Calling Tower (The Calling Tower Saga Book 1)

by Josh Leone

  “All right everyone. Feel free to stretch your legs,” Seth ordered. “But stay close to the ship. Once our passenger arrives we’re gone.”

  Iyanna decided to stay in the ship, saying she’d always felt more comfortable in artificial environments than she did in natural ones. Vig, as usual, elected to spend his time in the engine tunnels. That left Seth to explore outside.

  The landscape was beautiful with trees everywhere in neat lines that stretched for kilometers. The vast orchards were a strange combination of nature and artifice. The air was pure and fresh and Seth took a moment to just breathe it in and feel the heat from Legreth’s sun upon his face.

  As he stood enjoying the environment, he saw two maintenance bots exit a compartment in the Journey’s side. The bots looked like spiders with over-sized bodies. The spindly legs carried the bots to an area of the ship’s hull that had been damaged slightly, barely more than a few scratches in the paint. The maintenance bots made quick work of the repair before returning to their compartment.

  Seth mused as he picked a place in the grass to relax and wait. “If only every problem was as easy to fix.”

  ◊

  Jonah had chosen clothes he hoped would help him blend in with the crowds of travelers around him. It was hard for an Honored Returned to ‘blend in’ anywhere, despite the fact that Jonah was so newly returned it was unlikely anyone would recognize his face. Honored Returned were not meant to blend in. Jonah’s height and build would have stood out amongst statues of ancient gods, much more so surrounded by colonists and migrant workers.

  In his pocket Jonah carried a complete set of identification that was so perfectly forged no one would doubt its authenticity, even under close inspection. Combined with a practiced slouch, Jonah was hopeful the false ID would allow him to pass unnoticed through the various checkpoints he would encounter.

  Jonah occasionally wondered about Vashek’s reasoning in giving him this covert mission, but such thoughts were quickly washed away in the rush of pride the young man felt at being personally chosen by a Caller for the task. Still, the subterfuge made Jonah uncomfortable.

  “I know this is difficult for you to accept, my child,” Vasheck had said. “But at times we must all do burdensome things to serve the greater good.”

  “I understand, Caller, but it just seems dishonest to go behind the Council’s back like this.”

  “Yes, my child, I agree. But, do you believe we Callers speak for the Holy Mother Earth?”

  “Of course, Caller.”

  “Then you must believe that what I ask of you is only what She desires. Sometimes She requires a servant of particular devotion to perform Her most challenging tasks, a servant such as you, Jonah Haj.”

  “Caller, I exist only to serve the Holy Mother!”

  “Of course you do, my child. Of course you do.”

  Whenever Jonah doubted, all he had to do was recall that he had been chosen from among all of the Holy Mother’s many servants to do this thing, and all doubts vanished. Hadn’t he learned, after all, during his studies of many heroes who’d been required to make great sacrifices in service to a greater cause? Should he be immune to such requirements? Certainly not!

  Jonah had never been out of Primacy core space. The commercial liner he’d boarded for the first leg of his journey was clean and well maintained, though somewhat more crowded than he was used to. The passengers were almost all human, which was to be expected this close to Earth. Jonah had studied the physiologies of many alien species and was eager to see some of them in the flesh.

  As he progressed further from the core, the space-liners became less well maintained and the passengers more diverse in form. Jonah noticed also a difference in the attitudes of those around him. Whereas the travelers within the core all seemed to possess a mood that suggested they, like him, were enjoying their flight, that mood was steadily replaced with something else as he went.

  It took Jonah some time to identify the new thing he saw in his fellow travelers, but when he did it was obvious. Desperation. As each leg of Jonah’s journey took him further from the safety and stability of core space, his fellow travelers appeared more desperate, more as though they traveled not by choice, but rather out of some terrible necessity. A closer examination of their clothing and meager possessions provided Jonah with the answer to the question of the nature of that necessity. Poverty. Abject and utter poverty was the reason most of those around him traveled.

  Jonah’s family had not been wealthy, but neither had they been impoverished. His father’s business had supported the family well, and even when his father had died the sale of that business had provided for all of his mother’s needs. Jonah’s needs, once he’d proven himself worthy, were provided for by the Potential Programs.

  At one of his many layovers Jonah decided to take in the local color. ‘Local’ in this case was defined as a small port-of-call built into the natural stone of a large asteroid. The docks and maintenance facilities made up over ninety percent of the structure, but the remaining ten percent held an open design flea market, a cheap hotel, and a casino barely worthy of the name. Jonah would not be in port long enough to need the hotel, and gambling had never appealed to him. But the market interested him greatly.

  Jonah had read of such places, that they had existed for thousands of years, and that every culture, no matter how alien, had seemed to spawn them. Many of his favorite fictional stories took place in distant ,open markets, surrounded by exotic merchandise and even more exotic personalities.

  When he’d made his way through the crowds to the market, Jonah was disappointed. Certainly there was a diversity of merchandise, but most of it was what could best be described as, ‘junk.’ Every kind of cast off thing, from second-hand clothing to third-hand tech was on display. Far from being the beautiful collection of multi-colored tents Jonah had read about, this bazaar consisted mostly of dirty tables and blankets spread on the bare metal floor.

  Deflated, Jonah elected to forgo the merchants and instead found a small eatery that looked reasonably clean. While he sat at his table waiting for his order to arrive, Jonah’s attention was caught by a migrant family of Gorwals. The aliens looked sort of like Earth slugs, except for a frog-like head and six tentacles that could provide locomotion or be used as fine manipulators. Also, no Earth slug had ever grown to a length of three meters. The family consisted of two large specimens that Jonah assumed were adults, and two smaller specimens that were likely offspring of indeterminate age.

  Gorwal had been absorbed into the Primacy more than two centuries ago without so much as a shot fired. Gorwals had not traveled much further than their own solar system, having not yet developed FTL travel by the time the Primacy discovered their world and its rich seas.

  The Primacy had two major methods of handling newly discovered species, aggression and temptation. Gorwal was subdued using the latter. The process was simple. Provide the leaders of the species with wealth and privilege in exchange for their efforts to insure obedience among the general population. It usually worked, especially with species that had not yet made many inroads into space. When greed wasn’t enough, and aggression wasn’t called for, a demonstration of power would seal the deal. The world-ships alone had settled many ‘treaties’ just by coming close enough to a planet to be observed.

  The Gorwal family that Jonah watched was waiting in a long line in front of a door with a sign overhead that read, ‘Employment.’ Jonah supposed the agency had a real name, but the owners must have decided to keep it simple since most that saw the sign cared only about the promise of a paycheck. Agencies like this one provided cheap labor by the ship-full to anyone that could pay for it.

  The slug-like aliens fascinated Jonah. The smallest of the large pair moved away from the others toward a nearby station guard. The guard saw the Gorwal approach and practically snarled as she spoke.

  “Get back in line.”

  The Gorwal, Jonah thought it might be a male, touched a device around i
ts neck, a very old fashioned translator. What came out was garbled but comprehensible.

  “Please-Soldier-Find-Child-Help-You-To-Us?

  “I said get back in line. If you can’t keep track of your spawn, that’s not my problem.”

  “Please-Us-You-Help-Child-Lost-Danger?”

  The guard didn’t bother saying anything. Instead she brought her baton down on the frog-like head of the Gorwal. Not as hard as she could have; just enough to ring its bell. Jonah almost rose from his seat, but his mission called for stealth. But why would the guard resort to violence like that? The alien was only asking for help in finding its lost child.

  “Hit-No-Please-Child-Need-Help-Please-Please?” The Gorwal used two limbs to cover its wide head.

  “Get back in line, slug!”

  “Please-Child-Please-Find-Please-You-Please-Help-Please?”

  The guard began beating the Gorwal without mercy. The female Gorwal gathered her offspring close to her and began making noises of intense distress as she watched her mate being beaten. Jonah felt sick. He knew that humans were the true children of the Holy Mother. He knew that his duties would require him to use violence against non-humans. But that was supposed to be war. What he saw in the guard wasn’t battle, it wasn’t even hate. Jonah recognized that the guard was enjoying herself, enjoying beating on a weaker creature.

  Jonah knew that if he interfered his cover would be blown and his mission would fail. But he also knew that he could not let the beating continue. It just wasn’t right. The Holy Mother could not approve of such a thing. Surely Caller Vashek would understand.

  Just as Jonah began to rise from him seat, his just arrived order of food ignored, a smallish version of the Gorwal male arrived, carried in the arms of an anthropomorphic maintenance bot. The bot was old, it’s shell full of dents and scratches. It acted as though there were something wrong with it, as though some of its gyros were off.

  The bot stumbled as it carried the baby Gorwal to where the male cowered, still trying to protect itself from the guard’s baton. By chance the bot got between the guard and the male alien, taking several blows to its metal back in the process of handing the child to its parent. The Gorwal male took the baby and slid back to its family, one limb dragging as it went. The sounds of distress increased as the female began ministering to her mate’s injuries.

  The guard hit the bot a few more times for good measure, leaving a number of new dents and scratches on its body. The bot, for its part, apologized profusely. Apparently beating on a bot was not as satisfying as beating on alien flesh, so the guard kicked the bot to the ground and stopped.

  “Get back to work, you pile of junk!”

  “Yes, ma’am. Very sorry to have bothered you, ma’am.”

  Jonah watched the bot as it stumbled away. Just before the bot moved out of the market area, its metallic head turned to look back at the Gorwal family. The old bot’s face was basically just a flat piece of black plastic with optics mounted in it, entirely incapable of facial expression. But Jonah detected something he knew only his enhanced vision could detect, and only then because he happen to be watching carefully. The old bot’s optics zoomed in on the where the Gorwal family were gathered holding each other, grateful that their baby had been returned and that the male had been spared a harsher beating. Then the bot departed the area, leaving Jonah confused.

  ◊

  Franks handed Vashek the cryo-tube with all the eager pride of a dog delivering a thrown stick back to his master. “If you had a tail,” Vashek mused to himself. “It would be wagging.”

  Vashek smiled at the thought. Franks interpreted Vashek’s expression as approval, and indeed it was. Vashek appreciated Franks. He appreciated that the man was a well-crafted tool, one of his finest.

  “You have done very well, my son.”

  Son! Franks might have levitated out of sheer joy at being called so. Franks was not Vashek’s biological son of course. The heavily modified genome of a Caller had less in common with a base-line human than a human’s did with a chimpanzee. But still, to be called ‘son’ by one so glorious and perfect was something Franks might have wished for only in his most fantastical dreams!

  “I live to serve you, Caller.”

  Vashek popped the latch on the cryo-tube and withdrew the vial contained therein. The vial was opaque, but Vashek knew what lay within, the genetic material of an Honored Returned, perhaps the greatest of them all. The specimen itself was not valuable, except perhaps as a collector’s item. It wasn’t as though one could simply clone an Honored Returned after all.

  The genome of an Honored Returned was made to resist such a thing. Only with the proper chemical code keys could the DNA of an Honored Returned be manipulated. Without such keys the genome’s defense mechanisms would sabotage any unauthorized product made from it with massive mutation.

  Honored Returned could not even reproduce amongst themselves. The scientists responsible for creating the bodies of Honored Returned considered themselves artists. Each body was a piece of art, a painting, a fine carving. Each body was made with pride that equaled that of any parent. The creation of an Honored Returned’s new body was an act of religious devotion and those who worked on such bodies were themselves exalted by the faithful of the Primacy.

  But where they attempted perfection, Vashek would succeed. Where they built their biological and technological living temples to the Holy Mother, Vashek would exceed them in every way. He would create a living temple to his own glory, a servant worthy of serving the new living God.

  ◊

  Days had passed and Sha had not moved. He’d already shut down as many of his body’s systems as he could. Returned were able to enter a state of hibernation if need be to survive several months with only the most minimal external resources without significant loss of combat effectiveness. Sha’s grief had finally settled in and it was crushing.

  When the door to Sha’s room opened, he did not look up. Nurses checked on him regularly, but Sha could tell this was no nurse. The nurses tried to be quiet out of respect, but these steps were so even, so silent that it wasn’t natural. Sha turned his senses up and heard breathing and a heartbeat that never wavered, not by the smallest margin.

  When he turned to look at the source of the strange sounds, Sha briefly wondered if the Holy Mother had finally sent an angel to release him from his pain. Sha recognized Caller Vashek, of course. As one of the most decorated members of the most elite fighting force in the Primacy Sha had even spoken with the ethereal Caller during various formal functions, mostly award ceremonies.

  Vashek stood over Sha’s bed, laying a gentle hand upon the warrior’s shoulder.

  “I am sorry for your loss, Szoveda Sha.” Vashek’s voice was soft and sympathetic. “It is always painful when we are confronted with the truth of our unique existence.”

  “There is no truth in life, save that it ends.” Sha’s tone was bitter, and he did not hide it.

  “That is precisely the truth of which I speak.” Vashek pulled a straight-backed chair from its place in the corner of the room and placed it near Sha’s bed. “All life ends. Even those of us who have been blessed by the Holy Mother with the gift of Returning will someday meet our end.”

  Sha’s response was less bitter, but still filled with terrible grief.

  “But that is the problem, Caller. Our lives do not end. We are forced to continue while those around us die.”

  “It does not happen often, but death does, on occasion, come to even such as us. Our greatest enemy is ennui. A time comes when we feel we have experienced all there is of real value in physical life. When that happens, we may choose to join fully with the Holy Mother and forgo the Returning. It takes a rare strength to live lives as long as ours, despite the pain.”

  “Who have you lost?” Sha asked.

  “It was a very long time ago, centuries before you were born. She was a blazing intellect and she questioned everything.” Vashek leaned down and smiled conspiratorially. “Bet
ween you and me, many of her questions were quite blasphemous.”

  Sha was reminded of nights with Pietra, nights full of debate on all manner of subjects. They would argue point for point until the sun rose. They would always pause in their debate for breakfast. No debate was allowed during breakfast. But afterward, the debate would start anew. They were never spiteful or hurtful in what they said to each other. Pietra enjoyed challenging Sha, and he enjoyed challenging her. Those debates were just one of the many things he would miss.

  Vashek seemed to sense Sha’s musings and let the Returned have a moment for his thoughts before continuing. When he did, he had a wistful smile upon his face.

  “I loved her. My time with her was the only time I’d ever wished to be mortal.”

  The intimacy of what Vashek was sharing with him did not make Sha uncomfortable. Rather it matched Sha’s own troubled thoughts, somehow made them more bearable. There were few beings an Honored Returned could unselfconsciously speak to about such personal things.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Nothing. She was mortal. She grew old and, in her time, died. She grew older while I remained young. It was… painful.”

  “How did you deal with it?”

  “I had no choice. I suppose I could have escaped my pain by letting my life end. But I had a duty, the same duty you have, Szoveda. I served something greater than myself, greater than my pain. I let my faith see me through those dark times.”

  “My faith has failed me. The Holy Mother took my soul from me.”

  “Szoveda, the Holy Mother does not take, she only gives. You know this. Sometimes Her gifts may be difficult for us to receive.”

  “Help me understand, Caller. Help me understand how killing my wife is a gift.”

  “Would that I could, but such understanding must come from within you. It cannot be forced upon you. However, perhaps I can offer a somewhat better environment in which to explore your thoughts. I have a humble estate located on the floor of the Atlantic Ocean. It is just a few miles off the NorAm coast. I have found it to be an incredibly peaceful place, perfect for solitary contemplation of Her will.”