Stones: Theory (Stones #4) (28 page)

Even across vast physical distances, she senses no lag in response time. Only the Stones make such instantaneous exchange of information possible.

Once inside the Mesh, she takes the opportunity to learn more of the human race and Ryzaard’s own organization. No doors are closed to her. No security or encryption can withhold its secrets. All of Earth’s science, culture and history lies bare before her.

Opening her mind, she drinks it in.

When she returns to her laboratory, the sun is far below the horizon on her world. She’s been off-planet traveling through the Mesh for more than eight hours of local time.

The last remaining task is to refine the manufacturing process for the implants, both the control units and the lower-level implants. It will have to be a fully automated system, one that Ryzaard and his organization, with their primitive technology and resources, can manage and control. And it will have to be efficient. Over twenty billion humans live on Earth. In time, each of them will receive an implant. The entire process, from implant production to insertion, must be exceedingly simple.

After all, these are mere unenhanced humans she is dealing with.

Jhata goes back to her laboratory to work it all out. The outline of the process is simple.

Machines to build machines to build implants.

I
n a flash of light, they jump to Jhata’s planet.

Yarah snaps open the lid of the cloaking box to mask the presence of their Stones.

Matt’s eyes pop open. The cool dirt under his knees is refreshing. Yarah sits beside him.

Alexa is less fortunate.

The instant they jump to the planet’s surface, she finds herself suspended horizontally in the air. With no sofa under her, she drops two feet hard to the ground onto a pile of rocks, raising a small cloud of dust. After getting the wind knocked out of her, she struggles to breathe. It doesn’t take long for her to find her voice.

“Where the hell are we?” Rubbing the back of her head, Alexa sits up and scans the barren landscape.

Behind them, a rugged cliff face shoots straight up. Below, in the opposite direction, the valley floor drops away on a gentle descent. In the distance, smoky haze hangs over the middle of the plain covering a village of square mud huts. The smell of salt hangs in the gathering darkness.

“It’s changed from before.” Yarah points in the direction of the village. “There used to be a city there, made of colored crystal. Huge pyramids. High towers. It reminded me of a picture from a book.”

“The Emerald City,” Matt says. “The last time I was here, it was different too. Everything was made of glass. Transparent and beautiful.” He gets to his feet and drops the backpack. “Be careful. We have to assume Jhata knows we’re here.”

“Jhata?” Alexa brushes the dust from her pajamas and stands. “What kind of name is that? Where are we? The Horn of Africa? Uzbekistan?”

Matt looks at Yarah and shakes his head. “We’re far away from Ryzaard. He won’t be able to find us here.”

“I’ve got news for you.” Alexa laughs. “He can find you instantly anywhere if your Stones are outside the box. He’s got this location algorithm. There’s no escape.”

“Not here.” Matt looks in the direction of the cliff. “You picked a good spot, Yarah.”

She hands the open box to Matt. Her neck cranes back, and she stares up at the top of the cliff. “Jessica was right up there, in the cathedral. At least that’s where she was the last time Ryzaard saw her.” Her eyes move to Matt. “Do you think we can climb it?”

“No problem,” Matt says. “I’ve got my climbing gear right here. Looks like it will be an easy ascent.”

Alexa eyes the wall of the cliff. “Are you crazy? I’m in pajamas and bare feet.”

After a few seconds of rummaging in his backpack, Matt produces a pair of baggy pants and one-size-fits-all carbon fiber slippers. He tosses them to Alexa.

“Try these.” Matt moves to the cliff. “Stay here while I go have a look.” He eyes Yarah. “Be ready for anything.”

Walking a short distance to the base of the cliff, Matt’s eyes naturally find a line of ascent. It will be an easy climb. Lots of protruding rocks. Plenty of handholds. Trying not to think about what they will do once they are at the top, he reaches up to a brick-sized piece of granite and pulls himself up.

Two minutes later, Matt is twenty meters up the cliff and turns to stare down at Yarah and Alexa.

“It’s an easy climb,” he says. “I’ll come down and get the ropes. You two can follow me up.”

They are directly below him, craning their necks.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m climbing this.” Alexa’s voice floats up from below.

Matt casts his eyes to the right and left.

A torn piece of red cloth catches his attention. Moving laterally, he reaches out to it with trembling fingers, plucks it off the rock and brings it up to his nose.

Jessica’s smell fills his nostrils.

Searching the rock face, his heart pumps like a beating drum. He moves up and studies the rocks as the darkness deepens. The picture starts to become clear, pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

A smooth series of handholds stretches in a vertical line above and below, close together, perfect for a quick descent from the top. The closer he looks, he can see splotches of dried blood on the rocks. Some of them have fingerprints. There’s only one conclusion.

Jessica descended from the top of the cliff without shoes. She cut her feet on the rocks. She’s somewhere down in the valley.

“Coming down.” Matt follows the path of blood down to the valley floor and drops to his hands and knees. A faint outline of footprints leads away toward the village. “Over here!”

Yarah sprints to his side.

Still kneeling, Matt points at a footprint. And another. “Jessica’s been here.” He picks up a spot of dried blood where the ball of her foot would have made contact. “She’s hurt. I think she was running for the village.” He jumps to his feet and sprints to pick up his backpack.

“No need to climb the cliff?” Alexa calls out to Matt as he runs by.

Ignoring her, he shoulders the pack and runs back to where Yarah kneels with her fingers on the ground. The little girl’s eyes are closed, as if she is trying to feel Jessica’s mind through the tracks in the dirt.

“Anything?” Matt says.

Yarah shakes her head. “Not without the Stone.”

“We can’t risk it just yet.” He looks up at the sky. The sun has already slipped far below the horizon in the direction of the sea. Dusk is falling over the land. Matt pulls a flashlight out of a side pocket of his pack. “We’ll follow the tracks as long as we can.” Reaching down his hand, he pulls Yarah up. “Let’s go.”

Behind them, Alexa stands with her hands on her hips. “What about me? Now that you’ve brought me here, what am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you like.” Matt nods to Yarah, and they move away from the cliff down the gentle slope to the valley floor.

Alexa stumbles behind them.

“T
hey’re gone.” Diego flicks his finger on the bluescreen. “Watch this.”

Ryzaard peers down over Diego’s shoulder. The bluescreen shows Alexa’s hotel room flash white just before an explosion from a laser cannon blasts through the door and engulfs the interior in flames. Soldiers stumble into the room and spray the sofa and living room with pulse ammo. After the dust settles, they make a thorough search for bodies.

There aren’t any.

Diego looks up. “We got a strong signal from two Stones just before they broke through the door.”

“They jumped away at the last minute. The question is, where did they go?” Ryzaard’s eyes focus on the bluescreen. “Any other new Stone readings anywhere in the world?”

“Nothing.” Diego shakes his head. “We would definitely pick it up if they jumped to another point on the globe. Jumps have massive signatures.”

“Then they’ve gone off-planet,” Ryzaard says. “Which means it’s no longer my problem. Keep a close eye on your location algorithm. I want to know the minute they come back.
If
they come back.” He turns to walk away. “I’ll see you at staff meeting in an hour.”

As the air flashes white, he relaxes into a moment of reflection.

What planet did they jump to? Matt and Yarah both lost theirs. Ryzaard destroyed his own planet long ago with a black hole in an attempt to kill Matt. That leaves only one alternative.

Jhata’s world.

On the top floor, Ryzaard walks around the scattered piles of wreckage. The blown-out windows were all replaced within hours, but the ancient artifacts accumulated over decades of collecting are a total loss.

It’s impossible to put marble powder back into a Greek statue of Venus.

Unconsciously, his shirt and pants take on a hue of deep crimson, reflecting his mood. With effort, he uncurls the fists that hang like wrecking balls at his side.

Bending down, he picks up scattered flakes of gold from a priceless Aztec death mask. A couple of days ago it had been displayed on a crystal pedestal in the middle of the floor. A few feet away, an early Ming Dynasty silk painting hangs from the remains of a metal hook like torn shreds of flesh.

I’ll make them pay.

Ryzaard struggles to put the thought out of his mind. Vengeance can come later. Right now, the priority is getting the implants from Jhata. No doubt she will deliver with breathtaking results. The distribution network is already coming together. Like so many of his plans, it’s only a matter of time. Small setbacks do not matter. They are to be expected. That is the difference between the weak and the strong. Sooner or later, doubts and obstacles topple the weak. The strong have no doubts. Difficulty and struggle only make them stronger.

He thinks about paying a visit to Jhata. Just to see how she’s doing. Perhaps warn her that intruders have trespassed onto her planet.

But then Ryzaard thinks better of it. Jhata is fully capable of taking care of herself. Every visit to her is fraught with risk. Better to stay away and avoid contact.

What he needs is a short rest. Returning to his private quarters, he shuts the door behind him and finds the meditation platform. Sitting down in the lotus position, he closes his eyes and rises off the floor.

In the privacy of his mind, a veil of darkness drops down around him.

Almost immediately, Ryzaard senses a shift, a subtle pull, like sitting on a beach as the surf flows by and rushes out to sea. The darkness turns to emptiness. A vacuum of light and sound.

Then a single voice, as if just below the horizon, starts to wail. The lamenting, grief-stricken sound touches a chord in his memories. Suddenly, he’s a skeleton-thin teenager in the Podgorze ghetto staring down at the shriveled body of his mother. Food is running out. His mother has refused to eat for days, giving all she has to him. Now she’s lying on a filthy bed in a crowded room, her open eyes staring up at the ceiling, the mouth hanging open.

She has just died.

The child who is Ryzaard throws himself across his mother’s body. Racked with sobs and crying, he hears his own voice in slow crescendo, wailing, screaming. Other cries of agony join in harmony with his, like the threads of a tapestry. The image of his mother fades to black, but the sounds linger and then surge like a tidal wave crashing down on his head.

Before he can react, Ryzaard is thrust into a maelstrom of hideous faces with shrieking mouths and bloodshot eyes. They flow in chaotic circles around him, through him, louder and louder. His body spins as if caught in the center of a churning riptide.

The cries turn slowly to words.

It is gone. It is taken. Give us the power.

Breathing in deeply, he forces himself to stop howling. Then he finds the power of his Stones and forms a protective bubble around himself, a churning plasma mass with jagged black lines.

The Lethonen immediately stop and draw back. Multiple humanoid shapes come together to make a ring around him. The surface of their bodies is unstable. Eyes appear where mouths should be. Teeth flash in and out of chests, legs and arms. Heads balloon out to impossible proportions and then shrink to tiny dots.