Stones: Experiment (Stones #3) (58 page)

The two soldiers sling their rifles on their backs and reach down, each grabbing one of Jessica’s arms. Before she can resist, they slap a wet material with the texture of rubber on her wrists and ankles. Within seconds, it hardens into a tough substance that adheres to skin and allows her to move slowly, but turns into concrete with any quick, jerky motions. With one arm, the bigger soldier pulls her up to her feet and pushes her under the open hatch.

The sound of a heli-transport floats above. Three black cords with hooking devices drop through the opening.

“You first, my lady.” The taller soldier pulls two cords. He passes one under Jessica’s arms and over her chest. The other clips into a receiver above his sternum. Turning to his companion, he slaps him on the back. “Get out before the charges blow.” He looks up and pulls Jessica close. “Here we go.”

The cords go taut and they rise into the air, the submarine falling away below. When all three of them are halfway to the heli-transport, Jessica looks down. The sea around the sub turns to foam as its metal skin implodes until nothing remains but a hard bundle of debris that sinks below the surface.

When they reach the bottom of the heli-transport, a round hole opens up and they pass into the dark interior. Rough hands take Jessica down from the cord. Something cold, metallic and round kisses her neck. After a hissing sound, all her muscles relax against her will. Her vision turns cloudy.

The last thing she remembers is being carried to a wall where her arms and legs are stretched apart and fit into soft silicone sleeves that hug her limbs and go hard, holding her in place.

Then everything goes dark and quiet.

A
lexa leans back in Ryzaard’s chair with her bare feet up on the cool glass of the window. The sun is setting. Looking east, a uniform crimson glow reflects off the west-facing office buildings.

At what point do you become a murderer?

She’s never killed anyone herself, never even tried. Knives and guns, heli-transports with laser cannons, none of that was of any interest. She’s just a cog in a machine moving along a pre-ordained path. It will do the same with or without her.

Is that sufficient grounds to claim innocence?

How many killings had she witnessed without protest? How many lives were snuffed out because of orders she conveyed to Ryzaard’s killing machines? How many times did she sit quietly while he planned the destruction of men, women and children in the freedom camps, never protesting or even pushing back? How many lives might have been saved had she refused to play a part?

Perhaps none.

A light flashes in the darkness behind her.

“Welcome back.” Alexa doesn’t turn to greet Ryzaard. “How was the Congo?”

Ryzaard’s familiar footsteps move across the floor. “I had to wait until he was alone. With so many people thronging him, it was difficult to find an opening.”

“Couldn’t you just stop time?”

“I could, but that would have given away my presence, at least to him. There would have been a fight.” As Ryzaard walks by, a hard object thuds to the wood desk and sticks like a magnet. “It’s much cleaner when you have the element of surprise.”

She swivels in the chair and sees the new Stone on the desk. “So, you got it.”

“Yes, I got it.” Ryzaard kicks off his shoes and drops on the meditation platform. “You should have seen the mess I made. The whole area strewn with dead and dying, and the boy at the center. Looks like it was hit by Chinese ion blasters. That’s the idea, anyway. No one will be surprised since it’s in the middle of the Congo. The Chinese war against the locals is still raging in the jungle.” The chain of Stones comes off and drops behind her onto the desk. “Have Jerek add this one to my collection. I’m sure he can figure out how this necklace works.”

“So that makes an even seven,” Alexa says. “A lot has happened since you were gone. Have you heard the latest?”

Ryzaard closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Enlighten me.”

“We finally found an opportunity to take the girl.”

“Alive?”

“Of course.” Alexa stands up from the chair. “Just as you ordered.”

“Good work,” Ryzaard says. “Everyone else was terminated?”

Alexa walks across the floor to the sofa. “Those were your orders, and that’s what they did. There was some collateral damage. A local farmer with ties to the freedom camp tried to interfere. His family and home were all destroyed.”

“Blame it on the Japanese SDF. War games gone awry, or something like that.”

“They’re on their way back now with the girl. Jessica. Should be here in a few hours.” Alexa sits and stretches out. “But that’s not the big news. Have you seen this? It’s all over the Mesh from earlier today.” Alexa points her jax at Ryzaard’s windows.

They go black. A blue strip along the top includes the words
Vancouver, British Columbia
.

Crowds of people throng a grassy park overgrown with weeds and trash. Orange tents and blue tarps dot the landscape. The grounds are littered with discarded motor-chairs, crutches and canes. Pink I-Vs dangle from above hospital beds, feeding into arms and legs of catatonic patients peeking out from under white sheets. Strong men and women, relatives of the sick, push the wheeled beds over the grass, all traveling in the same direction. Doctors, some in white coats and some in green hospital scrubs, wander among the masses.

In spite of the multitude of sick, the park has a carnival atmosphere. Joyful weeping and singing, people praying in large groups, Buddhist monks meditating in saffron robes. A catholic priest bears a crystal jar of holy water. Empty ambulances with open back doors line the street. Hovering above the crowd, heli-ships with well-known Mesh-point logos vie for the best angles.

“What the hell’s going on?” Ryzaard says. “Looks like some kind of open-air religious revival.”

Alexa nods. “In a way, I suppose it is. People finding new meaning in their lives. Burdens lifted. Transcendent truths revealed.” She watches carefully for Ryzaard’s reaction. “A new prophet has risen.”

The view switches to a video shot from the air looking straight down on the crowd. At the center is an open area of grass twenty feet across. Zooming in on the spot, police ring the small circle, elbow to elbow. In the middle, a man and a child sit on the grass with a person lying between them. As the camera zooms out, it is clear what is happening.

Thousands are standing in a fat line that winds out from the center in an ever-expanding spiral, like a coiled snake. Now and then, a person leaves from the center, passing straight out through the curving lines to the outside.

“What are they lined up for?” Ryzaard says.

“Watch. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

A reporter narrates in the background.

“Never in recent memory have such multitudes gathered to be healed of such a diverse variety of illnesses. It all started earlier today when two men, both residents of this homeless camp, were cured in a manner they claim to be miraculous.”

Ryzaard’s eyes and attention begin to wander. “Why are you showing me this? Let the blind lead the blind. I don’t have time for such rubbish.”

“Really?” Alexa says. “I think you should see this. It may surprise you.”

As the camera pans over the throngs below, the reporter’s voice continues.

“—word leaked out and spread across the Mesh, they began to flock here, sheep looking for a shepherd. Numbering now in excess of ten thousand, there is no sign of doubt that the young man and tiny girl performing the healings—”

Ryzaard’s eyes and attention slowly turn back to the screen. “You’ve got to be kidding—”

“And at the center of it all, these are the two miracle workers performing the miracles. They refuse to say their names or where they are from. And they ask for nothing in return.”

Ryzaard stands up so he can get a better view of the screen.

From a different angle, another camera zooms in on the upturned faces of Matt and Yarah, their hands resting on the shoulders of an old woman in a motor-chair. As the camera lingers, the two pull back.

The woman stands, embraces each of them, and walks away, never casting a backwards glance at the motor-chair. Police officers pick it up and threw it onto a large pile a few feet away.

Alexa arches her eyebrows at Ryzaard and smiles.

He stares at the screen, speechless.

The camera switches back to the outer fringes of the park. An attractive young woman stands to the side as the picture frames what appears to be the beginning of the long line of people seeking a cure. A white-coated woman stands next to her.

The reporter turns. “Dr. Shelia Hunter, thank you for taking the time to speak with us.”

“My pleasure.”

“I understand that you work at the University Hospital.”

The doctor nods. “Yes, one of my areas of research is paranormal healing. It’s not uncommon for individuals to claim powers far beyond what can be explained through science. When subjected to rigorous scientific analysis, all such claims prove to be false.”

“So you came here today to prove a fraud?”

“Or to confirm the truth.” The doctor turns to someone off camera and motions with her hands. Another young woman steps into the frame, arms folded in front, staring at the ground. “This is Martha, one of my patients. She was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis almost three years ago.”

The reporter leans closer to the doctor. “That’s Lou Gehrig’s disease, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Correct. Martha progressed to the point where she had late-stage symptoms. Muscle weakness and atrophy caused by degeneration of the upper and lower motor neurons. She was motor-chair-bound and needed end of life palliative care.” Her hands drop on the girl’s shoulder, nudging her forward. “Now look at her. She’s walking. I took her back to the lab. Diagnostic brains scans confirm full recovery.”

“Is it a miracle?”

“I have no other words to describe it.”

The reporter turns to face the screen. “Nobody knows where this movement will go from here. Multiple religious denominations here in Vancouver have claimed the young man performing the healings as the fulfillment of prophecy. There’s talk of asking him to run for Prime Minister of Canada or President of the United Nations. Will he eradicate illness and disease? Will he be the one to fulfill the hopes of mankind and bring about paradise? Nobody knows—”

Alexa swipes a finger along her jax. The screen fades to black and then is a window again.

Ryzaard sinks back into his chair. “He’s hiding in plain sight. Must think that I can’t do anything to him as long as he’s surrounded by thousands.”

“Not a bad idea, if you ask me.” Alexa sits on the sofa.

Ryzaard swings around and casts an accusing glance. “I didn’t ask you.”

A humming sound vibrates on the desk. Diego Lopez’s face appears above Ryzaard’s jax.

“Dr. Ryzaard? I’m glad you’re back. I would have contacted you earlier, but you gave strict orders that no one was to bother you. We have urgent matters to discuss.” Diego is out of breath. “You’ll recall we talked about that ghost signal in Vancouver. We’ve confirmed it’s real. Two Stones have been in active operation there all day. In fact—”

“I already know, Diego.” Ryzaard casts a sidelong glance at Alexa on the sofa. “I’ve just seen the latest news on the Mesh. And in light of these developments, we need to accelerate our plans. Have everyone meet me in the conference room immediately.” He jumps up from the chair.

“Plans?” Alexa senses the urgency in Ryzaard’s voice. “What sort of plans?”

Ryzaard turns on his way out. “The people of Vancouver will see hell before they see paradise.”

M
att is soaring over the City of Vancouver.

It’s a beautiful clear morning. The sun is rising above the mountains to the east, its warm orange glow casting long shadows that all point west to the ocean. People and cars throng the streets below, a glistening flow of lifeblood through broad concrete arteries and up into high-rise superstructures. Out in the bay, massive transport ships leave the port, making for China with cargos of crystallized carbon and silicon ore.