Stones: Experiment (Stones #3) (29 page)

Miyazawa bows his forehead to the table. “And I thank you for your support, financial and otherwise, without which we could not hope to accomplish such miracles.”

Ryzaard’s little finger lifts from the cup. “Tell me about your plans for the future.”

“The production of shrines and training of priests now composes a sizeable share of the Japanese economy, larger than the electronic munitions and crystal memory sectors combined.” Miyazawa takes another sip from the cup in front of him. “The rate of growth will accelerate as long as our great benefactor is so generous with its support.”

Nodding again, Ryzaard lets his gaze drift out the window to the cherry tree across the courtyard and its perfectly manicured sea of white pebbles. Exploding in full bloom, the pink blossoms of the tree jump out against the lush green foliage of the mountain behind it. Ryzaard notices for the first time how the jagged branches of the ancient tree conform to the exact shape of the wall hanging above Miyazawa’s head.

“The support of MX Global will do nothing but increase. We look forward to your push through Thailand and the rest of Southeast Asia.”

“Completing our assimilation of the Buddhist world?”

Ryzaard allows his lips to form a quick smile. “With the momentum you’ve built up, it should happen quickly.” He returns his eyes from the cherry blossoms to the young Shinto priest. “Stage One will be complete.”

“Stage One?” The cup drops from Miyazawa’s lips.

“The easiest part of your journey.” Ryzaard’s eyebrow lifts. “A more difficult road lies ahead.”

Miyazawa’s pulse rises. He quiets it by allowing his eyes to drop in a long blink as he takes in a slow breath. When the eyelids open, he nods silently, waiting for Ryzaard to continue.

“After Southeast Asia, you will shift your focus to the West, beginning with Franco-Germany, England, Russia and the rest of Europe.” Ryzaard waits for his words to sink in. “I’m sure you watch the news holos on the Mesh. The old borders are falling away. Europe is on the verge of fracturing into hundreds of independent states. People want to go back to the Middle Ages. Buried nukes are proliferating in national capitols and historic landmarks every day. Things may look calm on the surface, but the underlying dialogue between countries assumes war will come. Chaos looms. China stands to the east, ready to swallow the whole region.”

“Yes,” Miyazawa says. “And you suggest that we plunge Shinto into the mix?”

“Shinto is the only remedy. The only way to calm the chaos.”

Miyazawa exhales. “Europe has no interest in religion. It’s a spiritual desert. We need more than financial help to move through such a wilderness.”

Ryzaard strokes his bearded chin. “You will find no resistance from the governments. We can assure you of the same level of cooperation manifest by public bodies in China and India. But you are right about the people. You will need help persuading them to reconsider their prejudice against religion.” A slight grimace of pain flits across Ryzaard’s face.

Suppressing a smile, Miyazawa is surprised that Ryzaard has lasted so long sitting Japanese style with his legs folded under him. Miyazawa raises himself up and allows his knees to fall apart into the lotus position on the
zabuton
cushion. He motions for Ryzaard to do the same. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you.” Ryzaard follows Miyazawa’s lead and lets his legs spread out.

“A handful of shrines have been in place in major European cities for a number of years. The seeds have been planted.” Miyazawa sips from a cup.

“Seeds are good, but not enough. They grow too slowly. You’ll require a mass movement. A jolt to the system. A sudden
need
for what Shinto offers. People on the streets crying out for it.”

Miyazawa pretends to savor his tea. “It will not be easy to create such a jolt. European society has become ossified and withdrawn. Suspicious of the outside world.” His eyes look into the blue depths of his cup, waiting for the old man to speak.

Surely he has come here with a plan.

“With the resources at my disposal, it is not as difficult as you might think. We have multiple points of leverage, and we won’t hesitate to deploy them as necessary.”

Picking up his cup, Miyazawa cradles it with both hands. “What do you have in mind?” He brings the cup to his lips.

“Crisis.”

Miyazawa chokes and coughs. “What sort of crisis?”

“No need to trouble yourself with the messy details. In fact, the less you know, the better for you and all concerned.” Ryzaard takes a final drink of tea, draining the cup in a two loud gulps.

“How will I know?”

“You’ll see it when it happens.” Ryzaard stands up and dips his head into a shallow bow. “I must be going. Watch and be ready to move.” He turns to leave. “I’ll see myself out.”

Miyazawa’s eyes follow the old man as he walks across the tatami floor and into the hallway to the
genkan
near the front door where his shoes wait. Miyazawa listens for the sound of Ryzaard sliding the door open and walking out, closing it behind him.

But all he hears is silence.

Standing up, Miyazawa walks across the room and into the hallway. Making a quick search of his living quarters, Ryzaard is nowhere to be found. He walks to the
genkan
and stares.

At Ryzaard’s empty shoes.

M
uffled sounds penetrate through the liquid sea.

Matt’s eyes flip open.

Swimming in the direction of the voices, he presses his forehead against the opaque glass of the sphere, squinting to make out two fuzzy shapes moving in the distance beyond the glass. One is large and one is small.

As he strains to see, Matt can barely distinguish the outlines of arms, legs and a head on each one. His hands run over his body again, confirming what he already knows.

Just like me. I’m not alone.

The larger of the shapes stands with legs apart and elbows out, arms resting on the middle part of its body. The smaller one dances across the floor, a blur of energy and movement.

On his right, a large round object catches his attention out of the corner of his eye.

Matt does his best to remember. Whatever it is, it wasn’t there the last time he looked. But here it is, almost close enough to reach out and touch.

Noise from the direction of the two moving shapes catches his attention, and his eyes dart back to them. The sounds they make play back and forth, like a game. The smaller figure sends out a high-pitched melody, drawing him closer and triggering a wave of scattered images in his mind. A green field sloping to a long blue ribbon of water. Structures with rock walls. Shadows running. The sound of laughter.

After a pause, he hears another noise, less music-like and more monotone. Deeper than the others. The large shape moves.

And then it hits him.

They are communicating with each other through sound. One speaks and the other answers. And if they can communicate with each other, perhaps they can communicate with . . .

Him.

In a sudden panic, Matt places both palms against the glass and strains to listen, to comprehend meaning in the garbled noise. By some instinct, his mouth opens wide and he throws his head back, straining to make a sound within his own body. Then he remembers. Looking at one of his hands, its fingers curl into fists and beat against the glass. The other hand joins in, slow and steady, like distant drums.

The sound of voices from the shapes stops. Their round faces turn to look at him.

With renewed urgency, he beats his fists and palms against the side of the sphere, discarding the steady beat and striking as hard and as fast as he can.

The shapes move away.

Please come back,
Matt thinks.
Tell me who I am.

“W
ho’s in that one?” Yarah points at the glass tank on the right. “Why is he pounding so hard on the glass? Is he hurt?”

“No, my child,” Jhata says. “He’s being healed, just like Leo.” She motions to the tank on the left. “I bring sick people here from the many worlds I rule so I can help them. It’s what I love to do.”

Yarah gazes up at Jhata with beaming eyes and squeezes her hand. “I want to be a fairy godmother. Just like you.”

Looking away, Jhata stares at a star above her palm. “You will be just like me someday. I’ll make sure of it.”

Such exhausting work, lying to this child.

Jhata senses constant probing from Yarah’s mind, like millions of fingers moving over a rocky surface, searching for cracks, working them apart, pushing to go deeper. Even someone as experienced and powerful as Jhata can’t keep her defenses up much longer, and she can’t take the risk that Yarah will break through the façade and learn the truth.

Even now, Jhata senses Yarah reaching out to Matt in the tank, exploring his mind, absorbing his thoughts, seeking for answers.

She will find nothing but a blank slate, wiped clean.

The pounding of his fists against the sides of the tank grows louder, more desperate.

Yarah starts to move closer. “He’s so lonely. He wants to talk to us. Maybe I can help him.” She looks up at Jhata with a look of concern in her eyes. “I think I’ve been inside his head before. Somewhere. Sometime. Do you know who he is?”

“We don’t want to tire him. He needs rest. Rest for his mind and his body. I’ll help him go back to sleep.” Jhata raises her palm toward the glass sphere, increasing the chemicals that rob Matt of his memories and flooding his body with a thirst for sleep. But she has to be careful. Too much of this will render Matt useless.

She isn’t ready to destroy him yet. He may prove useful. The same as Leo. And Yarah.

The pounding of fists on the side of the tank dies down. Matt’s arms float to his side, and his head drops until his chin rests on his chest. His body rolls into a fetal position and floats up and away into the center of the sphere.

“There. Much better. How would you like to see the rest of the city?” Jhata turns away from the holding tanks, gently pulling Yarah with her. “It’s full of surprises. I made it just for you.”

Yarah’s eyes linger on the glass spheres, jumping from one to the other. “Are you sure Leo and the other man will be OK?”

“You know I wouldn’t hurt anyone. I only want what’s best for them. And you.” She walks away, her hand firmly clasping Yarah’s. “Come with me, child. There’s so much more to show you.”

“W
here are we going?” Jessica steps out onto a metal platform, her chest still heaving from the climb up the ladder and through the hatch.

Eva jogs through a round metal corridor. “No time to talk now. Just stay with me.” She disappears to the right past a corner.

Another blast rocks the ship, slamming Jessica into a wall and dropping her to the floor. She picks herself up and lurches to the corner, running one hand along the wall for support. Turning to the right, she sprints down another corridor that looks like a long gray tube with a round metal door at the end.

Eva is gone.

Grey smoke hangs in the air. As Jessica gets closer to the end, the smell of burnt rubber is overpowering. When she’s within reach of the door, the ship rocks violently again. Grabbing the large metal ring sticking out from the door, she holds on as the overhead lights go out, plunging her into darkness. A red strip lights up on floor beneath her feet.