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The Calling
The Calling
The Calling
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The Calling

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Disciplined. Gifted. Unique. Prized. These are the monks of the Shingai Order. Dedicating their lives to creating harmony from chaos, the Shingai have a never-ending job in a broken Empire. Their knowledge is so rare, their talents so vast, that every ruler desires even a single monk as advisor, making the Shingai very selective in who they choose to serve.

Ending his years-long training, Junior Initiate Hsulor will embark on a journey to discover which of the three Shingai paths he is to follow. Trained in the Ways of the Owl, Swan, and Tiger – disciplines of science, art, and fighting – Hsulor will be tested through the Calling, a series of trials to determine his future. Once complete, he will be sent into the Empire to serve as his ancestors have before him, guiding the galaxy’s future.

But the young initiate will encounter new beliefs apart from the teachings of his people. As the consequences of each test grow, so do the consequences of new ideas. Hsulor will confront the millennia-old teachings of his Masters, held as long as there have been monks to pass them.

The Calling takes you around the galaxy and into the heart of belief as one young Shingai searches for meaning and purpose in his life and the lives of his people.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherMatt Yocum
Release dateJan 13, 2012
ISBN9781465967121
The Calling
Author

Matt Yocum

Matt Yocum's writing covers the literary map, from technical engineering articles to literary fiction. In addition to his science fiction novel, The Calling, he has a conspiracy thriller titled HONOR set at his alma mater, the U.S. Air Force Academy, both available electronically. Matt is also a writer for Marvel Comics and has written stories including the Avengers, Spider-Man, Wolverine, and Captain America. His independent comics are showcased at www.ComicCritique.com. Born in Kentucky in 1971, Matt currently serves as a lieutenant colonel in the Air Force assigned to the Joint Special Operations Command at Ft. Bragg, NC. You can learn more about Matt and his writing and military background at www.MattYocum.com.

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    The Calling - Matt Yocum

    Prologue

    1

    Hsulor was losing the fight and knew it. He knew it from the start, really, but kept fighting.

    He aimed a butterfly kick at the head, and the old man across from him easily dodged and countered with a kick to the abdomen. Hsulor backed away, but the old one charged, performing his own swift combination of kicks that knocked Hsulor’s legs out, throwing him hard to the ground.

    Hand fighting, now, Master Wang-ti said, his hands clasped behind his back as he waited for his student.

    Hsulor nodded, brushed off the dust, and took a stance. They circled, and Hsulor watched the old one carefully. He looked for any sign of what style the Master would use. Just before the old one struck, Hsulor recognized the form of Chin-na and accommodated.

    The Master flew in with both hands aimed toward the heart, and Hsulor countered with a side sweep, knocking his hands aside. Hsulor intended a hard counter, but the Master flowed with the motion, striking Hsulor on the side. The young one tried to follow, but his Master stayed too far ahead of him.

    Hsulor was getting angry and backed off. The Master advanced on him and kept pressing. Their hands were a blur as they went through a complex series of blocks and counters.

    The old man took in a soft breath of air. Hsulor gasped raggedly, the fight for breath angering him even more. The Master didn’t even exert himself. It was effortless for the old one, as always.

    Wang-ti backed off. After a moment, Hsulor pounced on him with a pre-planned series of feints and strikes. He thrust with Serpent’s Strike, followed with Eagle Talon. Just like that, Hsulor was on the defensive as Wang-ti followed his pattern, turned it against him, and countered with Bee Sting, paralyzing Hsulor from the shoulder down for a few seconds.

    Hsulor backed away, sweating and panting hard. He rubbed his arm and tried to get the thousand-pins feeling to fade.

    Master Wang-ti, calm and unmoving, said, I see your pattern each time, young one. Your zi flow is erratic. You must regain it; breathe it during the fight. It must be soft and flowing, like a brook. I will give you a moment, and we will begin again. Open combat this time. No breaks.

    Hsulor nodded and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, slowed his sense of time. He’d done this thousands of times over the years, and he felt energy flow through him. Looking inside, Hsulor saw himself as a being of energy, and directed that energy, letting zi flow through him. His breathing slowed and a calm settled over him.

    Hsulor opened his eyes, and the world disappeared except for his opponent, his field of vision tightly focused. The Master bowed, Hsulor returning the gesture deeper, as rank demanded, maintaining the older one’s gaze. They advanced.

    Hsulor ran and spun in a complete arc, Wang-ti catching the kick and moving with Hsulor’s leg in his hands. Hsulor went with it and caught himself from hitting the ground with his hands. He pushed hard, forcing his feet into the old man’s chest. The Master expected it and twisted, landing Hsulor hard on his face.

    The hard blow triggered something in Hsulor, and all flow of zi disappeared, replaced by pure animal adrenaline. Now he was mad. He dislodged one leg and swept it out and back, catching his Master on the chin, knocking him back.

    Hsulor flipped over, bleeding from a cut on his forehead. Enough of this. Enough with the Shingai way, patterns and order and one-style fighting.

    He didn’t think, just ran and fought, using different arts. One second he swung in the style of Shorin-Ryu, that of soft-block, hard-counter. The next it was back to Chin-na, trapping a roundhouse kick. Wang-ti flew in with Gung Fu, and Hsulor didn’t bother to match, switching every second to something new, sometimes in mid-strike. Ancient Aikido, Aang-chi, Karabe, scoring blow after blow.

    The Master breathed hard, trying to keep up.

    Hsulor became even more angry, at the fight and himself. This wasn’t how they did things, all crazy moves and different styles. Shingai were to follow a pattern. They chose a style and created harmony out of the disorder of combat. This was a mess.

    Hsulor couldn’t help but see its effect. There was a pattern underneath it all, vague but noticeable.

    Wang-ti tried to counter the strategy, in pure defense, but he was failing. Hsulor had the advantage. The old one narrowly stopped a blow to the head, and Hsulor knocked his legs from under him. He fell hard. In an instant, Hsulor was on top of him. His fist flew down, stopping an inch from of the Master’s nose. It would have been a killing blow.

    This fight was over. It was Hsulor’s first victory.

    Master Wang-ti, Sixth Kan of the Order of the Shingai, Keeper of the Sword Ryu, panted from the exertion of the contest, stared at his young charge, and whispered, Wonderful.

    2

    Shan-tai stepped back, admiring his efforts. He’d worked for weeks, taking a scene from memory and painstakingly recreating each detail in the painting. Long ago he’d served on Denar VII and spent two days scaling the Dolan Mountains. The view at the top had been unequaled, stars and ringed moons above, forest and giant flying things below. He vowed to one day capture the morning scene in painting.

    The Supreme High Master now fulfilled that vow, amazed it had been twenty years since he last saw Denar VII. It didn’t seem that long.

    He looked at the detail in his painting. The picture was so precise, the memory so perfect, that he smiled, taking pride in his effort. He frowned at his lack of control. Setting aside his work, he decided he’d finished for today. Tomorrow he would resume again, when humility was regained.

    A light rap on the screen door diverted his thoughts.

    Please enter, he said.

    The small door slid aside, and a young novice entered. He bowed in silence, waiting to be spoken to first.

    The Supreme High Master returned the bow. Good morning, brother Michael. You have something for me?

    Yes, Master, replied the acolyte, rising. He held out a small scroll. This letter just arrived for you from the Koww-san Mountain assemblage. The Shingai messenger stated it is from Master Wang-ti, and that it be given directly to you.

    Shan-tai took the scroll, turned it over in his hands. He was pleasantly surprised; he hadn’t heard from his old and dear friend Wang-ti for many years.

    Is there anything you require? the boy asked. Perhaps some tea, sir?

    No, thank you. I am content.

    The student bowed, leaving the room, carefully sliding the screen door back into place.

    Shan-tai sat on a cushion and proceeded to unroll the scroll. Wang-ti always did have exquisite penmanship, he noted as he scanned the page.

    As he read, he focused on what was being presented. Odd. He had never seen Wang-ti so puzzled concerning a student. It seemed clear by his accomplishments that this Hsulor was gifted, incredibly so. Yet what Wang-ti asked concerning the boy’s testing was unexpected.

    The Master’s descriptions of his young charge’s mind indicated something unique, as if there were a disorder to the boy that, somehow, resulted in intricate patterns of order. As if the boy tackled problems through disorder while weaving it into a complex, coherent solution.

    The Supreme High Master finished reading the letter then set it aside. Rubbing the edge of his chin, he considered the Master’s request. If this boy were as different as Wang-ti indicated, it might be important to test him away from his familiar environment, to find the source of his difference. To see where it led.

    He decided. Shan-tai called for a servant, instructing him to have the High Masters meet with him immediately. The three arrived within fifteen minutes. They bowed out of formality, exchanged traditional pleasantries, and Shan-tai bid them to sit.

    Shan-tai regarded the men before him. Sitting to his right was the eldest, Zarr-sen, the High Master of the Path of the Tiger. His was the art of the physical, the world of fighting and warfare, healing and medicine. The man was a giant, scarred and bruised from countless conflicts. He sat quiet but always appeared … prepared.

    In the middle was Non-kar, leader of the Path of the Owl, the mental arts, knowledge of science, mathematics, and the technical nature of things. There wasn’t a mind equal to his among the Shingai, perhaps anywhere in the galaxy. His eyes spoke of countless questions and searches.

    And the youngest, Tal-pan, head of the Path of the Swan. His art pursued the spiritual, the worlds of beauty and art. His peaceful countenance soothed, leading those in his presence to relax and let down their guard. Tal-pan’s demeanor belied his strength.

    It’s been too long since we’ve sat together, the Supreme High Master said. First, I want to say your dedication to the Paths humbles me. You have served unswervingly in your duties. For that I commend you all.

    He bowed slightly to them as he said this. A great sense of appreciation welled within them at the honor he had just given.

    My good men, he went on, there are none that understand our importance in this galaxy more than you three. You know we have served as advisors, artisans, and fighters throughout the galaxy for millennia, serving where our Calling leads us. Always promoting order, fighting chaos. We all know the balance of many worlds can hinge on a single point, such as the Calling and role of a single Shingai. Given the current state of the Empire, our role seems more important than ever.

    His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the three men.

    "I have received word of a young student in training, and per my decision, his training has ended. We will be his testers for the Calling. This young student, Hsulor, is odd. His abilities are far beyond his age, yet his mind doesn’t work the way we train ourselves. He doesn’t seem to think like a Shingai. I want to find out more about him, how he thinks, how he achieves his victories and patterns."

    The High Masters listened to Shan-tai with intense concentration.

    Shan-tai said, We will isolate, test, and observe the boy. Plan wisely for a test. It will be important to learn why this boy thinks and acts as he does. We need to push him past all limits and see what stands revealed.

    They bowed in acknowledgment.

    3

    A few days later, Hsulor lay in his room, drained from the day’s mental exercises. In some ways mental exertion was tougher than physical, and the last thing he wanted to do right now was think. But his mind wouldn’t settle.

    Much had happened in the past few weeks, leaving Hsulor confused and uncertain. Things were happening almost out of control. Wang-ti had stepped up Hsulor’s training to the point where that’s all he did. Study, create, fight, then study, create, and fight more.

    This morning, the news arrived. Wang-ti told him it was time to undergo the tests for his Calling. Hsulor knew this was unprecedented. He was so young. Why now? Why this early?

    A gift in the Paths was one thing. He was certain he would perform well, and he truly wanted to please his Master, to live up to the traditions of his people. Yet, when he meditated, examining himself, his confidence wavered. During many of his training sessions, Hsulor acted in ways that seemed not his own. It was as if something inside usurped control. This thing frightened him, as though a stranger lived inside him, struggling against the Shingai way.

    Now this breaking of tradition for me, he thought. That the testing was to occur in such an unprecedented manner, to be provided by the High Masters themselves. None of it made sense. His circumstances. His Calling. Himself.

    I know that you are confused.

    Hsulor jumped. He hadn’t heard his Master’s silent approach. Master Wang-ti walked up beside him and eased into a cushion. They remained quiet for a time. Hsulor wished to speak but knew to wait until addressed first.

    The old one broke the silence. Final instructions arrived today. Three days from now you are to be at the spaceport in Prufrock. There High Master Non-kar will meet you and accompany you aboard an outrigger.

    The Path of the Owl, Hsulor said.

    Wang-ti nodded and said, "Once outside the Shingar system, you will rendezvous with the HMS Pyramid bound for Cityworld in the Isselia system. Non-kar is to explain everything en route concerning your first test."

    Hsulor bowed his acknowledgment.

    Hsulor, Wang-ti’s tone commanded that his young student look at him. Tell me what you are thinking.

    Drawing a deep breath, Hsulor said, I don’t understand everything that’s happening. I have trained with you all my life to be Shingai, studied, practiced the Three Paths, discovered patterns that lead to order. I should feel peace now, joy that I’m about to find my Calling and serve our people and the Empire. But I’m scared, Master.

    Hsulor paused, wanting to retain his Shingai restraint, but his Master’s concern prompted him to continue. I do things and I’m not sure why. On the surface it feels wrong, but I do them anyway because I can’t seem to change who I am. That’s what scares me. That somewhere at the very core of me is exactly what we seek to oppose. And what scares me more is that it works.

    Hsulor was quiet now. He looked over at his Master, hoping for answers.

    Wang-ti smiled at his student. The old one was graceful in deed and word, and took his time before speaking. He said, "We all have inside us a rebelliousness, Hsulor. It’s natural to humanity. But we strive to exceed that. To become more than we are. To succeed in our duty, we must become more than we are. Become part of the greater whole."

    Hsulor looked up. Yes, but it’s more than that, Master. It’s as if there’s something within me not part of who I am; it’s something apart from me I can’t control even when I try.

    Again, they sat in silence, each tending to their own thoughts, a cricket’s chirp highlighting the quiet night. A few scattered stars dotted the sky. Shingar’s sun had long since vanished.

    Master Wang-ti said, "Hsulor, I cannot lie to you. You are different. And that requires doing things differently. These coming months will challenge you in ways you cannot imagine, test you in ways you might not understand. But you have a lifetime of preparation to fall back on. I devoted myself completely to training and teaching you. And I have never seen your equal among acolytes.

    The next few days are free. Today was the last of your training. I have no more to teach you. I want you, in these few days, to meditate on your life. Let the memories come back to you so that when this journey begins, you’ll be able to hold true to what you’ve learned. If you do this, then I’ll always be with you. You’re never alone in this, no matter how you might feel.

    Hsulor bowed acknowledgment. It may be as his Master had said, but he couldn’t help feeling that for the first time in his life, he was deeply alone. Not for lack of familiar others, but because he didn’t know himself.

    PART ONE

    PATH OF THE OWL

    Chapter One

    Brotherhood of Hyperrealm Witnesses

    This sect is generally closed and hostile toward outsiders. Their work requires knowledge in many fields, and their lack of openness has slowed their scientific progress. Their biggest feud seems to be with the Escherites (see entry under Sanctuary of Escherite Surrealism) dating back to the Great Split (see entries under Great Split and Pilgrim’s Project).

    A High Priest rules the sect. He presides over a council of nine, and the Witness members spend most of their time studying and advancing the field of hyperspace physics. It has been some time since they’ve made any major advances in hyperspace technology; there seems to be an underlying anger within the Witnesses because of this lack of progress.

    When I sought an interview with the Brotherhood, they accepted, yet it was clear upon that meeting they weren’t happy talking to anyone outside the Witnesses. They offered to speak only after it was made clear I was Shingai and that everything spoken with them would be kept confidential from the other religious sects.

    One can only speculate as to what projects they currently have working. They never mentioned a single one, only spoke about their beliefs and where the other sects had gone wrong.

    Excerpt from Shingai Li-Mai, Follower of the Owl, Cityworld Chronicle, Tenth Edition

    Cityworld stretched in all directions around him. Standing on the balcony of his private chamber on the 80th floor, Esstrin surveyed the almost endless expanse of buildings and complexes surrounding him. A hint of fog wafted around as ancient ventilators and recyclers buzzed about the sky like dying fireflies, desperately struggling with their old, preprogrammed tasks of cleaning and distributing the right mix of air into the wasted environment. A deep, dark blue colored everything, giving the appearance of eternal early evening, lending Esstrin’s white robe a neon-sheen.

    This color was no accident. It produced a subconscious effect on the mind that eased tension in the higher-order learning functions of the brain. The creators of Cityworld knew what they were doing, those architects of this giant metal construct. Among the former stations, it alone was devoted to science and technology, research and development, with the most gifted scientists and engineers in the galaxy populating the congested confines of its bizarre form.

    The High Priest of the Hyperrealm Witnesses walked back into the shadowed recesses of his office. Releasing the clasps and removing his cassock, Esstrin carefully laid the raiments of his position aside. He sat at his broad, burgundy desk, a look of wearied frustration on his narrow, angular features. His look of weariness had deepened in his previous three years as High Priest.

    Things on Cityworld had not improved much in the past decade. In fact, the deterioration of the infrastructure and the overflow of too many failed systems had led to streets quickly washing into oblivion, becoming nothing but a chain of water-filled canals several feet deep. The dank, congested waterways reflected the severe isolation of the various sects populating Cityworld.

    Esstrin remembered a time when this world was the gleaming centerpiece in the galaxy, a hallmark of what could be accomplished if mankind worked together. But that was in youth. And maybe it never was like that; maybe it was simply naiveté that clouded aging memories. After all, it wasn’t his people’s fault for this separation. It was the other sects’ refusal to accept the Truth of Almighty Hyperrealm. If the others showed even a hint of rejection of their heresies, he would allow his Witnesses to work with them again.

    Esstrin tore his thoughts from his fractured world and realized he was delaying a day’s work. More important matters commanded his attention.

    Keying a particular sequence into the desk, Esstrin activated the tabletop holographic projector. An image shimmered to life, a softly glowing series of numbers and access codes demanding the High Priest’s focus. In a moment, the sequence introduced a hypnotic suggestion into his mind and activated the cyber-relay chip implanted when Esstrin was a small child. The chip relayed signals directly from the desk hardware to the brain.

    Esstrin’s vision blurred, his reality faded, and a new world sprang to life in his mind’s eye. Watching the mental formation of Escherspace was like watching an image reflected in the wavy blur of a pond, only to see it come into focus as the wind dies and the picture slowly clears from obscurity to clarity. However, he never knew what image would present itself in the cyber realm of Escherspace, even if he entered a previously visited dataroom. The vision was a combination of many factors, including the person’s emotional state, blood pressure, heart rate, cyber-relay chip model, and various other factors.

    Esstrin stood outside the entrance to the Witness’s Prime Data Conglomerate. He saw himself, regal and glowing in the brightly lit robe of the High Priest, his back to the wooden door frame of a private transit station off a narrow access street. Once he stepped away from the doorway, turning his attention to the building before him, the door disappeared as if it never existed.

    Gliding across the street, Esstrin approached the giant building before him. Guards blocked the entrance, their crossed staves large and imposing. The look of these guards, in whatever menacing form they revealed themselves, always had a profound effect on Esstrin. The blue upon blue sky with drifting white data clouds darkened instantly to bruise black one second, deep red the next. Esstrin made a complex hand sign that left a burning pattern hovering in the air, and the guards uncrossed the massive staves, allowing him entrance. He proceeded on, the hovering image he created disappearing.

    He wasted no time inside the Conglomerate, striding purposefully up one vertical staircase, across a concave hallway, along a horizontal staircase, into a rhombus-walled room, and along several more staircases and hallways. He finally entered the Holy Place, a room draped with ceiling carpets and a thick curtain at the far side of the room. He approached the end of the room and stopped before a basin barring the entrance through the curtain to the Most Holy Place.

    Esstrin took a ladle from the basin and poured a small amount of the liquid over himself, watching it evaporate instantly as the security program recognized him. He entered the Most Holy Place, kneeling as the curtain fell into place behind him. Reciting a prayer to the Almighty, the High Priest finished a private liturgy and rose to find a glowing data cube in front of him.

    He approached with head bowed and plunged his hand into the cube, feeling the familiar rush as the data surge coursed through him. Massive quantities of information flooded his mind. The events of his Witnesses on Cityworld dumped into his brain, and it took a moment to allow the feeling to pass, to allow his brain to relax and sort through the broad scope of the information.

    His hand still within the cube, Esstrin was able to find the specific information he needed and followed it to the source to expand the data. The facts again flowed, and he frowned when he saw what had happened - again. Experiments today led to disaster for one of the Witnesses working on the Project.

    Sixty years ago all the sects had worked on the Pilgrim’s Project, ending in failure. (Some, Esstrin among them, said it was the cause of the Great Split.) His Witnesses had only recently, secretly, revived the Project. They would do it alone this time, in purity, and they would provide for the galaxy instantaneous personal h-space transport. They would move past the stage of force field surrounded ships as the only means of transport between the stars.

    When his people succeeded with the Project, they would be giving the galaxy teleportation. People could travel at will throughout the galaxy, merely stepping from one world to another as easily as walking through a door. Offering this gift to humanity would reveal to all unbelievers the preeminence of the Almighty Hyperrealm.

    But there were incidents. Live experiments with his Witnesses led to disturbing results. Everyone who entered h-space returned in a vegetative state, mumbling incoherently.

    Today’s was the sixth. Six of his Witnesses who returned with their minds wiped clean. Esstrin’s people were divided on the nature and source of the problem. Some claimed it was the Almighty Himself touching those who entered, and those people suffered the effects of glimpsing His glory. Others argued it was the Deceiver, for surely the Almighty, just and forgiving, would never punish His disciples. Some offered technical solutions.

    It was difficult enough for Esstrin, as representative of his people, to deal with this messed up world without adding the in-fighting among his brothers. It needed to be solved and quickly.

    They were being punished - by whom or for what crime he was not yet sure. They were being made to pay for the sins of decadent times. He had to continue to make atonement for the wrongs of his people and all those who blasphemed the name of the Almighty.

    Esstrin dislodged his hand from the pulsing data cube before him and offered up prayers to a god whose motives he was beginning to find uncertain. He recited his liturgy as he had thousands of times before, barely aware of the words he spoke.

    Chapter Two

    1

    Descartes’ Daughters

    This sect is unusual because it is matriarchal. They are obsessed with the origin and essence of consciousness. They have been working for years to try to create a consciousness from nothing. The easiest way to study the creation of a new consciousness is to start at the beginning. Thus, legions of girls work as temple prostitutes with the intention of creating a new consciousness – a baby – for study. This is one reason sex is so cheap on the station, and so prevalent.

    Once it is evident that the subjects of these experiments have become aware, the babies are usually discarded. The Daughters have little to do with the other sects (unless they need sperm donors) and no one pays them much mind, except when they want sexual relief.

    Excerpt from Shingai Li-Mai, Follower of the Owl, Cityworld Chronicle, Tenth Edition

    Hsulor thought if ever there was a visible metaphor for the need of the Shingai’s purpose - the promotion of order - it was found here on Cityworld. The images assaulting him were clustered and claustrophobic, as if a thousand stationscrapers, hovercarts, taxi sampans, windskimmers, and people - everywhere people - were attempting to occupy the same space at the same instant. Even the sky. Hsulor looked up and saw more of the great City slowly rotating, the cylindrical station the size of a small moon.

    He looked down into the blackened water and watched the slow-moving reflection of the surrounding City as the sampan guide moved them through the streets using gentle strokes of the two oars. Shimmering neon structures glowed in the watery mirror like some dream image seeking reality the moment the undulating water stilled.

    The

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