by Josh Leone
Once Sha was alone with his prisoner safely tucked away in phase space, he ran a scan of Renson’s body to insure the commander had not been implanted, willingly or otherwise, with devices to resist interrogation. Sha doubted a conniver like Renson would voluntarily sacrifice himself for his co-conspirators but Sha elected to be cautious. Once Sha was certain it was safe, he injected Renson with the antidote to the sedative.
It took less than a minute for Renson to regain consciousness. Sha had secured Renson to a chair using duct tape and pulled another chair into position in front of the man. Sha was schooled in methods of interrogation and knew that with people like Renson psychological manipulation was often much more effective than physical pressure.
Renson opened his eyes, saw Sha, and tried to break free of his bonds. When that effort failed the man attempted to act unafraid, though his physiological signs showed otherwise. Sha simply stared at him.
“You are in serious trouble!” Renson cried. “You can’t do this!”
Sha said nothing, never altering his expression or posture. He just stared.
“If you take me back right now, I won’t press charges. I promise.”
Sha stared.
“I didn’t do anything, I swear!”
Sha continued to do nothing, letting Renson’s fear do the work.
“Please!” Renson shouted, losing all pretense of bravado. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt!”
Still, Sha remained passive. Renson’s imagination was filling with scenarios that might yet occur, tortures and punishments that Sha might inflict upon him.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know anything! I was only following orders!”
“Whose orders?” Sha asked, his voice utterly without emotion.
“I can’t!” Renson screamed. “It’ll be the death of me. They can reach me anywhere!”
“If you don’t give me the name, I will kill you here and now.”
Renson did not speak for several seconds, weighing his limited options. Sha could almost see the gears turning in the commander’s head. People like Jarvick Renson were, above all else, survivors. The man was even now calculating his odds. The conclusion was obvious. Die now, without any chance of avoiding his fate, or live another day and hope he could find some distant corner of the universe beyond the reach of whomever had told him to kill Pietra Meot. The odds of survival after revealing the name Sha wanted were slim, but better than zero.
“Fine,” Renson said in a voice full of resignation. “I’ll tell you. But you have to promise to let me go afterward.”
“I promise.”
“It was a Caller.” Sha was dumbfounded. He’d known it had to have been someone with authority, but a Caller? It was unthinkable. For the first time, Sha let his voice be tinged with emotion.
“Which one? Which Caller?”
“I had no choice, you understand that? The order came directly from a Caller, how could I decline?”
“Yes, yes, I understand. Now tell me which Caller it was!”
“It was all done by way of secure couriers. I never actually met the Caller face to face. The data could only be read on a dedicated flimsey. After the orders were given, it was destroyed by a remotely triggered nano-swarm. The sheet practically melted right in my hands.”
“Tell me the name, damn it! NOW!”
Renson flinched at Sha’s raised voice. “It was Caller…” He didn’t want to say it. Doing so would mean a life on the run, the loss of every comfort, constant fear. Sha made a quick move toward Renson, hoping to prompt the man to speak the name. It worked.
“Teresk, it was Caller Teresk! She’s the one you want, not me!”
Sha knew the name. The Callers were even more famous than the Honored Returned. Every citizen of the Primacy was taught the name and history of every Caller, past and present. It was part of the core curriculum, along with essential maths and language, history of the Primacy, basic technical knowledge, and critical thinking skills.
“Renson, before I let you go, you are going to tell me everything, no matter how seemingly insignificant, about your interaction with Caller Teresk. If you leave nothing out, not even the smallest detail, I will let you go.”
While Renson spoke, Sha’s computer implant remained focused on what Renson was saying, recording and analyzing every word, correlating them with various physiological signals that would reveal any lies, and storing it all for later consideration. The organic element of Sha’s brain, meanwhile, drifted along another path.
Sha was under no illusion that he could bring a Caller to justice. Callers were beyond prosecution by any lesser authority than themselves. That meant that the Council itself would have to judge and punish one of its own, something that had not happened for centuries. The Council had to maintain an unassailable image, one of total unity of purpose and action.
It was highly unlikely that the Council would risk revealing one of their own to be a murderer, especially when the victim’s death had already been quietly ruled an accident. The Council would choose instead to let sleeping dogs lie. In any case Sha only had Renson’s word for it, and though Sha believed the man to be telling the truth it was hardly enough proof to accuse a Caller.
But if Caller Teresk was a murderer, then someone would have to do something about it. Such a being could not be allowed to remain in a position of authority and power. Teresk was a cancer, one that would spread if not cut out quickly. Sha would be the surgeon and the scalpel. He would kill Teresk, for what she’d done to Pietra, yes, but Sha was still an Honored Returned. He would kill the Caller also to protect the Primacy and purify the Council.
“That’s all I remember, I swear.”
Sha reintegrated the parts of his mind just as Renson was finishing his statement. His tech confirmed that everything the commander had said was true to the best of its ability to determine. There were several flagged items that the computer had deemed of particular importance for Sha to review.
“You’ll let me go now?” Renson’s voice was hopeful.
“As promised.”
◊
The full Council convened, as it always did, in the Grand Hall which was located in the same building as the Calling Tower. One entire wall of the Grand Hall, from floor to ceiling, was transparent, offering an unobstructed view of the tower itself.
The Grand Hall was designed with simplicity in mind. The Arbiter’s seat was located in front of the transparent wall so that the tower could be seen behind. A small, open area separated the Arbiter’s dais from a half circle of elevated seating for the rest of the council.
The council was run according to simple rules. The Arbiter was selected randomly minutes before the start of the meeting. This insured that no Caller could easily manipulate the assemblies to further their own agenda. The Arbiter for this assembly was Caller Koniran. Like many Callers, Koniran was androgynous, lacking obvious indications of gender. Koniran preferred, when it was required, the gender identifier ‘she.’
“Caller Vashek,” Koniran said. “Must the council spend yet more time discussing this subject? Surely it has had its due consideration.”
“Arbiter Koniran, I believe the subject not only warrants further discussion, but that it is of the utmost importance that the council reverses its previous stance and acknowledge what must be done.”
“If that is your wish, Caller Vashek, then it is your right to open the topic. The Council will hear you.”
“Thank you, Arbiter.” Vashek rose from his seat, moved to the open area before the Arbiter, and addressed the assembly.
“My fellow Callers, we are the servants of the Holy Mother. We have been for eighteen centuries. In that time, we Callers have evolved our bodies and our minds using all methods available to us.”
“Caller Vashek, this assembly hardly needs a history lesson.”
“Indeed not, Caller Paulus.” Vashek felt anger over being interrupted, but showed no outer sign of it. “In fact, it is the future I wish to discuss.”
“As much as we have advanced our physical selves, that advancement, as all technology eventually does, is nearing its functional limit. In other words, my fellow Callers, we have gone as far as we can on our current path. We must now be bold enough to find a different path, one that transcends physical existence.”
“Caller Vashek,” said a voice from the assembled Callers. “You have proposed this idea with regularity for decades. Each time phrasing it differently yet still saying the same thing. And every time the conclusion has been the same. This assembly cannot allow you to risk damaging the Calling Tower in an attempt to fulfill your fantasies of transcendence.”
Vashek faced the speaker, barely able to contain his anger. The speaker was young for a Caller, only just over half a century old. She, and the Caller was most definitely a she, had been an opposing voice for her entire short tenure as a Caller. Strictly speaking, all Callers were equal to all others regardless of however long they had served.
There were, however, unofficial rules of etiquette that said the younger Callers should show respect to their elders and that it was improper for Callers barely into their first century of service to stand so vigorously against one such as Vashek who’d been a Caller for over seven hundred years. Yet still this voice had been raised against him with only barely concealed contempt in assembly after assembly, always standing in the way of Vashek’s great work.
Vashek comforted himself with the knowledge that Caller Teresk would soon be removed as an obstacle. Even now Szoveda Sha was learning the ‘truth’ of who was behind the death of his wife from that toad of a Legionnaire, Jarvik Renson. Franks had done well, making it appear as though Teresk was the authority behind the man’s sabotage. Vashek made a mental note to praise Franks for his skill.
“Caller Teresk is correct,” Koniran said. “Though, as is often the case, the Caller is advised to show more respect when speaking.”
Teresk took the rebuke in stride, not quite concealing a victorious smile at having once more successfully opposed Vashek. Vashek knew the other Callers, even Paulus, were so set in their ways, so stuck in forms and tradition, that they could, in time and with proper pressure, eventually be manipulated to see things Vashek’s way. But Teresk had a rebellious streak, a hallmark of youth that would make her oppose Vashek in spite of logic. Teresk would only bristle at manipulation, likely choosing to do exactly the opposite of what was demanded of her simply because it was contrary.
Vashek felt his eyelid twitch. Practically a fit of rage compared to his usual perfect control. As his day of ascension grew closer, Vashek had found his emotions more difficult to control. Seven hundred years of work, all leading to one ultimate victory over physical life itself. It was only natural, Vashek decided, that there should be a powerful emotional element attached to it.
◊
Seth watched Jonah approach at a sedate pace. There was something different about the young man, something Seth couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something about the way he moved, a confidence that hadn’t been there before.
Seth noted the wrapped bundle Jonah carried and only briefly wondered what it was. But then he caught himself. Best to keep things simple, and being too curious was a very good way to unsimplfy matters.
“Captain Okan, we must leave immediately.”
“Destination?”
“As close to the core worlds as you can take me. I have a mission to finish.”
Seth assumed Jonah was talking about the mission that had brought the young man to P30-6. But that assumption was wrong. Jonah had a new mission and he meant to see it through.
◊
Vashek watched the screen, seeing the interior of the Enduring Journey, specifically the main cabin. Jonah Haj sat on a couch with one hand resting upon the wrapped bundle next to him. Vashek focused on the bundle. It could have been anything inside its swaddling but Vashek knew it was what he’d worked so hard to obtain. Hundreds of sentient beings had been manipulated to bring that bundle into Vashek’s possession. Now all his efforts rested upon a single young man, a boy.
How odd, thought Vashek, that seven hundred years of painstaking effort from the greatest mind ever to exist should come to balance on the head of a single insignificant soldier.
Vashek had seen to it that Jonah’s new body was equipped with the very latest upgrades, yet there was still an element of risk involved. The temple had been rumored to have a guardian of some kind. When Vashek had first heard of the Olim-Ojim he’d sent operatives to fetch it. None had reported back. It had been quite aggravating.
Vashek had conceived of the idea of sending an Honored Returned to retrieve the artifact, but of course he couldn’t simply assign one to a personal task like that. Word of it would have gotten out. Fortunately another part of Vashek’s plan called for the creation of his own corps of Returned, beings worthy to serve him after he ascended, worthy to serve as his new priesthood.
Vashek had been plagued with emotion of late. He was so close. Was there something different about the boy? Did he carry himself differently? No, Vashek decided he was reading too much into small things. The boy was a pawn, one that had fulfilled its purpose in perfect accordance with Vashek’s plan.
Did the boy look more confident? Why would he? No, he was the same as he’d been when he’d left Earth. But, then again, perhaps it would be wise to remove the boy from the equation after he’d delivered the Olim-Ojim. An assignment somewhere far away that would occupy his attention.
◊
Iyanna watched Jonah. She’d taken a position on a couch on the opposite side of the room from him. She watched him contemplate the object he’d brought on board. He was fascinated by it. When she’d asked about it, Jonah had told her it was a remnant from an ancient and noble people.
“Why do you have it?” She’d asked.
“It is my mission.”
“What will you do with it?”
“I will give it to the one who sent me for it,” Jonah said, a strange expression on his face.
“What will you do after that, after your work is done?”
“I don’t know.” Jonah walked across the small room to sit beside Iyanna. She noted that he brought the bundle with him. Iyanna could not recall a single moment since leaving P30-6 that she’d seen Jonah without it.
“You’re a Returned, aren’t you?”
Jonah was taken by surprise. He hadn’t told any of the Journey’s crew what he was. He doubted the various galactic media organizations knew he existed yet, much less had spread the news about the newest member of the Primacy’s elite corps. Jonah saw no reason to lie to Iyanna.
“I am, but now…” he shook his head. “Now I’m not sure I know what I am.”
“What do you mean?” Iyanna asked. “I thought being a Returned was, well, kind of permanent.”
“Normally it is, but I don’t think things are normal anymore. I’m not even sure what normal means anymore.”
Iyanna heard Jonah’s grief. Despite the maturity and power of his body, she saw through that to the fear and confusion that lay beneath, in his soul. Something had definitely happened on P30-6. Something had thrown everything Jonah knew to be true into the wind. Iyanna recognized it in Jonah because it was exactly what she herself had recently experienced. It was the loss of comforting assumptions, of the little lies everyone tells themselves to keep from seeing the truth.
Iyanna placed her hand over Jonah’s, trying to comfort him. “If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”
He looked at her, saw the compassion in her eyes. He did want to talk about it. He did want her to listen. Jonah was about to reveal everything when Vig came into the room. The engineer looked distressed, his eyes telling Iyanna and Jonah to be silent.
Vig got his favorite mug, one he never let anyone else use, and filled it with coffee. While the beverage was heating, Vig used a stylus to write something on a s
pare sheet of flimsey. He set his mug near the note, got out two generic metal mugs and filled them with coffee. Then he picked up one of the generic mugs and began drinking, leaving his favorite mug on the countertop.
“You two should have some coffee.”
They didn’t know what Vig was up to but they knew enough to realize he was trying to tell them something. Jonah and Iyanna went to the kitchenette, each picking up a mug. Iyanna picked up Vig’s special mug, the one he’d told her had come from an amusement park he’d visited with his grand-nephew nearly forty years ago.
The mug had the face of some ridiculous cartoon character on it, one that had lost popularity well before she’d been born. It was awkward, having two large handles forming the comically oversized ears of the character. As she drank, Iyanna read the note Vig had written. Jonah saw it also.
“We’re being watched. Found broadcaster hooked to q-net. 3 cameras. Traced them. 1 on the bridge, 1 this room, 1 spare/Jonah’s cabin. Talk elsewhere.”
Iyanna nodded to Vig, as did Jonah. It made sense. Iyanna knew she should have assumed there’d be forms of surveillance other than herself. Iyanna had sent regular reports, none of them hidden from Seth, Vig, or Jonah. She may be forced to play Legion watchdog, but nothing said she had to lie about it. Besides, they already knew why she’d been added to the crew. It was no secret.
Now Iyanna realized her true purpose in being put on the Journey. She was the distraction, the method of keeping an eye on them that they were supposed to see so they wouldn’t look too hard elsewhere. Except Vig had looked. For whatever reason, call it paranoia or perhaps just decades of experience, the engineer had looked and found three cameras hooked up to a dedicated q-net transmitter.