by Josh Leone
Being so far from anything of value to any of the empires of the universe, the Bazaar was frequented by all manner of rogue, human and alien alike. Freelancers and mercenaries were most common, with thieves and smugglers a close second. Spies and trackers were of course plentiful. But most of the station’s permanent residents were ordinary people who had, through some misfortune, found themselves on the Exclusion Lists of those no longer welcome in the Human Primacy.
It was the perfect place for someone like Iyanna Twill to conduct business. The Primacy employed thousands of freelancers. But if you took work from the Primacy, you were expected to follow the rules, or at least you damn well better hide it when you don’t. Officially, every contract had to be registered with law enforcement by way of the Civil Authority so that everything could be recorded and filed away somewhere.
Of course, there were a lot of people and organizations that didn’t want a data-trail leading back to them, which was why the unregistered contracts paid so much more and why Iyanna was willing to risk getting her name on the lists by taking them.
The Ex-Lists were the ultimate blacklisting in the Human Primacy. Once on the Ex-Lists, you were no longer a citizen of the Primacy. That meant no credit accounts, no ownership of property, and no protection under the law. Being on the lists also meant no travel permits and no coming anywhere near a major Primacy controlled system. An Excluded caught in the commission of even the smallest crime was subject to the harshest penalties of the Primacy, up to and including mandatory droning without trial.
Iyanna feared little, but droning was a true horror, enough to shake even her nerve. Being droned meant having one’s brain sliced apart and slaved to a simple computer. Enough consciousness was preserved to follow simple commands. Droned humans were used as cheap labor throughout the Primacy.
The man Iyanna was at Far Star to meet arrived on time, almost to the minute. No small feat considering the uncertain nature of travel this far out on the edge. She watched him approach. He looked like a bureaucrat. If Iyanna had a dictionary she could have found the entry for bureaucrat and pointed him out.
He moved through the crowded tavern, somehow managing never to touch another patron. He bypassed sloppy drunks, sex-workers, and half-mad void miners with equal ease. It wasn’t that he actively avoided them. His path was pretty much straight from the door to her table. It was more as though everyone just got slightly out of his path at the last second.
Iyanna studied the man more intently and saw that he had the look. What she called the, ‘I’ll kill you for breathing my air,’ look. It was one of many types looks one might develop living on the edge. Most rogue types developed some version of it eventually. It was a survival trait. The majority cultivated it, practiced it, wore it like a mask they took off when they were with friends or alone, mostly alone - but not this guy. On him it wasn’t a mask, she could tell that it was his natural state. This was someone who really might kill a person just for breathing.
Iyanna decided that if she was ever asked to describe the man, she would skip right past the Bs in that dictionary and go to the Ps instead, where she would point to the entry for ‘Psychopath’. Of course, all that really meant was that Iyanna would have this meeting with one hand near her pistol.
“Ms. Twill.” Not a question, simply a statement of fact.
“Yes.”
“Ms. Twill, I won’t keep you long.” He took a seat across from her, both of his hands kept above the table in plain sight. “You come highly recommended.”
“Pleased to hear it. One does try to leave a good impression.”
“Indeed.” The man’s expression never changed. “The job is a simple one and the pay is, as you see, considerable.”
“Go on.”
“I need you to shadow a ship and her crew.”
“That’s it?”
“Let me be clear, Ms. Twill. This ship carries very precious cargo. It is to be followed closely, protected if necessary.” The man locked eyes with Iyanna. His eyes were a startling shade of blue, like ice, the man’s only notable physical feature. Iyanna suspected that the ice went right down to his soul. It made her cold just to look at them.
“The ship is to be protected, check. Her crew, or just the cargo?”
“It is the cargo that is important. Everything else is expendable.”
“And what happens if the crew decides to deviate from their expected course?” She knew the answer, it was obvious. But she wanted to hear it said out loud. One did not leave such things vague.
“In such a case, Ms. Twill, intervention may be required. You may be asked to retrieve the cargo.”
The rest of the meeting went quickly. Payment was discussed, though briefly since what was offered was more than sufficient. Iyanna asked for a ten percent bump anyway, just for the sake of appearances. Half the payment was given up front, transferred through secure, untraceable accounts; the other half to be given on completion. Bonuses were negotiated - one in case of violent conflict, another in case the cargo had to be secured. By the time Iyanna watched the man leave, she’d negotiated quite a tidy payday for herself.
◊
The chamber in which Jonah Haj lay was, perhaps not accidentally, not much bigger than a coffin. Had he been just the least bit claustrophobic, the tight space would have bothered him greatly. Fortunately such phobias were among the first things trained out of a potential. In truth, it would not be accurate to say that Jonah lay, rather, that he floated. The chamber had its own gravity polarizer and it was set to zero. This, combined with the sense numbing fluid surrounding him, gave Jonah the impression of being detached from his body.
Jonah knew the bluish fluid was actually a medium for tens of millions of nanites, microscopic bots small enough to move in and out of his pores, through his circulatory system, into the smallest areas of his body. Nanites could deliver any number of chemicals with pinpoint accuracy, could repair individual cells, and perform other medical miracles. Today, they would kill him.
Jonah began to feel fatigue steal his strength. He knew this was the nanites delivering their payloads throughout his body. Other nanites would be infiltrating his brain and central nervous system, mapping it out in precise detail. The process of examination invariably destroyed the cell being analyzed. As the physical receptacle of his consciousness was destroyed cell by cell, memories, sensations, and emotions were triggered with incredible power.
Jonah’s life flooded through his thoughts in vivid detail. He experienced memories of his training in the PoPros, of friendships, of challenges he’d overcome. Back further to his early childhood in the family home. His had been a generational home, as was tradition among the middle classes. His family had been productive members of the Primacy almost from its inception. As a result, though they had never been wealthy, they had a small patch of land, just a few acres, on terra-formed Mars. Having stewardship of property so close to the Holy Mother Herself was a matter of profound pride.
Jonah’s memory took him back further than he would have thought possible; back to when memory consisted mostly of raw sensory input. He felt the warmth of his mother, the simple contentment of being fed. Back further, to a heartbeat in the darkness, surrounded by liquid warmth. In the fluid-filled chamber surrounded by the nanites, in his mother’s womb surrounded by the mechanisms of creation, Jonah died where he’d be reborn, his entire life condensed into a single, perfect moment.
A flash of light. An explosion of confused thoughts. Pain. Jonah opened eyes he did not have, listened with ears that did not exist, reached out with hands that were merely illusion. He ‘saw’ a swirling vortex, ‘heard’ its roar, and ‘felt’ it pulling at him. It was undeniable. Jonah was torn through the center of the vortex, his non-body stretched and warped. Jonah screamed without a sound. He twirled and twisted. Jonah had no control in the maelstrom. He was at the mercy of the storm.
‘No.’ Jonah heard the word and knew it was his own voice. It was calm, without fear. ‘I control my thoug
hts.’
The words brought comfort. Some part of him, the part that held on to his training, knew what to do. He trusted that part, letting it guide the rest of his being. His fear subsided and, with it, the storm that threatened to destroy him. He was floating in calm waters. He imagined the feel of gentle waves, of a refreshing breeze.
With his mind cleared, Jonah began to notice that he was not alone. There were others, dozens, hundreds, thousands and more. They floated in the water with him, under him, around him. He knew, somehow, that the water was infinitely deep and it was filled with drifting minds, each a collection of thoughts, memories, and emotions.
Jonah sunk deeper into the water. As he descended he passed through other minds. Some were recent and tightly condensed. Others had dispersed into clouds of pure information. Jonah knew where he was. He was inside the Calling Tower’s matrix, the unthinkably vast data core that allowed the blessing of true Returning.
Jonah floated through memories that were not his own, some from modern times, others from centuries past. They came from all walks of life, these memories. He was an expectant mother about to give birth. He was terrified and grateful and in so much pain. The baby screamed as it was born, and Jonah was the baby, resting in its mother’s arms.
Terror faded as he was pressed against her breast and the familiar heartbeat he’d known for nine months could be heard. Another sound - a soft masculine voice, filled with awe, speaking words the baby had yet to learn. Jonah was the baby’s father, tears in his eyes, his right hand stroking his wife’s sweat-damped hair, his left hand, finger extended, gripped by his new son.
Jonah looked up through his tears at the doctor, and Jonah was the doctor, looking back at the father with a smile on his face. He’d delivered many children and could tell when a child was going to be loved. They were a young couple but they’d gone through the proper training and had been given excellent scores on their psych tests. They’d make excellent parents. He turned to his nurse, and Jonah was the nurse.
He had to get home in time for his husband’s party. Jonah had planned the party weeks in advance, but if he didn’t pick up the cake before the bakery closed, it would be ruined. He opened a q-net channel and called the bakery. Jonah was a baker, telling his customer that the cake was ready and he would stay open late for him.
Jonah was a street musician the baker tipped on his way home.
Jonah was a police officer who’d considered shooing the ragged musician away from public streets, but instead decided to put some credits in the tip account. It was a fine day for music.
Jonah was the officer’s wife, glad her husband was home and grateful once more not to have received the call she’d dreaded since he’d graduated from the academy.
Jonah was the thief taking note of the officer’s home coming and deciding it was not worth it. There were other targets, easier than the home of a cop.
Jonah was the thief’s mother, worried that her son did not even greet her when he came home anymore.
Jonah was the mother’s friend. He listened and gave what support he could.
Jonah was, Jonah was, Jonah was… on and on, the chain of memory traveled through hundreds of minds. Some memories were happy, some sad, most had little emotional content, but all of them were important because all of them belonged to someone. These were the most sacred of treasures, every tear, every laugh, every burst of anger and twinge of pain. Jonah gathered them together and felt himself expanding, his consciousness growing exponentially as he collected the lives of thousands, millions of humans. He knew so much, he understood it all. He felt everything and cherished all of it. He was one with the Holy Mother.
‘But my work is not done. It is only beginning. I must make myself worthy of Her.’ Jonah shrank. There was simply no other way to describe it. He let the memories drift away from him, holding on only to his own, those he’d rightfully earned by living them. He knew that someday he would come back to Her, but not soon. He had lifetimes yet worth of work that must be done to make himself worthy. He’d been chosen as one of Her Honored Returned, and he would not fail. Once more, Jonah felt his consciousness slipping away.
It happened quickly, the actual Returning. There was no physical discomfort, only a sense of disorientation. He was no longer immersed in the bluish fluid. He was lying on soft, green grass. The air was more pure than any he’d ever breathed. There were sounds all around him - birds, squirrels, and more.
He sank his fingers into the ground and felt rich, moist soil. There were vibrations in the ground. Without knowing how, Jonah recognized that he was feeling the passage of burrowing creatures, worms and such. The air shifted as a bird ruffled its feathers. Hundreds of other sensations that his mind told him he shouldn’t be able to detect yet were plain to his senses. He might have lost himself in the smells alone.
Jonah centered his wandering thoughts using a basic mediation technique. His brain responded with an efficiency he’d never before known. As he focused his attention, a string of numbers began to scroll across the bottom of his visual field. At the top of his visual field was a simple blinking sentence.
*Primary neurotech boot sequence in progress. Please wait.
Jonah had expected this. His cerebral implants were syncing with each other and with his organic brain to form a single system that would be greater than the sum of its parts. The extreme input from his enhanced senses slowly lessened as his implant-aided brain calibrated. He was able to stand and found his balance only slightly off. This was corrected quickly and Jonah was able to look around with senses fully under his control. He was in the atrium with the Calling Tower.
Chapter Two
In Her children She places Her trust, that they may be stewards of Her creation.
-Book of Gifts (23-8)
Iyanna sat in the form-fitting command chair that filled most of the cockpit. From this seat she could control every system in her ship. The ship was registered under the name, Gathering Storm, and it was among her most treasured possessions. It was also registered under half a dozen other names, but Iyanna preferred Gathering Storm. She’d purchased the ship with the proceeds from her first few contracts, each of which had been high risk and high pay.
Iyanna had gotten into the business right after she’d graduated from the PoPros. She’d scored exceptionally high on her exams. It was determined that she would thrive in the Ministry of Records, perhaps even rise to the rank of Personal Assistant to a Caller. She’d been honored and tempted, but she’d also had an independent streak that screamed against such a constrained life. Always at the beck and all of another, never able to do what she wanted, achieve what she wanted, for herself alone. No thanks.
So she’d taken her life-grant, the credit account every graduate of the PoPros was given to start their lives with, and the personal credits she’d accumulated during her years in the programs through activities that, while not exactly forbidden, were certainly frowned upon, and left home to seek her own path.
She was a minor scandal in her family, an embarrassment to her parents, which had been the most difficult part of the situation for Iyanna. She loved her mother and father. They’d always been good to her, always tried, within the bounds of propriety, to encourage her in whatever she did. They’d forgiven her when she’d come close to being dropped from the PoPros, not due to intellectual failings on her part, but rather for repeated instances of challenging her instructors on many of the basic tenants of the Primacy.
Iyanna believed that economic pressure and social indoctrination were preferable to the use of force as methods of bringing non-humans and near-humans into the embrace of the Primacy. She viewed the Holy Crusades as wasteful and had argued the point many times. Such challenges from youth were not unexpected or really discouraged, but it was expected that a potential would grow out of such thinking and eventually embrace the will of the Holy Mother as expressed through her Callers. Iyanna never had.
But she was smart enough to know that if she didn’t at least
fake it she would be dismissed from the PoPros and downgraded to lesser training. She would wind up working a menial job assigned to her without concern for her psych profile or interests, probably on some distant border world where she’d be lucky to eat on a regular schedule, much less enjoy any of the luxuries life had to offer. Iyanna had a taste for luxury; more accurately, for quality. The Gathering Storm was proof of this.
The ship was small as FTL vessels went. It was shaped, more or less, like a wide arrow head connected to a slightly wider disc. At the back of the disc were the sub-light thrusters. In front of those was a series of complex access tunnels large enough for Iyanna to crawl through to get to any of the various panels behind which were the various components a pilot of Iyanna’s knowledge could repair without finding a proper facility. Moving forward, one would come to an open compartment measuring just over three meters wide by six long. This was Iyanna’s living quarters. The entire compartment was surrounded by storage lockers ranging from thirty centimeters to two meters deep, depending upon its purpose.
At the front of the living quarters was a vertical tube in which lay the form-fitting command chair. The chair faced the living quarters but would rotate as it rose into the cockpit that rested atop the ship, from which every one of the ship’s systems, from engines to weapons to scores of repair bots, could be controlled by a combination of physical interfaces and neurotech. At the very front of the ship was the phase engine, the device that allowed ships to travel faster than the speed of light.
