Stones: Theory (Stones #4) Page 2

  The tiny threads act as if they are alive, reaching out like nerve fibers to touch objects around him. People, rocks, trees, leaves, insects, water. When he talks with Jessica, the tiny filaments shoot toward her, swarming over her skin and eyes. When he looks up at the stars, a mass of filaments follows his gaze into the sky.

  As he gets better at seeing the Stone, it becomes clear that the energy field is active all the time, whether the Stone is in use or not, connecting it to everything around him.

  And that is how Ryzaard tracks him.

  That realization drives Matt to make an even more interesting discovery. He can control and direct the field of light filaments coming out of the Stone. In time, he learns to bend the filaments and weave them tightly around the Stone so nothing leaks out. But it requires mental effort and can’t be maintained for long periods of time.

  Matt pulls his concentration away from the surface of the Stone and looks out on multiple ridges of tree-covered mountain ranges spreading out below like rows of waves rising from a blue-green sea, their color fading with distance until the farthest lines are barely visible. A heavy haze lurks in the deep valleys between the ridges.

  The Great Smokey Mountains float like silent icebergs in a cloudy soup.

  Jumping to his feet, Matt walks to Jessica and looks down into her eyes. His lips press into hers.

  “You’re extra quiet today.” Jessica’s gaze darts between Matt’s eyes. “You always get this way before a Meeting.”

  They walk together, hand in hand, on a diagonal trail down the slope, letting gravity pull them through the trees. Halfway to the meeting place, Yarah bolts down the hill. She slams against their arms from behind, stretching them out and almost flipping over. After righting herself, she pulls their fingers apart and inserts herself in the middle, taking one of their hands in each one of hers.

  “Where’ve you been this morning?” Jessica asks.

  “Playing with the bears up on the ridge.” Yarah swings both arms as she walks. “The mama bear says I’m the only two-legger she trusts.” Her neck cranes back, and she shuts one eye and looks up at Jessica.

  Matt chuckles. “Talking to the animals?”

  “Thinking to the animals, not talking.” Yarah turns the other way and faces Matt. “Speaking of talking, what are we going to talk about today at the Meeting?”

  “Same as always.”

  “The dreams?”

  “Yep.” Matt can see the people sitting on the ground or leaning against the trunks of yellow birch and mountain maple. Shaking hands and touching shoulders, he works his way through the crowd until he arrives at the bottom where his standing place is marked by a piece of plywood thrown down on the spongy forest floor.

  Drab-colored backpacks, sleeping bags, tents, ropes and climbing gear are stacked on one side of the group. The faint smell of smoke and bacon drifts through the leaves. Bright spots mark small openings in the canopy where sunlight leaks through and spills onto fallen logs covered in moss.

  Jessica and Yarah lean against trees to the side of Matt and stare up at the gathered faces.

  It’s time for Matt to speak.

  “Many of you have traveled far to this place. And when we are done, you have far to return home. I hope you will share the words that have been given to me with the other Children throughout your journeys.” Matt takes a sip of water from a metal bottle at his side. “Tell them I would gladly go out to meet them if my presence did not put their lives in danger. Too many of the Children have been killed because I journeyed among them. Their lives are precious to me. That is why I must stay away.”

  The Children are silent.

  As Matt stares uphill into their faces, the singsong of birds and the chorus of running water weaves its way through the trees. It recedes as Matt speaks, and springs back to life during pauses in his words.

  “Even now, I fear there are spies among us, listening to our words, revealing them to the Enemy.”

  Closing his eyes, Matt looks into the vast blackness behind his eyelids. Fire rains down through the trees from dark shapes in the sky. Chased by the heat of the flames and the beat of his heart, he flees with Jessica and Yarah from lightning and explosions.

  Glimpses of the future fill his vision whenever he allows his lids to drop down.

  “Gatherings like this are dangerous. We must keep them small and end them quickly. I know the Children yearn for the days of the freedom camps, when they came together openly and lived in peace. Those days are gone. Abomination will sweep the earth like a scourge. All who wish to avoid it must remember: Our best defense lies in secrecy. Spread your numbers thinly in every city and town. Gather only in twos and threes, always out of sight, under the radar. Far away from all electronics.”

  “The dreams.” Yarah tries to whisper, but it’s loud enough for most to hear. “Tell them about the dreams.”

  Matt nods his head. “As you can see, I have my orders.”

  Gentle laughter floats down to Matt from the gathered Children, but their anticipation is palpable. The very mention of dreams sharpens their attention.

  “First of all, some of the Children call me a prophet. They say I’m pure and holy, that I’ve been chosen to lead the people because of my special gifts. But let me be clear. I’m just like you, no better, no worse. I’m not infallible. I’ve made mistakes that cost the lives of those I love. I’ve been selfish, reckless, done things I’m not proud of.” The clear, persistent call of an ovenbird comes down the slope from high up on the ridge. “Please don’t give me your adoration or reverence. I’m not worthy of it, and I don’t want it.”

  Matt reaches into the side pocket of his cargo pants. “Some of the Children say I’m a seer. That I have a clear view of the future in all its details.” He takes out the Stone, letting his fingers wrap comfortably around it. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. I wish the rumors were true. Life would be much easier that way. But what I see of the future comes only in bits and pieces, disjointed pictures and scenes, like a dream.”

  Matt opens his palm. “Whether I found this Stone or it found me, I couldn’t tell you.” In one swift motion, he lobs the Stone up the hill and into the crowd.

  The Children freeze as it drops to the ground at the feet of a young woman. Her eyes follow it down.

  “Please,” Matt says. “Pick it up. Look at it. Pass it around. Don’t be afraid. It’s a rock. Cold and black.”

  The Stone moves from hand to hand, like a holy relic.

  “Now, for the dreams.” Matt takes another sip of water before moving on. “I’ve seen glimpses of multitudes kneeling and bowing on seas of white pearls as priests lead them in rites of worship. I’ve seen their faces, looks of pure ecstasy. I’ve seen soldiers laying down their weapons, walking away from war. I’ve seen the poor and the starving, crawling out of their hovels to find plentiful food coming down to them out of the sky. I’ve seen prisons turned into villages and markets. Armies and navies shut down. Bitter enemies reconcile. Sickness and disease banished from the earth. From all outer appearances, a complete and total end to suffering.”

  There is silence among the Children.

  “An end to suffering?” A middle-aged man with a missing right arm stands a few meters away. His gaze sweeps the crowd and drops to the ground. “When will it come? Sounds so wonderful.”

  Matt’s head bobs. “Yes. It does sound wonderful. But listen carefully. You must understand. When you see or hear about the end of all suffering, run from it. Reject it. Do not embrace it. Do whatever you can to avoid it. The end of suffering is the beginning of Abomination.”

  A perplexed look crosses the face of the man without an arm. “How can that be? Isn’t that what we all want. No more suffering. Paradise.”

  “I know it’s difficult to comprehend. I’m not even sure I understand it fully. All I can say is that I’ve seen it.” Taking a step, Matt moves up the hill and into the group, mingling with them as he speaks. “The Abomination will appear to be the one true path
to freedom and fulfillment. But it’s a trap. Once you embrace it, just the opposite will happen. You will lose all freedom. Your life will no longer be your own. It will control you from the inside.”

  A small woman with close-cropped, dark hair and a weathered face steps out of the shadows. “How will we know it when we see it?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” Matt says. “If you remember nothing more of my words, remember these two words. Avoid Shinto. Avoid it until the Abomination passes. It’s already covered other lands. It will soon come here.”

  The Stone moves from hand to hand until it comes to the woman with the short hair.

  “I don’t understand. Shinto is a religion of peace.” The woman stares down at the Stone and then up at Matt. “It teaches harmony with nature, peace with all humankind. It saved us from nuclear annihilation.”

  “All of that was a setup, completely staged and controlled by MX Global.” Matt moves closer to her. “Believe me when I tell you this. It’s all an attempt to brainwash the populace. Shinto does teach harmony with nature. It does embrace peace. It’s a beautiful and essential part of Japanese culture, the result of centuries of exquisite sensitivity to nature. Shinto itself is good. And that makes it dangerous. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, it’s being used as the perfect vehicle to spread Abomination.”

  Looks of confusion sweep through the gathered men and women.

  “Don’t be deceived. There will come a day when harmony and peace come to the earth,” Matt says. “When the ideals of Shinto and every other medium of truth are realized and brought together into one. But that day is not yet.”

  The woman looks down at her hand. The Stone is gone from her fingers.

  Matt walks back down to the plywood platform. “I’ve told you all I can. If you believe it, spread it to every land and people.” Matt smiles up at the woman, showing her Stone in the open palm of his hand.

  “Is that all?” The middle-aged man with the missing arm stares down at Matt. “After we’ve come so far, you have nothing else to say? Nothing else to tell us? Nothing of value to us?”

  Matt resists the urge to shout. “What I’ve told you is of the greatest value. If you will but listen, it’s what you need to hear.” Mustering all the love and gentleness he can, he walks up the slope and lays his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I speak as one brother to another. These words will save you from the wave of destruction soon to flood the earth.”

  The man stares back into Matt’s eyes without saying anything. The sound of insects and rippling water fill the silence.

  “No,” the man says. “There must be more. You offer us too little.”

  “I offer you the truth.”

  The man turns and walks to the pile of backpacks, taking one off the top and slinging it over a shoulder. Stopping, he looks back, his eyes moving from Matt to the other people and back to Matt.

  Then he moves off down the slope, disappearing into the trees.

  CHAPTER 4

  “We’ve taken the idea of transparency to new heights.” Ryzaard laughs and looks down through all twenty-five floors of the building constructed entirely of c-glass from top to bottom.

  From the outside, the building has the appearance of a nondescript tombstone carved out of jet black obsidian, smooth, solid, devoid of imperfections, windows and an entrance. A simple monolith.

  The inside is different.

  One-way visual disrupters ensure a crystal-clear view of uptown Manhattan on all sides.

  Ryzaard’s office occupies the entire top floor, looking like a museum of ancient artifacts. There are abundant Chinese wall hangings, Greek marble sculptures, ancient Hindu sun pendants, Inca gold death masks, Japanese katana swords, Aurelian armor.

  In the center, the floor is cut away in a circle that frames two staircases that weave together in the form of a double-helix dropping through all levels like a strand of DNA. No elevators, escalators or moving walks. If Ryzaard has no need for them, no one else does either.

  Just below Ryzaard, Jing-wei and Kalani each have their own floor of massive bluescreens and communications equipment, one level dedicated to Mesh navigation and the other level for data stream creation, analysis and management. The next five floors house a new research lab overseen by Jerek. His job is to churn out equipment and tools made possible by creative use of Ryzaard’s seven Stones. Below them, Diego manages the applications department where Jerek’s equipment is put to work. Elsa’s empire is the largest, with six levels of dedicated AI algorithm operators in cubicle clusters. In rotating shifts, they spend every minute of every day hunched over bluescreens and directing the trading operation that funds Ryzaard’s empire.

  Money is fluent in every language. Ryzaard has enough to make allies out of any potential challengers.

  A system of chemical energy cells with multiple redundant layers take up the next five floors. After the disruptive events of the last few months, it is clear to all that only a self-contained power source can supply the reliability and independence demanded by Ryzaard and his work.

  That leaves five floors for security personnel. Their job is to stand between the upper floors and the rest of the world.

  As Kalani arrives at the top for the staff meeting, he drops into a chair of stainless steel and foam. Sensors on its surface make the materials flow around his body. He plops his large bare feet onto an oblong table made of a single slab of finely polished Brazilian crystal.

  Elsa has the farthest to go and reaches the top floor last, out of breath.

  “I don’t know why we can’t have elevators.” She leans on the railing, breathing hard. “We made a killing on the Event and the aftermath. Every nation on the planet is buying our radiation cleanup technology. We’ve certainly got the IMUs for it.”

  “The answer is simple.” Floating a meter off the floor on a platinum-colored meditation platform, Ryzaard speaks with his back to the group. “Dependence of any form is weakness. The time for weakness is over. And besides, as you seem to have forgotten, elevators are a notorious security risk.” His gaze wanders out the window, coming to rest on the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance.

  Elsa drops into a chair on Kalani’s left. “Then move me closer to the top.” She speaks in a whisper that only he hears.

  “Life is good.” Kalani gets a big island smile on his face. His head relaxes back into the cradle of his hands. “Just one floor down from the Man.”

  Stepping away from his platform, Ryzaard stretches both arms above his head and does a couple of deep side bends.

  He turns and walks to the table, taking his place at the usual spot on one end. His eyes sweep its outer edge, resting for a moment on each of the young people, his children. Except for Elsa, they are well-rested and happy to be there.

  As always, the twenty-four hour trading cycle is taking its toll on her.

  “No tweed jacket?” Kalani speaks without restraint. “New uniform?”

  “Our work is changing as we approach the end,” Ryzaard says. “The limits of power fall away as we hold the future of humankind in our hands.” His fingers brush across seven Stones floating above his chest. “It’s a good time for a fresh start.”

  Instead of the usual tweed jacket and khaki pants of a professor-archeologist, Ryzaard now sports a shirt and matching pants made from a nitrodinium-carbon underweave with a multi-chromatic nano-tile structure on the surface. Using the resources of his new lab, Jerek developed it during routine materials research. Ryzaard controls its color and texture with his mood, blending in with his surroundings to the point of near invisibility, or blasting out visual stimulation like a neon sign.

  Today, it has a shimmering, ethereal look, vaguely metallic.

  “Time for reports all around,” Ryzaard says. “It’s been three months since the Event that kick-started our movement. I hope you will all agree that ten million casualties was a small price to pay. I know that was a difficult pill for some of you to swallow. MX Global is extending a helping hand to the millions o
f survivors. That should more than compensate for any involvement we had in the Event itself. We must all put it firmly behind us and move forward.” He turns to the left and faces Jing-wei. “Please update us on our progress.”

  Laying her slate on the table, Jing-wei clears her throat. “We are using a small portion of the funds generated by sales of radiation eradication technology to fund research on new therapies to deal with the radiation sickness that afflicts urban centers targeted by the detonations.”

  “A complete waste of money, if you ask me.” Elsa is still out of breath from climbing the stairs.

  “But politically necessary in the current environment.” Ryzaard turns back to Jing-wei. “Please continue.”

  “The amount we are investing in humanitarian efforts is a small fraction of the profits from the sale of technology to assist governments in the cleanup effort.” Jing-wei steels her jaw and stares at Elsa. “The positive PR we have garnered for MX Global more than justifies the amount spent. In case you haven’t heard, Dr. Ryzaard has been nominated to receive this year’s Nobel Peace Prize because of the company’s quick response to the disaster.”

  “A development that is flattering, to be sure.” Ryzaard’s jacket flashes bright red for an instant, and returns to its metallic look. “But one that doesn’t interest me. I’d prefer to avoid the media attention, so I’ve given instructions that the prize is to be awarded to Mr. Miyazawa, which is a good segue into our next topic. The EUSA. Please continue, Jing-wei”

  “As I am sure you are all aware, the Earth United Shinto Alliance will erect its last jinja shrine in Europe next to Westminster Abbey at a much publicized event to take place later today. Mr. Miyazawa himself will preside, as is customary for events of such prominence. Proper tributes will be made to the victims of the nuclear holocaust. We understand the Archbishop himself will be the guest of honor. With complete coverage of Europe and Russia, EUSA will turn its attention to North America.