Stones: Experiment (Stones #3) (17 page)

Without a word, each of the other members of the council stands, bows shallowly and leaves the room, tea untouched.

Miyazawa leans on a wooden post in front of his private quarters watching the heli-transport lift off the sea of white pebbles, his priestly robes bulging out as the wind whips the cold air. The first rays of the morning sun splash over the far mountain ridge to the east.

The days of the old are numbered. A new beginning rises with the sun.

H
e’s back. At last.

Diego arrives at the entrance to Ryzaard’s office, out of breath, slate in hand. He pauses at the entrance until Ryzaard waves him in.

“Where exactly
is
this new Stone?” Ryzaard paces back and forth in front of the window.

“Inside a large freedom camp just outside Vancouver.” Diego looks up from his slate. “We have a satellite image of its location.”

“On screen, please.” Ryzaard turns his back to Diego and looks out the window, hands clasped behind his back.

Diego nods. The fingers of one hand drop to the slate and move in a circular motion.

The view of Manhattan through the office window vanishes, replaced by a solid white background. A few seconds later, a satellite image appears, the words
Stanley Park 49.30N 123.14W
below it. It looks like a sea of green bordering on a sea of blue, dotted here and there with white and orange squares.

“The area is full of large cedar trees, making visibility difficult.” Diego walks to the window and turns to face Ryzaard. “But you can definitely make out the freedom camp and see people walking and moving.”

“Where
exactly
is the Stone?”

Diego’s eyes drop to his slate. “Give me one second to overlay the location algorithm on the satellite image.” His fingers play over the slate like a master pianist might play a Mozart piano concerto. “Got it.” He looks up to the window.

The satellite image zooms in and pans to the right and down. On the screen, a red dot appears in a sea of green next to a brown patch.

“Looks like it’s under the trees, out of sight.”

Ryzaard stands as rigid as a bronze statue, staring at the red dot.

As he watches, the red dot slowly moves out of the green into the brown.

“What’s going on?” Ryzaard says. “Why is the dot moving?”

“The Stone Holder himself must be moving.” Diego’s fingers brush over the slate.

“Is that the best resolution we have?”

“One moment.” Diego drops the slate on Ryzaard’s desk and uses both hands on its surface. “I’m requisitioning additional satellites nearby. It should give us a cleaner image.”

Ryzaard stares at the red dot. It’s now in the middle of the brown patch. Grey smudges move around it.

The satellite image zooms in, and the grey smudges resolve into the shapes of running kids. The dot is flying back and forth between them.

“What the hell is going on?” Ryzaard walks closer to the window and peers into the glassy surface.

“Looks like a gathering of children.” Diego’s voice drops so it’s barely audible. “They’re playing catch with the Stone.”

Ryzaard can’t believe his eyes.

“Keep tracking it.” He turns away and takes his jax out of his pocket. “Captain Riley.”

“Yes, sir.” A small blue face appears above the jax.

“I’ve got another mission for you and your men. I’m sending you the coordinates now. It’s a freedom camp, just like the others you’ve seen.”

The blue face nods in acknowledgement. “Will you be coming along for the ride, sir?”

“I have other business to attend to at the moment,” Ryzaard says. “I’ll meet you there later.”

“What exactly are your orders, sir?”

“Orders?” Ryzaard looks surprised at the question. “Your orders are simple. Wipe them out. All of them.”

M
att stares at the empty cloaking box.

When he looks up at the blonde woman who handed it to him, his hands are shaking and he speaks slowly, with measured words, trying to suppress the urge to howl that wells up from his belly.

“There was an object inside the box. It’s important. I need to get it back.” His voice grows louder with each word, rising to a crescendo. “Did you see it?”

The woman’s eyes grow wide and her head slowly shakes back and forth. When she opens her mouth to speak, lips trembling, her voice drops to a whisper.

“It was empty.”

A wave of panic surges through Matt. Starting in his chest, it radiates out, up into his shoulders and abdomen. A cold sweat breaks out on his face. His legs start shaking.

It’s been too long. Ryzaard knows we’re here.

He turns to Eva, the woman with the black hair. “How long have Jessica and I been here in the camp?” He hopes she will say something like ten or fifteen minutes. Then they might have a chance.

“Two, maybe three, hours. Why?”

The panic turns to nausea. The contents of Matt’s stomach start to rise. A sharp pain jabs at his eyes from inside his head. His pulse begins to pound in his ears, and he loses his balance, stumbling forward, dropping to a knee.

As he stares at the ground inside the tent, Matt’s eyes drop shut. A white light flashes. He hears the ringing of a distant bell.

Through the white, he sees quad-rotor heli-transports shooting toward them like a swarm of black locusts. They land in an open area between trees, their side hatches bursting open, spilling out mercenaries in battle armor. Men and women rush into the trees to escape. Dust and smoke fill the air as the red lightning of pulse cannons rakes the camp. Magnificent trees explode and fall. Tents burst into flames. People scream and run into the sea.

Matt opens his eyes to see dirty white canvas a couple of meters away. He blinks and realizes he’s on his back, looking up at the roof of the tent. A circle of eyes stare at him, and Jessica’s in the center. Her soft hand slips into his and gives it a firm squeeze. Someone puts a wet cloth on his forehead.

“You blacked out,” she says. “Breathe.”

Matt fights to sit up. “Evacuate the camp. Everyone has to leave. Get away.”

“Why?” Eva pushes the others back and kneels in front of Matt, her hands on his shoulders. “Why evacuate the camp? That will take hours, if not days. We’ve been here for years. We don’t have anywhere to go.”

Matt pulls Jessica’s face closer. “There’s no time. I’ve seen it. He’s coming.” He fights back another rising wave of nausea.

“Who’s coming?” Eva says.

“Ryzaard,” Matt says. “Attack ships. Just like what happened to Little John.”

Eva staggers backward, her eyes sweeping the room. She speaks in a low voice, as if recalling a bad dream. “MX Global. They destroyed Little John’s freedom camp and tortured him. He warned us in his last message.” Her eyes meet Matt’s. “How long before they get here?”

Matt shakes his head. “I don’t know. Minutes. You have to evacuate the camp. He’ll kill everyone.”

“Where do we go?”

“Into the city,” Matt says. “Spread out. Blend in. Wait for us.”

The tallest man in the room stands up and walks forward. He has no hair and a dark beard and speaks with a deep voice, reminding Matt of a bald Abraham Lincoln. “Back to Vancouver? Blend in?” His eyes go to Eva. “It’s full of
Abomination
. I’d rather stay here and die.”

Murmurs of agreement among the crowd.

“No!” Eva says. “He is the
Leader
. Little John promised he would come, and he has. You saw the sign, just like me.” She picks up the statue of the monkey and waves it in front of everyone. “You all did.”

“But he’s trying to lead us back into Abomination.” The tall man moves among the people in the tent. “Is that what a leader would do?”

“There’s no time to argue!” Matt pulls himself into a standing position, leaning on Jessica. He rushes to Eva and brings his face close to hers. “Listen to me. Take all the people that will follow you. Make your way back to the city. Don’t take anything with you. Move under the trees, out of sight from above. Now that he knows where we are, Ryzaard will be tracking us with satellites. I’ll stay here and do my best to hold them off. Give you time to escape.”

“But Matt. They’re after your Stone. We have to leave, too.” Jessica says.

Matt shakes his head. “No, Jess. I brought the danger to these people. They’re innocent.” He bends to touch his forehead on her’s. “Go with them. I need you to stay safe and
alive
.”

“But what can you do?” Jessica grabs his arm.

“This will protect me.” He reaches under his shirt and touches his navel. The blue armor crawls over his body, becoming one with his skin.

Everyone in the tent moves back, leaving only Jessica and Eva at his side.

Eva turns to Jessica. “Come with me.”

“No,” Jessica says. “I’m not leaving you, Matt. We’ve already talked about this. There’s nothing left to discuss.”

“Then you’ll need this.” Eva runs to a corner of the tent and pulls up a blanket, uncovering the pulse rifle. She grabs it and tosses it across the room to Jessica, who snatches it out of the air with one hand. Then Eva goes to the tent entrance.

“Eva, wait.” Matt bends and picks his jax up off the ground where the bald man threw it only moments before. “Keep this so I can find you.” He turns and tosses it to her.

Eva catches it and holds it away from her body as if it carries some kind of contagion.

“Abomination,” the bald man says.

Eva sweeps the faces of the people in the tent. “The Leader has spoken. All who believe in him follow me. The rest of you prepare to die.” She disappears through the entrance.

Out of fifteen people in the tent, nine leave and follow Eva. The rest stay inside crowding the bald man with the beard.

“Come on Matt.” Jessica takes his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

On his way out, Matt grabs his backpack, swings it over a shoulder and rips the map of the camp off the side of the tent.

When they emerge into the open air, the faint
thump, thump, thump
of approaching attack-helis is already coming from the south.

D
oesn’t look much like a weapon. All the better.

Ryzaard palms it in his right hand. Shaped like a smooth sphere of carbonite and glass, it has no handle. A sunken handprint embedded in its surface serves that purpose. Where the ends of the fingers touch the sphere, slots appear for Stones, four of them already filled, tips pointing at the center.

The fifth slot will be filled shortly.

And the sixth open slot, directly underneath the palm, is reserved for Matt’s Stone.

Walking the narrow dusty road between apartment buildings in the Moharam Bek district of Alexandria, it’s just past 3:00 AM local time. Ryzaard checks the blue holo map rising above his jax. Two dots, a blue one marking his location and a red one marking the target, are in close proximity, separated by only two blocks.

In his tweed jacket and khaki pants, he looks like a ghost from the past, a professor of archeology from the latter end of the last century.

Even at this late hour, the streets are crowded with Egyptian men and women, dressed in western clothes or flowing
galabaya
robes. He moves among them like a man passing through a vast wax museum, brushing against their still bodies as he makes his way closer to Dr. Hasina Kamel’s apartment.