Stones: Theory (Stones #4) (67 page)

I
n his dreams, Miyazawa walks through a Japanese rock garden of extreme precision and beauty. The air is misty with just a hint of rain. On the far end, across meticulously combed rows of fine pebbles circling around stone islands in an imaginary sea, and just on the other side of a triangle-shaped granite boulder, a lush bamboo forest waves in the light breeze. All around the edge of the garden, bonsai trees, some no larger than teacups, some three meters high, follow exquisitely tortured lines to the sky.

Keeping to a narrow path of white gravel, the priest walks in tabi socks on the border of the sandy ocean.

A man with arms folded across his chest stands in a ceremonial Shinto dress next to the boulder below the bending bamboo. With a stiff robe on his broad shoulders and a tall black hat on his head, the man commands Miyazawa’s attention. Miyazawa tries to look away, but the man draws his gaze back to stare at the heavy eyebrows and the look of disapproval on his face. Over and over, his thin lips chant a phrase without sound.

Miyazawa drops to his knees and presses his forehead to the ground.

Father, forgive me. I didn’t know.

From behind the bamboo grove, a black shape rises, breaks through the boulder and crashes down over his father onto the stone sea. It writhes on the ground, spitting up rocks and pebbles, before looking up at Miyazawa. All eyes, teeth and a long serpent tail, the black shape springs into the air.

Miyazawa turns to run.

But the huge open mouth descends over his head, engulfing him in darkness and the fetid smell of rotting flesh. Shark-like teeth clamp down on his chest and back, holding him in a vise. It’s impossible to breath, impossible to move. He opens his mouth and tries to scream.

And then it is gone.

He is a young boy, standing on a mountain summit looking east. A red sun rises over the far horizon, lighting up a green valley of rice paddies almost ready for harvest. Far below, the figure of his father, dressed in a loose-fitting
yukata
robe, waves and cups hands, yelling up to him. The words echo on the mountainside like a smooth stream flowing in reverse.

It’s time to come home.

T
aking a leisurely cycle of the planetary network in a few nanoseconds, Ryzaard tweaks and adjusts as he moves.

Today is a day for celebration, and with a simple thought, he induces a surge of euphoria that instantly moves through the population of Earth. Their minds are still intact and functional, but
his
mind serves as a tightly woven sieve through which their thoughts must move. Only what he finds valuable and beneficial to his purposes is allowed to penetrate the sieve.

With the help of the planetary network, any contrary thoughts instantly come to his attention and are suppressed.

How would it feel to be under this yoke? He dismisses the thought. Feelings are of little consequence. Only action matters.

He brushes past a collection of minds that belong to national leaders gathered at the United Nations for a historic meeting. Detecting feelings of potential dissent, he tamps it down, below the surface, out of sight, and forces thoughts of agreement and reconciliation.

What to do about criminals? Organized crime will no longer be tolerated. He drops into the subconscious of a hundred thousand Yakuza, twice that number of Swedish mafia, and millions of Chinese triads and petty thugs. Their attempts at deception make them painfully obvious. With a single stroke of intention, their greed is wiped clean and replaced with a thirst for change and restitution. For the most bitter and hardened of this group, Ryzaard simply stops their hearts, allowing them to enjoy a merciful death.

So much to do, and plenty of time to do it.

He looks down at the streets of Manhattan from his perch.

Thousands of young people dance in the open, celebrating the end of all wars, the beginning of a new era.

Turning away from the window, he walks out through the door to his office, across the floor where a new collection of ancient art decorates the surroundings, and sits at the crystal table. Each of the young people are gathered and waiting under the newly constructed roof, summoned by his thoughts.

“I trust you all enjoyed a restful night.” Without effort, Ryzaard finds their minds in the network and pulls back so he has only a light touch, something that can be screwed down tighter as needed. “Tell me what you think.” His eyes rest on Jing-wei.

“I’m sure you’ve see the reports of a mass nightmare shared by billions of implant recipients a few hours ago.” Her eyes remain on the glossy screen of her slate. “I experienced it as well. Would that have anything to do with the beginning of this new era?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Ryzaard lies. “But let’s forget about the past and focus on how you’re feeling now.” He looks across the table at Kalani.

“Bored as hell.” Kalani laughs. “No more enemies. No one left to fight. If anyone tries to give us trouble, you do some tweaking and, presto, problem solved.”

Elsa Bergman puts both palms and forearms on the table and leans forward like the Sphinx. “I want my brain back. I’ve lost my edge. I no longer feel the killer instinct that used to come so naturally.” She grimaces and pulls back her arms close to her body, as if to protect herself from a hidden blow. “I feel unnaturally nice.”

“You’ll have to learn,” Ryzaard says. “In this new era, life is no longer a zero sum game.”

“Can’t be true.” She swivels in her chair and turns away. “If I can’t inflict a little pain on my rivals, then I don’t want to play the game anymore.”

“The world has changed. There will be no more pain or suffering. Perhaps I can help.” The old man allows a hint of a smile and turns up the pressure on her a couple of notches, pushing any thoughts of defiance out of her mind. “How do you feel now?”

She laughs like she had one drink too many. “Just bubbly.” She stands and turns to leave. “Please excuse me. I think I’m going to throw up.” She starts to walk to the stairs.

Ryzaard’s eyes narrow.

Elsa stops in mid-stride, turns with a hint of robot motion in her body, and returns to her chair. “On second thought, I feel just fine. Happy to be here.” A jerky smirk stretches across her lips.

“How about you?” Ryzaard turns to Jerek.

“I feel great, like going outside and celebrating with everyone else.” Jerek slumps down into his chair. “There’s just one problem.”

“Problem?” Ryzaard arches his left eyebrow.

Jerek sits up straight as his fingers dance across the slate. “I’ve been working on an algorithm to trace rogue avatars in the Mesh. Yesterday, just as I was drifting off to sleep, the answer jumped out of the blue, like a stroke of pure inspiration.”

“It’s common for creative geniuses like you.” Ryzaard relaxes and puts his hands behind the back of his head. “I don’t see a problem.”

“It slipped away. It’s still there hiding in my mind, pulling away when I try to grab it. It’s driving me crazy.” Jerek’s puts the slate down with trembling fingers. “I didn’t know it was going to be like this. I need my mind back. My whole mind. So I can be the person I was before.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it will come back.” Ryzaard slips into Jerek’s mind. Anguish hangs over his thoughts like a dark mist. Unlike Elsa, Jerek never shows a hint of disloyalty, but too much independent thinking will destabilize this new world. It cannot be tolerated. From now on, there is only one independent thinker. All others will have to sacrifice their independence for the greater good.

Pushing all thoughts of despair and loss out of Jerek’s mind, Ryzaard replaces them with a blind sense of joy. Stripped of his unique talents, there might not be any more use for Jerek. It will be a regrettable loss.

Jerek’s face relaxes into a loose smile.

Deciding there is no longer any point in asking how people are doing, Ryzaard turns to Diego. “Your main focus is the location algorithm. Make sure it’s working at full capacity. Now that we’ve crossed the threshold, we’ll need to mop up the remaining problems. The boy and the little girl remain a thorn in my side. I want their Stones.”

“Understood.” Diego answers crisply and confidently. “I’ll alert you at the first positive sign.”

Out of all of them, Diego scored lowest on intelligence tests, but is a consistent worker. A model for future generations in the world to come.

“And now it’s your turn.” Ryzaard’s eyes move on to Jing-wei. “Any news to report?”

She lifts her gaze up from the table. “Nothing but rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Our spies.” Jing-wei stares at Ryzaard without expression. “They’ve heard rumors that the Matt and his friends are moving among the former Children of the freedom camps in secret. Beings from another world are said to have appeared. Matt’s telling the people of the freedom camps to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Jing-wei drops her fingers onto the table. “For the coming of Paradise.
His
version of Paradise.”

A chuckle bursts from Ryzaard’s throat. “So now they think angels are coming to save them.”

“Word is spreading like wildfire through their community. Some of the Children, thousands of them around the world, claim to have already seen them.” A half smile graces her lips. “Beings of surpassing beauty, men and women in white robes, flowing down from the sky, speaking, singing, full of love and warmth.”

“I do not believe it. I
refuse
to believe it.” Ryzaard rises from his seat with a look of disgust on his face. “We will deal with the Children in short order. In the meantime, remember this. Paradise is here. It has already come. It is useless to look for another. Now return to your work. There remains much to do.”

As the young people stand and file down the stairs, they exhibit a lack of spontaneity in their movement that bothers Ryzaard, as if their arms and legs are tied down by invisible strings.

He walks quickly back to his office, slams the door and drops onto his meditation cushion.

Unfinished business awaits.

Y
arah sleeps on the white couch. Jessica and Matt are stretched out on sleeping mats next to Miyazawa’s bed.

They both hear the chains rattle at the same time.

In the dim light, Matt jumps up and stares down at the priest.

Mouth hanging open, Miyazawa’s eyes jerk from side to side, as if he’s tracking the movement of some beast in the dark. A single scream breaks from his throat, and he tries to rise from the bed with flailing arms. But the chains hold him down.

One eye shoots over in Matt’s direction and stares up at him. Miyazawa attempts a scream that ends in a dry whine. The eyes suddenly close and a smile appears on the face. The priest takes a deep breath, lets it out, and settles back into a deep sleep.

Jessica looks down from the opposite side of the bed. “What just happened?”

“No idea,” Matt says. “We won’t know until we take a look inside.” His gaze drifts over to the sleeping figure of Yarah. “But I’ll need her help. I hate to wake her. As long as he’s chained down and hooked up to the vitals monitor, he shouldn’t be a danger to us, and Ryzaard shouldn’t be able to kill him. Let’s get a few hours rest and check on him in the morning.”

They lie down on the floor mats. Within seconds, Matt surrenders to the pull of sleep.

Images play in his mind.

He’s dropping into a deep pit. As the round light of the opening falls away above him, the air grows cold and moist until his back rests on the bottom. The ground crawls beneath him. A long, slimy creature moves up his neck and across his face. Jumping to his feet, he stares down at a floor covered with black snakes. He picks one up, and it squirms in his hand. He sees the tiny pairs of legs at the front and back. With revolting disgust, he throws it hard against the wall and notices that the bricks are moving. On closer inspection, the walls are crawling with the same creatures.

He searches for a way out of the pit, but there are no handholds, no ropes, no escape. The snakes begin to crawl up his feet and legs. Looking down, he discovers he has no clothes. Frantic, he pulls snakes in handfuls from his body and throws them against the wall, but they keep coming. Pinpricks rip into his flesh. The snakes have fangs and are sinking them into his body. They jump off the walls and cover him. As he rips and tears at them, his feet begin to go numb.