendering him entirely harmless. She still isn’t sure whether she will help him or not. It’s good to go slow, weighing her options carefully.
In the end, it will make sense to help Ryzaard only if she can extract much more from him in return.
CHAPTER 89
The captain is the first one off the sub.
He steps gingerly from the exit platform and drops into the water ten meters from the rocky shoreline. After disappearing below the surface, his head bobs up and he looks back.
“Everyone jump in. The water’s great.”
Three splashes follow in close succession. The crew members rejoice at finding liberation from the confines of their metal prison, free to feel the sun on their skin, free to move, free to get away from the stultifying body odor that had overcome the sub’s air systems.
Jessica and Eva are the last ones to remain on the exit ramp. Eva eyes the rocky shoreline warily.
“We have to go ashore,” the captain says. He’s already pulling himself up on a rock and stretching out in the sun. “We’re nearly out of food and fuel.” He smiles across the water at Jessica. “You were the one that picked this spot, remember? Even though the freedom camp’s been disbanded, they’re still expecting us. We might even get a hot meal.”
