Calling Tower (The Calling Tower Saga Book 1)

by Josh Leone

  “Without a doubt, there are. Thousands, I would think. But my orders were to make the offer to you. Unlike you, Captain Okan, I do not question my orders.”

  “Why not just offer the contract, then? Why yank my ship out of phase space? Seems like a lot of trouble to go to just to make contact.”

  “Just because I don’t question my orders,” Simms said, her voice taking on a venomous tone. “That doesn’t mean I have to like them.”

  Seth understood. Someone had ruffled the Admiral’s feathers by ordering her to do something menial, something she viewed as far beneath her station. She had decided to take out her anger on the Enduring Journey and her crew. Seth wanted to reach between the bars and grab the vicious, egotistical bitch by the throat. But the shield prevented it. Good thing given that Seth had no doubt such an action would be enough justification for the Admiral to report to her superiors that Seth and Vig had died trying to escape. That brought another thought to Seth’s mind.

  “How do you know that once we’re out of these cells and on our way, we won’t just take off for parts unknown? It’s not like we’re citizens.”

  “Excellent question. You will not be unsupervised. I take it you’ve met Ms. Twill?”

  Iyanna had been listening to the exchange and perked up at the mention of her name. She’d assumed her arrest had been a random occurrence. That she’d simply witnessed something she wasn’t supposed to and paid the price. Now she was beginning to see that there were movers behind the curtain. Someone, or a group of someones, with serious pull in the Primacy was arranging things very carefully in line with some plan that was beyond her sight.

  “Her!” Seth’s rage returned. “She’s the reason Vig is on life-support. You let me near her and I’ll kill her!”

  “Calm down, Captain Okan.” Simms turned to look at Iyanna’s cell. “I assure you, Ms. Twill is just as much a pawn in this as you and your crewmate are.”

  “As you are, right Admiral?” Seth couldn’t help himself. He had to take the officer down a peg.

  “Captain Okan, do not think you are irreplaceable.” Simms’ voice practically dripped with venom.

  “But I am, aren’t I?” Seth was on a roll now. He controlled his rage, one of the benefits of PoPro training.

  “The way I see it, you went to a lot of trouble to catch me. A ridiculous amount, come to think of it. The Judgment isn’t exactly a patrol ship. Takes a lot of effort, a lot of organization just to move it from point A to point B. A lot of really unnecessary effort, if you think about it.”

  “Okan, you overestimate your value.”

  “Do I? I don’t think so. Tell me, Admiral, how many credits does it take just to perform basic daily maintenance on your ship? More than enough to set a freelancer like me up for a few lifetimes. I would have jumped at the job for a hundredth of what it cost you just to fire that weapon you used to pull my ship out of phase space. I would have said ‘thank you, ma’am! Please bear my children, ma’am!

  “But no, you had to do it this way because your orders were specific. I don’t know who’s pulling your strings, Admiral, but they want me alive, they want me on this job, and they wouldn’t be too pleased with you if you screwed with their plan by sending me out an airlock without a suit.”

  “You’re smarter than your file indicates, Captain Okan.” The Admiral was visibly restraining her own emotions. “You are correct. You are required. For whatever reason, you are part of my superior’s plans. However,” Simms smiled that smile that Seth did not like. “Mr. Vig is not.” Seth’s own smile faded quickly. She had him, and she knew it.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent, Captain Okan, and be assured, Mr. Vig will receive the best care and be good as new by the time you depart. I expect you will restrain yourself around Ms. Twill?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad we understand each other. You and Ms. Twill will remain in your cells while your ship and your crewmate are repaired. If you require anything, within reason, the guard will provide it.”

  Simms moved to Iyanna’s cell.

  “I assume you heard?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are aware that this is the only way you will ever leave this cell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ms. Twill, you are, despite your vocation, a citizen of the Primacy in good standing. If you wish to remain so you will not fail to keep the crew of the Enduring Journey on task. In addition, if you complete this assignment to my satisfaction, it is within my authority to offer you substantial remuneration. More than enough I’d think, to purchase and refit a new ship to meet your exacting standards.”

  “You can rely on me, ma’am.”

  “I expect so.”

  As the Admiral departed, Iyanna was left alone to contemplate her shame. She wanted to spit in Simms’ face, to defy her. She wanted to insist that she would not be anyone’s pawn, that no one controlled her. But when she opened her mouth, other words came out. She wanted to remain a citizen. She wanted the new ship. The simple truth was that she was afraid. She’d never had to make a real sacrifice before.

  Iyanna had always been lucky, first to have loving parents, then to be naturally gifted in the PoPros, and finally to be able to follow her own path as a freelancer. Now her luck had run out and she’d been rendered helpless, not by the Admiral, but by an enemy much more potent. Iyanna had been rendered helpless by fear.

  In that moment she realized she’d never been freelance, not really. She’d never really existed without a safety net beneath her. Her parents, her friends, the Far Star A.I., her citizenship, somehow there had always been something to fall back on. But not this time, and without that safety net her bravado had failed. In the face of real loss, she’d shown her true colors. She was a coward, and she hated herself for it.

  Chapter Four

  One may watch the water flow; hear the water lap against the shore. One may smell the water, taste it, and dip one’s toe into it. But one may only know the water when fully immersed.

  -Book of Gifts (31-1)

  In the days following his first Returning, Jonah Haj had immersed himself in training. Two methods were used to accelerate acclimation to his new body. First, there was Virtual Reality Simulation. In VRS Jonah’s enhanced brain was able to experience accelerated time. The ratio of real time versus VRS time was set at a comfortable (for a Returned) one-to-seven. For every seven seconds of VRS time, only one second of real time would actually pass. This allowed greatly accelerated learning.

  The PoPros, especially the advance programs, used VRS at a ratio of one-to-two, doubling effective learning time. A base-line brain could rarely handle a ratio of more than one-to-four, and then only with some danger of seizure or other disorder developing. There were stories of monkish sects that had dedicated themselves to VRS learning and achieved ratios of one-to-ten without neural enhancement, but that was dismissed as fantasy.

  While VRS was excellent for many things, nothing could yet take the place of actual combat for developing muscle memory and instinct. Jonah spent hours in sparring matches. Most were against robotic opponents designed to mimic many of the most common enemies Jonah was likely to face. Vodule were most common but there was a wide selection that included everything from rebel humans to the monstrously powerful EoDak. The simulated EoDak were Jonah’s favorite because they presented the greatest challenge.

  On one occasion Jonah had been struck so hard by an EoDak’s club-like tail, he’d almost lost consciousness. Fortunately, his neurotech allowed him to quickly recover his senses and go on to defeat the five meter long creature. The EoDak were an awesome combination of speed, power, and intelligence. Thick scales armored them against damage while four long, multi-jointed legs provided an ability to change direction in a heartbeat. Two arms that looked too long to be anything but clumsy proved to be anything but. Organic sensors spread across the EoDak’s torso provided three hundred sixty degrees of thermal and sonar-based input, making the creatures impos
sible to take by surprise. Add to all that a technology on par with that of the Primacy and a mind that could multi-task as well as, if not better, than that of a trained Returned and you had an enemy that made for an excellent sparring partner.

  Why the EoDak had surrendered to Primacy rule without a single battle fought was a matter of great debate. The EoDak themselves stated that the potential loss of life was too great. When it was suggested that the EoDak Collective might have been able to actually defeat the Primacy and certainly could have inflicted massive casualties on the human-dominant empire, the EoDak ambassador had agreed.

  “Humans live.” With that cryptic comment, the EoDak Collective had submitted to Primacy rule. The EoDak’s words had been translated from its own thermal variation language into Earth-Standard and it was often suggested that a mistranslation had resulted.

  Jonah had successfully summoned his linkblade. It had taken some practice but in the end Jonah had created a fine weapon; a broadsword-type blade that, had it been made of actual metal, might have been clumsy and slow, but as a manifestation of Jonah’s psi it was functionally weightless.

  His nano-swarm armor formed easily and flowed around his joints like water to allow complete freedom of movement. Each of the microscopic machines comprising the nano-armor was able to project a very weak shield around itself. In concert with millions of its fellows, those shields were more than capable of shedding incoming energy. They were not invulnerable, but implanted factories in Jonah’s body were able to produce thousands of replacements every second that would exit Jonah’s pores and reinforce any area of weakness. There were limits, of course and when they were reached it would be time to initiate the Sending. His body would explode with enough force to devastate surrounding enemies and his consciousness would return to the Calling Tower. He would be DLed into a new and better body to fight another day.

  It was a strange experience the first time Jonah summoned his armor. It covered him entirely, without even an eye slit. The nanites were able to transmit visual and other data directly to Jonah’s brain and filter air directly to his lungs. While nanites were common in the Primacy, the technology of the Honored Returned was far more advanced than that to which the public had access. Its secrets were tightly guarded.

  Jonah had so absorbed himself in his training that he almost failed to notice when a non-descript man entered the training area. The man’s uniform was Ministry standard issue, the only indication of rank being a single amethyst pip on his collar. But that one adornment spoke volumes. It indicated the man was Personal Assistant to a Caller.

  “Pardon the interruption, Honored Returned.” The P.A.’s voice was calm, perfectly controlled.

  “Not at all, Mr…?”

  “Franks, Honored One. I am Personal Assistant to Caller Vashek.” There was a bland quality to the voice that perfectly matched the man’s appearance which was, for lack of a better word, forgettable - all except his eyes. There was something about Franks’ eyes that made Jonah uncomfortable, like ants crawling across his skin.

  “If you will please follow me, Caller Vashek would have a word with you.”

  “I would be most honored to meet with Caller Vashek.” Jonah, like every human citizen of the Primacy, knew who Vashek was. It was standard course of study in the earliest PoPros to learn the names of every Caller, current and past. Vashek was well known even among such lofty personages.

  “This way.” Franks turned and walked calmly through the training room door, never looking back, obviously fully expecting Jonah to follow. Jonah could not decide exactly what it was but there was something about Franks that made Jonah think of a predatory animal on a leash, one breath from biting and tearing the nearest flesh.

  Jonah followed. One simply did not, under any circumstances, ignore a request from a Caller. As the Callers spoke for the Holy Mother Earth, to ignore such a request was to ignore the wishes of the Earth Herself.

  Franks led Jonah to a null-G car that lifted silently and flew at a leisurely pace, guided by its nav-comp. Franks, sitting across from Jonah in the luxury vehicle never said a word. For his part, Jonah was pleased not to interact with the strange man any more than he had to.

  When the car landed, Jonah recognized the destination. The estate made regular appearances in magazines throughout the Primacy. It was the primary home of Caller Vashek. Being invited to the private estate of a Caller was a great honor, one Jonah had not expected so early in his career. He’d not yet fought a single battle on behalf of the Holy Mother.

  Franks dismissed the car as soon as he and Jonah exited. The walkway leading from where the car dropped them off to the ornate main doors of the large house was immaculately groomed, without a stray weed or overgrown shrub. It was beautiful but did not really suit Jonah’s tastes. It seemed just too perfect. It was, dare he say it, unnatural.

  Franks led him through large double doors carved in stunning detail, down an entry hall, and then to a modestly-sized sitting room. Had Jonah not been distracted by something else, he might have noticed that every surface of every piece of wood in the room was as finely carved as the entry doors. But Jonah’s attention was fully consumed by the room’s occupant.

  Caller Vashek was dressed in a casual robe, the common garb of a Caller outside of the official events. Jonah was immediately struck by the Caller’s air of authority. The Caller’s face was without flaw, like a marble bust brought forth from the stone by the greatest artist who’d ever lifted a hammer and chisel.

  A halo of fine, blonde hair framed that perfect face, lending it a humanity that might otherwise be lacking in such perfection. Jonah did the first thing that came to mind. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. The Caller covered the distance between them and placed his hand upon Jonah’s bowed head.

  “Please, Honored Returned, stand.” Jonah did as he was bid, feeling awkward for standing so much taller than the Caller himself.

  “May I call you, Jonah?”

  “Yes, please do, most Holy Caller. I am your servant!”

  Vashek smiled a smile that warmed Jonah’s enhanced heart. There was such benevolence in the Caller’s eyes, in his posture, in his perfect smile. Jonah had not felt such fatherly love since leaving his home to enter PoPros.

  “Caller, I am unworthy of the honor you give me.”

  “Only for now, Honored Returned. But I have great faith in you.”

  “Thank you, Caller. I am without words.”

  Vashek smiled his best father-figure smile. Vashek’s analysis of Jonah had revealed a strong desire to please figures of authority and a nascent guilt over having left his father’s shop to pursue the PoPros. That guilt had been reinforced when the father actively encouraged Jonah to follow his dreams. Years later, Jonah’s father had died in an accident on his way to his shop and the boy had developed a strong meta-emotional need for a replacement father-figure. It was this need that would make Jonah the perfect tool.

  “My child, we are both merely servants of the Holy Mother. Had you not impressed me already, I would not have sponsored your ascension to Honored Returned.”

  Jonah was overwhelmed. Anyone with sufficient aptitude and psychological stability could become a potential in the Honored Returned candidate program. But to actually achieve such a position required sponsorship by a sitting Caller. The name of the Caller who’d sponsored the accession of a specific Returned was kept secret to avoid any appearance of favoritism.

  “Your thoughts are plain, though you have not spoken them aloud.” Vashek gestured for Jonah to take a seat. Vashek knew that direct eye contact would be intimidating and occupy too much of Jonah’s attention. Vashek had thus pre-positioned his chair across from, but slightly off center to, the one to which he’d directed Jonah.

  “You wish to know why I reveal such a thing to you?”

  “Well, yes, Caller. It is my understanding that such information is not usually shared.”

  “While it is tradition to keep such things secret, it is not actually a wri
tten rule. I see in you the potential for greatness, my child, and true greatness should not be bound by mere tradition.”

  How could Jonah argue with one who spoke with the voice of the Holy Mother Herself? It was strange though, hearing a Caller speak of tradition in this way.

  “Caller Vashek, we are taught in the PoPros that the Primacy thrives on tradition, that tradition is the glue that holds the human race together.”

  “Indeed, it is so.” If Vashek had taken offense at Jonah’s counterpoint, the Caller showed no sign.

  “But such things are for Her lesser children, those who require simple rules to guide their simple lives. For those of us who have been called to Her service, it is sometimes necessary to go beyond such limiting principles to accomplish our mission. Would you not be willing, my child, to take the difficult road if it were the best way to serve Her divine will?”

  Jonah responded in earnest. “Of course, Caller. I would do so gladly!”

  Vashek smiled his practiced smile, knowing he’d chosen well when he’d sponsored Jonah’s Returning. The naïve boy would make a fine cat’s-paw.

  “Then you are indeed the one I need, my child. You are the one who can accomplish a vital task in service of the Holy Mother Earth.”

  “Only tell me what I must do, Caller.”

  ◊

  Sha was awake. They’d been gentle with him as they led him to a recovery room. Sha walked under his own power, caring not at all where he was being taken. Once his initial rage had left him he felt nothing. He kept expecting to feel grief or perhaps more anger, but instead he just felt profoundly empty.

  The recovery room was located in a hospital that catered to the wealthiest citizens of the Primacy. It was private and protected against any form of intrusion. Reporters and curiosity seekers were kept far from the hospital by a small army of highly trained guards, most of which were former Legionnaires. As such, they paid special attention to maintaining Sha’s privacy. More than one paparazzo had found himself forcibly removed from the grounds with bruises or worse to show for their efforts.