Stones: Theory (Stones #4) (31 page)

The moaning deepens in the throats of men and women as more join in, like a sea of sound gradually moving up to the surface from a subterranean cavern deep below.

“Then the awful night came three cycles ago. We were asleep in our beds, our bellies full,
drangee
leaves on our lips. The air outside caught on fire. Color drained from the world. We woke from our dreams.”

As if on cue, a dozen women scattered through the crowd jump to their feet. Raising their hands in the air, they sway back and forth like willows blowing in the wind. The moaning rises a notch. Tears are streaming from the eyes of men and women alike.

“When we emerged from our huts, the world of the
Chimpotee
people was gone. We found ourselves on this desolate plain. Like our brothers and sisters who we long scorned, it was our turn to be ripped away by the Spider Queen. She walked among us in her clothes of silk. She told us that we belonged to her, that it was our duty to accept our fate. She said we would not live long. We were nothing more than decorations on her mantel. As soon as her mood changed, we would be wiped from this plain like mold from a cooking pot. You all remember what happened next.”

Another dozen women stand. Their lips tremble as they openly weep. The great undercurrent of moaning surges in volume and turns into wailing. People sitting down begin to slowly sway back and forth in unison.

The old woman sits, overcome with emotion.

The one next to her stands. “A young man, our own Lavatoee, a mighty warrior, dropped to his knees and shot an arrow at her. The Spider Queen raised her hand. It held a curious rock in the shape of a
champa
claw.” Her high voice pierces the growing crescendo of lamentation. “A ring of fire shot out of the rock and lifted Lavatoee off the ground. We all watched as the Spider Queen stripped him down, layer by layer, until there was nothing left but a quivering skeleton. She picked his family members out of the village and did the same to every one of them.”

The entire village is on their feet. Hands reach upward. Shrieking rends the air.

When the old woman raises her staff, it all stops and returns to silence.

“After the massacre of Lavatoee and his family, brave warriors were sent out in all directions to look for other villages.” The woman puts both hands on the staff. “Each time, their bones were returned to us.” Her eyes sweep the crowd from within the circle of fire. “Two days ago we discovered a stranger in our village, a young woman that wandered here from the Spider Queen’s lair above us. Her feet were cut and bleeding.”

The same low tones of mourning begin again among the seated villagers.

“Our beloved Saatuk took the young woman into her home and showed her much kindness, following the ways of our ancestors. This young woman now lies before us. The
drangee
leaves have helped her forget who she is.” The old woman bends over and dips her hand in a small pot. A green liquid like honey drips from her fingers. She holds it over the woman’s mouth. Long strings of the liquid drop down. “Out of mercy, we will keep her in the world of rainbows and clouds until her spirit is freed.”

The mourning rises in volume.

“She is innocent of wrongdoing to us,” the old woman says. “This must be understood.”

For the first time, Saatuk moves in her sitting position, looks up and nods her head.

“But we must protect the
Chimpotee
at all costs. The Spider Queen will follow her here and find the fugitive within the walls of our village. Anger will rise in her heart. There will be destruction and slaughter among us.”

The young woman lying on the blanket stirs. Her arms and legs pull against the lashings that hold them bound to the wooden poles at her side. Saatuk leans forward and lays the open palm of her hand on the woman’s forehead.

“It is the decision of the Ring that we sacrifice this innocent stranger to appease the anger of the Spider Queen.” The old woman takes a step forward. “But we cannot stop there. We must also claim the life of Saatuk and her husband.” The old woman bows her head. “We beg forgiveness for the blood that will be spilt.”

The mourning reaches a new crescendo.

Saatuk stares down at the young woman lying on the bed of flowers and gently strokes her hair. “Do not fear, my child. It will be swift and painless. Then we go together to the land of our ancestors. You to yours. And we to ours.” She begins to sing softly.

“We offer potent
drangee
to Saatuk and her husband.” The standing woman dips her fingers again in the pot and brings out a handful of the viscous fluid. “It will soften the pain as the knives bite into their flesh.” She moves forward and holds her hand over their open mouths. The green liquid drips off her fingertips onto their lips.

Saatuk and her husband bow their heads to the ground and gently roll over onto their backs.

“It is time.” The old woman motions with her staff to a line of men sitting outside the circle of fire. Long blades rest on their laps, reflecting the light of the flames. “You may enter.”

The mourning turns to chanting.

T
he manufacturing process works perfectly. Jhata expects no less.

She stands before hundreds of golden spheres, each a little larger than her head, piled up in the shape of a pyramid. To the side of the spheres are three large black boxes as tall as a man. All of it is pure beauty and simplicity.

Each unit, both the spheres and the boxes, run off an internal power unit. No outside source of energy is necessary. All they need to add to the boxes is seawater, pumped in through an opening in the top of each unit. EM reactions inside the boxes break the water down into fundamental particles and reassembled them in the form of the golden spheres. As the spheres are completed, they roll out of an opening in the bottom of each box. It takes less than five minutes to fabricate each one.

Likewise, the only feedstock required by the spheres is seawater. Feed it into an opening in the top, and small blue jewel-like implants drop out of a hole in the bottom. Five seconds a pop. Thousands of test units already litter the floor.

With this setup, Ryzaard can fabricate thousands of spheres to produce billions of the implants. He can set it all up in one large warehouse, or spread the manufacturing out in small pockets around his world. The system is flexible. Even an idiot could operate it. The only requirement is a constant supply of seawater, and Jhata has seen with her own eyes that Ryzaard’s home planet has an abundant source.

She could have simply created billions of the implants and handed them over to Ryzaard. But that approach would require zero effort on his part and risk creating a dangerous dependency in the future. If he is to be of any value to her, even for a short period of time, he must understand that nothing is free. Jhata requires total commitment.

She picks up one of the blue implants. After showing the process to Ryzaard, it will be necessary to find a test subject and try it all out. There are, of course, a good 500
Chimpotee
down in the local village she snatched several weeks ago, more than enough for a test run.

If her guess is correct, Jessica has also found the village. Better still, she has experience with the Mesh network on earth.

An ideal subject for testing the new hardware.

“E
nough talk of Miyazawa,” Ryzaard says. “We are responsible for his flaws and delusions, whatever they may be. He is serving his purpose well. Make sure he has all the resources necessary to complete the spread of Shinto.” His gaze drifts around the floor at the scattered fragments of antique statues and wall hangings. “When he has completed his work, we will free him of his torments and find another to take his place. At the rate the North American and South American campaigns are moving, it will not be much longer. Then we will move to the next phase of our project.”

Kalani puts both palms on the table. “Can you tell us?”

“Tell you what?”

“Exactly what the next phase
is
.” Kalani leans back in his chair and puts his bare feet up on the table. “Why Shinto is so important to our work.”

Ryzaard’s shirt and pants slowly fade from black to dark green. “You have all been very patient. Your work has been phenomenal. I think the time has come to give you the full picture.” He stands with arms behind him and begins to walk around the table. “But first, let’s hear reports on our financial position. As we make the last big push to complete the spread of Shinto, there will be large drains on our resources.”

“Yes,” Elsa says. “It’s become quite a burden, one which I will be only too glad to cast off.”

Ryzaard nods. “When the time is right.” He motions for Elsa to begin. “How are our gambling operations going?”

A few inches away from her right elbow, Kalani snickers.

“The correct term for our project is
micro-betting
.” Elsa clears her throat. “The word
gambling
has certain unsavory connotations that I’d like to avoid. Considering the financial circumstances that I’ve been forced into, I’d say our programs are performing adequately.”

Kalani drops his head to the table. “Let me translate that for you.” He pretends to speak to Jing-wei in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “They’re not working so well.”

Sheepish smiles pop up around the table.

Elsa’s face goes crimson red. “We’re still in the early stages. The potential payoff is huge. We have several prototype algorithms in development for use on the Mesh. Early indications are that—”

“It’s a complete and utter failure.” Lifting his head up, Kalani’s white teeth gleam beneath a broad grin. “Let’s spare our Viking queen further embarrassment and move on to another topic.”

Ryzaard passes by behind Kalani. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

“As a matter of fact.” Kalani reaches down to the floor and picks up a slate. Casting a glance to the left at Elsa, he drops it flat on the table. “Things have been going quite well with our little IMU Exchange venture. I’ll let Jing-wei bring you up to date.” He leans back and glances at her.

“Thank you.” Jing-wei slides her slate forward and gently taps the screen. A multi-chromatic holo rises up out of the crystal surface of the table. 3D block letters run across the top spelling out
International Monetary Unit Exchange
. Below them is a massive cubical building with no windows and white granite on the outside. “As you know, all Mesh transactions run through the IMUX. For the last thirty years, it’s been administered by a United Nations non-profit corporate entity.”

“Non-profit?” Jerek says.

“The IMUX receives a nominal fee from all transactions.” Jing-wei brushes her finger on the slate. “But even nominal fees add up when the transaction amounts are so massive. All proceeds go to poverty eradication programs around the globe.”

The holo shows an array of solar panels arranged in a circle on a sea of sand dunes somewhere in the Sahara. A bar graph rises in front of it showing the average daily take of the IMUX for the past five years. It amounts to several billion IMUs.

Elsa shakes her head. “You’re wasting our time. We already know what the IMUX does. And about how the New Communion hacked into their system and installed a skimming algorithm so they could rake in millions.”

Jing-wei nods. “Good. Then you won’t be surprised to hear that we’ve—”

“As of today, we’ve destroyed the New Communion.” Kalani leans forward, lips forming a huge smile. He plays his fingers across his slate. “They know they’ve lost their position, but don’t yet know what hit them.” The IMUX building and graph vanishes. In its place, ten men dressed in cardinal’s robes gather around a dark wood table in a wood-paneled windowless room. Gesticulating wildly with their hands, all of them are speaking and yelling at once. Suddenly, the only door to the room is blown away by a laser canon. The room fills with smoke. Men in black armor and masks jump through the open door with pulse rifles blazing. Four of the cardinals drop to the floor. One sprawls across the table.

Jing-wei taps her slate, and the holo goes blank. “I think we’ve seen enough.”