by Josh Leone
Sha knew that one of the dangers inherent in being a Returned was losing touch with reality. It was indeed easy to forget that the purpose of a Returned was to serve the Holy Mother and protect Her children. It was all too easy to see other humans as ‘lesser’ creatures. Pietra had helped Sha stay human. But she had been taken from him and Sha knew that Jarvik Renson had something to do with that.
Renson, prior to being promoted for no apparent reason, had been the man in charge of maintenance on the shuttle Pietra had died in, the shuttle that had malfunctioned in such a catastrophically unlikely fashion. No matter how incompetent Renson may have been, there was simply no way he could have screwed up the shuttle so badly by accident. Multiple computer generated warnings would have to have been ignored. Even a first year tech would have known enough to ground the ship.
The secretary, an actual human, told Sha that Renson would see him now. Sha felt in his pocket for the injector he’d brought. The information Sha required from the man must be confirmed and that kind of interrogation would take time and privacy, neither of which Sha would get while on 1212.
Renson wore a new uniform, one custom tailored to his medium build. The man was middle age but fit, with close cropped hair and eyes that looked slightly too large for his face. On his hip, Renson wore a sidearm that looked like something out of a frontier vid. Sha wondered how many credits the man had skimmed to spend on such ostentation.
“I’m very sorry to make you wait, Mr. Teller. Please come in.”
In addition to the forged transponder codes, Sha had also purchased an alternate identify. He was Walter Teller, a middle man for a mid-sized shipping company that had a reputation for occasionally transporting cargo in the grayer areas of the Primacy law.
Renson’s office was full of further proof of the man’s ego. The desk was unnecessarily large and made of some exotic wood Sha did not recognize. The walls were decorated with a disjointed collection of art obviously purchased more because they looked expensive than because the buyer had any actual knowledge of the subject.
“Please,” Renson said. “Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? I have it imported from Earth.”
“No, thank you.”
“I see. Straight to business then.” Renson sat behind his too large desk. His chair was raised a few inches higher than the one in which Sha sat, letting the smaller man be at eye level to the Returned.
“It is my understanding that you want to set up a storage cube in my station. A place to store a variety of high-grade cyber? I take it the contents of your cube would be of a sort that should not be subjected to especially close scrutiny during routine inspections? Is that correct, Mr. Teller?”
“No, it is not.”
“Oh,” Renson rechecked the documentation. “I seem to have the wrong data.”
“No, that is what I put in the application.”
“I’m afraid I’m a bit confused, Mr. Teller. What exactly is your business on 1212?”
“Firstly, Commander Renson, my name is not Teller. If you were not oblivious to everything but yourself, I’m sure you would have realized that. My name is Szoveda Sha. My wife’s name was Pietra Meot, Captain Pietra Meot.”
Renson had his sidearm out of its holster and pointed straight at Sha’s chest by the time Sha had finished speaking. The weapon shook slightly. Or rather it would be more accurate to say that the hand that held the weapon shook. Renson was afraid. His pulse was elevated, his breathing was irregular, and he had broken out in a cold sweat.
“I see you recognize me now, Commander.” Sha remained seated, unconcerned about the weapon pointed at his heart.
“Szoveda Sha, on my authority as Commander of this station, I am placing you under arrest.”
“Are you, now?”
“Yes, if you resist I will be forced to shoot you.”
“I really think you should shoot me. Otherwise, I’m going to get up from this chair, place my hands on either side of your head, and compress your skull until it pops.”
Renson didn’t hesitate. His sidearm discharged three times in rapid succession. The heavy caliber rounds impacted Sha’s chest and failed to do more than make the legs of his chair scrape back a few centimeters. Sha had his armor activated and the nano-swarm had absorbed the energy of the hits.
Renson, for his part, did the only sensible thing. He tried to run. The commander took most of a single step before Sha was standing behind him, having risen from his seat, moved around the desk, and placed his hands on either side of Renson’s head. All Renson himself knew was that Sha had vanished, reappeared behind him, and was now holding him off the ground by his head. Without warning Renson was dropped, felt a sting in his shoulder, and lost consciousness as the sedative took hold.
◊
The Pash warrior had led Jonah further into the temple on P30-6, informing him that the closest translation of the Pash name for the world was, ‘Garden of Green.’
“Clearly the name no longer applies, but this world was once lush and full of life.”
“What happened to it?” Jonah asked.
“Greed, pride, anger, and conflict, the same things that happen to so many worlds. Its children destroyed it.”
“Its children? The Pash?”
“No, this world was dead long before my people built our temple on it.”
“Then why build here at all?”
“Jonah, there was a time when the Pash were far more than vagabonds. We were not too dissimilar from the Primacy, in fact. We believed we were special, that we had to guide the rest of the universe along what we, in our conceit, knew to be the correct path.”
“You said the towers were tests.” Jonah sat with his back against the cool interior wall of the temple, trying not to look at the sculpture that occupied the center of the room, a representation of the…, no, not ‘the,’ there was more than one. What held pride of place in the temple’s main chamber was a representation of a calling tower.
“Yes, my brother. Tests of the dominant species of a planet.”
“I don’t understand. The towers grant the ability to Return, they act as centerpieces of religion, but how does that make them tests?”
“Consider, my brother. What is the fairest and most accurate way to test a species?”
“I don’t know.”
“The fairest and most accurate test is one that lets the species judge itself, reward itself, and if it fails, punish itself.” The Pash warrior sat beside Jonah.
“You see, my brother, what the towers offer is the chance to begin anew, to throw off prejudices and become one people. They call to the people, to the most advanced species of a world, and bring them together. The towers are lighthouses, guiding a species to its greatest potential.”
“But,” Jonah asked. “If the Pash passed the test, why have your people become fragmented? Why were they so easily defeated by the Primacy?”
“My people did not pass our test.”
“Tell me.” Jonah wanted to hear it all now.
“It is a long and painful story, my brother. But, in essence, we grew greedy. After our tower emerged on Pash-et, our native world, we did not unify as yours did. The Primacy may crave power and dominance, but the human species as whole sensed the need for unity. Thus the leaders of your people, those you name ‘Callers,’ put aside their differences and formed their Council.
“My people did not do this. Various factions among us fought for control of the tower, of its power and promise. My order, the Shesh-Ojim, you would translate that as Spirit Walkers, was formed to protect the tower and to act as impartial judges in the conflicts that surrounded it. But we were few and greed is a disease that spreads quickly, infecting even the most noble of souls.” The Pash’s voice was filled with sorrow at the memories of his people’s fate.
“My order was not immune. What began as an honorable thing rotted from within as the masters of the order began to sell their support to the highest bidders. With our leaders infected with greed, it was only
a matter of time before the entire order became corrupt.
“The tower was, more than anything, a symbol, and symbols are the most powerful things in all of creation. Rival forces battled over it, millions died. In the end one faction determined that if they could not control the tower, then no one should.”
“What happened?” asked Jonah.
“In the final battle Pash-et was destroyed, the tower along with it. We killed our world, our ‘Holy Mother.’ We failed the test. As result, my people were never again unified in common cause. As our civilization fractured in to ever smaller factions, we began to lose much of our history. We became the nomadic tribes you know us to be.”
“I’m sorry,” Jonah said. “About what happened to your people, your world.”
“We deserved our fate, my brother. I don’t tell you these things for my sake, but for yours. Humanity is not too far gone. It has not yet failed the test. Your people have unified but it is a unity born of prejudice and a lust for power. Humanity’s path must be corrected or else I fear your people will suffer a fate similar to that of my people.”
Jonah was overwhelmed. Thoughts of the Gorwals being abused by the guard flooded his mind. How rare could such occurrences be in a society that believed itself so much more worthy than all others that it razed entire planets just to eliminate the presence of non-human intelligences?
Jonah knew also that he was not immune to the sickness of the soul that had infected humanity. Had he not turned a blind eye to the obvious for all his years in the PoPros? Had he not worshipped in the temples where he was taught that humans were the only worthy species? When, Jonah wondered, had he stopped asking questions such as those he’d once asked of his father?
In his fight with the Pash Spirit Walker, hadn’t Jonah’s thoughts turned dark? Hadn’t he resented the alien for daring to lay its hands on him, for presuming to know better than him? Jonah knew that he was as responsible for what the Primacy had done as was everyone else who’d stood by and reaped the benefits of being a natural-born human. Shame crashed down upon Jonah, threatening to bury him under its weight. Then he felt the hand of the Spirit Walker come to rest gently upon his bowed head.
“It is easy to choose the wrong path, my brother. But it is easier still to let oneself believe there is nothing that may be done to correct such a choice.” The Spirit Walker gripped Jonah by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet.
“You have been shown another path, Jonah Haj. Now you must choose to walk it.”
“What can I do?” asked Jonah. “Caller Vashek is expecting me to deliver the Olim-Ojim to him. I don’t even know what it is, but I know he must not have it. Yet if I fail to bring it to him he will simply find another way to do whatever it is he intends to do.”
“That is exactly why you must complete you mission, my brother.” The Spirit Walker moved to the sculpture of the tower where he placed his palm against the surface. Without a sound a panel slid away revealing a compartment. From this hidden place the Pash removed a wrapped bundle approximately sixty centimeters in length and twenty-five in diameter. Jonah felt a twinge of familiar power as the bundle was removed from its hiding place.
“This, my brother, is the Olim-Ojim, the last remaining piece of my people’s heart.”
When the wrappings were pulled away, Jonah saw the amethyst glow. He felt the energy of the crystal shard call out to him. It was not exactly like the psychic pull of Earth’s tower, but it was similar enough that Jonah felt compelled to lay his hands upon the shard. The piece of the foreign calling tower was the last piece of proof confirming that humans were not alone in receiving such a gift.
“The Olim-Ojim no longer calls to my people. They are repulsed by it now, even as most Pash living today believe the tower nothing but a fable. There yet remains that within them that remembers what we did and cannot tolerate reminders. This is why this world has remained untouched by my people.”
Jonah could not easily imagine what it must be like for the Spirit Walker to have lived so long with such a burden. Jonah did not believe he would have had the strength.
“Jonah Haj, I have wronged you this day, though it was necessary.”
“You have not wronged me, Spirit Walker. You have opened my eyes to the truth.”
“Yes, but in doing so I have taken from you. I have taken your faith, I have taken your hope, and I have taken your purpose. But I would not leave you without such things. To do so would be the basest cruelty. Faith you must find on your own, as must we all. Hope too you must seek, but I would give you new purpose, if you would have it.
“There is a terrible and immanent threat to your people. There is one among your people, this ‘Vashek’ you have spoken of. I believe I know why he seeks the Olim-Ojim. If he succeeds in his efforts the damage to your people’s heart may be irreparable. In his pride he may murder your world as my people murdered ours.”
“Tell me,” Jonah said. “I will stop him if I can.”
“You will need help. I will do what I can. But know this, my brother. If what I suspect is true Vashek will not only risk murdering your world, but in doing so may also threaten all life, on all worlds. Vashek’s plan is born of madness, but it is also possible that if he is not stopped, he might succeed. I fear his madness will grow in step with his power.”
“What is it that Vashek seeks to do?”
“The Olim-Ojim is only a small piece of the Pash tower, yet as you have felt, there is power within it still. When my people first discovered that the tower could be used to grant eternally renewing life, we also discovered that it could do much more.
“The tower has the ability to contain and manipulate the energy of life, what you call ‘psi.’ You are a product of this ability in that your psi, once linked to that of the tower, can never be lost. But the enhancement of your physical form is the result of science and technology.
“My people discovered that the tower has the ability to convert matter into energy directly, manipulate it in accordance with will, and convert it back to matter. This is how Spirit Walkers were created.”
Jonah recalled seeing the Pash acolyte enter the tower, the priests chanting, and the Pash reemerging from the tower, remade into the powerful Spirit Walker before him now.
“Vashek,” the Spirit Walker continued. “He seeks to use this power to remake himself. He wishes to absorb the energy of Earth’s Calling Tower and emerge as a being of pure psi, unfettered by material form. If he succeeds, he will be unstoppable.”
“But how can I stand against him?” asked Jonah. “He is a Caller.”
“Vashek requires the Olim-Ojim for a reason. If I could be certain there was no other way for him to succeed, I would destroy the shard myself. But that would only force Vashek to find an alternative, one unknown to us. As long as his plans involve the Olim-Ojim we have a way to strike at him. You must complete your mission, my brother. You must bring the Olim-Ojim to Vashek.”
“But that’s insane!” Jonah almost yelled. “Once Vashek has the shard, how will we stop him?”
“Like you, we Spirit Walkers are linked to our tower. When we die, our essence flows back into it. Though aided by the prayers of the priests, it is the will of the acolyte that allows the remaking into Spirit Walker.”
“What are you saying?” though Jonah suspected he already knew.
“When I discard this body,” said the Spirit Walker. “I will be drawn into the Olim-Ojim. When Vashek is in transition, I will be able to intercede. There is a chance that I can stop him from emerging.”
“But what if you can’t?”
“Then I will hold him for as long as I can while you attempt to stop him from the outside. He will be vulnerable while in transition. If you strike then you may be able to destroy whatever mechanism he employs to aid the conversion process.”
“So,” Jonah said, his heart breaking. “You must die.”
“I am the last of my order, my brother. I have lived a very long time and I am tired. If I must die to serve
the cause of life, then I do so gladly. I do so knowing there are still those in this universe with the nobility of heart to continue my work. You have given me this, my brother.”
Jonah had no words. Though he’d only known the Pash for a matter of hours, a connection had formed. It was one that Jonah did not want severed.
“I would give you something dear to me, my brother. I would give you my name.”
Jonah knew enough about Pash culture to know that names were not given lightly. The Pash believed that each soul had a true name, and knowing that name gave power over that soul. It was a gift of profound trust.
“I am not worthy of such a gift.”
“Well,” The Spirit Walker said, a touch of mirth in its eyes. “Probably not. But it would appear you are the only sentient being around, so I will give it to you anyway.”
Despite his grief, Jonah smiled. “If you must.”
“My soul’s name is Hurketh Resha ker Renahsha grol Mershat.”
“Long name,” quipped Jonah.
“Indeed it is, with much history and honor attached to it. I understand that you humans prefer shorter names. In deference to your customs, you may continue to call me Spirit Walker.”
◊
Getting Renson off border station 1212 hadn’t been a problem. Not surprisingly the station personnel did not possess a great deal of loyalty toward their commander. What few that did attempt to stop him, Sha handled with a minimum of force. Most of them were probably decent people who’d wound up serving on the backside of the galaxy. No reason to hurt them any more than was required.
In any case, most had chosen to retreat when they saw him coming. His armor covered his entire body, including his head. Sha supposed that even trained Legion soldiers might balked at the approach of a faceless, silver wraith, even if they hadn’t known that what they were seeing was one of the most powerful living weapons in existence.
The Starlight made top speed to minimum safe distance, opened a gate, and was gone into phase space. Sha was glad he’d elected to keep the ship instead of buying a less conspicuous one. The Starlight was faster than any commercial vessel and most Legion ships. She was unarmed but had shields that were top of the line. The ship was away from 1212 before any kind of pursuit could be organized.
