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    The Babel Chip
    The Babel Chip
    The Babel Chip
    Ebook248 pages2 hours

    The Babel Chip

    By Rachel Starr Thomson

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    About this ebook

    The higher they build them, the farther they fall . . .

     

    Jordy Sharp dreams of musical success in Icarius, the City in the Sky--a metropolis of skyscrapers where the upper classes live hundreds of floors above the lower classes, travel happens in the air, and secrets disappear in the streets far below. A chance meeting and friendship with mayoral heir apparent and upper-class snob Ryan Cinderella guarantees he'll make it to the top--but not on his own terms.

     

    Sick of politics and commercial compromise, Jordy takes a chance on a lower-city band, the Gatsby Boys--and plunges himself into a world where crime lords rule, black marketers know all, and a plot to destroy the entire city is well underway.

     

    When the key to saving Icarius accidentally comes to him, Jordy, with one foot in the rareified air of Upper Icarius and the other in the scum shows and life-and-death struggles of the lower city, may be the only person with the courage to save them all.

     

    But the crime lords have learned his name--and if they find him, Jordy's dreams of success may be buried in the rubble of Icarius itself.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLittle Dozen Press
    Release dateDec 12, 2015
    ISBN9781927658239
    The Babel Chip
    Author

    Rachel Starr Thomson

    Rachel Starr Thomson is in love with Jesus and convinced the gospel will change the world. Rachel is a woman of many talents and even more interests: she’s a writer, editor, indie publisher, singer, speaker, Bible study teacher, and world traveler. The author of the Seventh World Trilogy, The Oneness Cycle, and many other books, she also tours North America and other parts of the world as a speaker and spoken-word artist with 1:11 Ministries. Adventures in the Kingdom launched in 2015 as a way to bring together Rachel’s explorations, in fiction and nonfiction, of what it means to live all of life in the kingdom of God. Rachel lives in the beautiful Niagara Region of southern Ontario, just down the river from the Falls. She drinks far too much coffee and tea, daydreams of visiting Florida all winter, and hikes the Bruce Trail when she gets a few minutes. A homeschool graduate from a highly creative and entrepreneurial family, she believes we’d all be much better off if we pitched our television sets out the nearest window. LIFE AND WORK (BRIEFLY) Rachel began writing on scrap paper sometime around grade 1. Her stories revolved around jungle animals and sometimes pirates (they were actual rats . . . she doesn’t remember if the pun was intended). Back then she also illustrated her own work, a habit she left behind with the scrap paper. Rachel’s first novel, a humorous romp called Theodore Pharris Saves the Universe, was written when she was 13, followed within a year by the more serious adventure story Reap the Whirlwind. Around that time, she had a life-changing encounter with God. The next several years were spent getting to know God, developing a new love for the Scriptures, and discovering a passion for ministry through working with a local ministry with international reach, Sommer Haven Ranch International. Although Rachel was raised in a strong Christian home, where discipleship was as much a part of homeschooling as academics, these years were pivotal in making her faith her own. At age 17, Rachel started writing again, this time penning the essays that became Letters to a Samuel Generation and Heart to Heart: Meeting With God in the Lord’s Prayer. In 2001, Rachel returned to fiction, writing what would become her bestselling novel and then a bestselling series–Worlds Unseen, book 1 of The Seventh World Trilogy. A classic fantasy adventure marked by Rachel’s lyrical style, Worlds Unseen encapsulates much of what makes Rachel’s writing unique: fantasy settings with one foot in the real world; adventure stories that explore depths of spiritual truth; and a knack for opening readers’ eyes anew to the beauty of their own world–and of themselves. In 2003, Rachel began freelance editing, a side job that soon blossomed into a full-time career. Four years later, in 2007, she co-founded Soli Deo Gloria Ballet with Carolyn Currey, an arts ministry that in 2015 would be renamed as 1:11 Ministries. To a team of dancers and singers, Rachel brought the power of words, writing and delivering original narrations, spoken-word poetry, and songs for over a dozen productions. The team has ministered coast-to-coast in Canada as well as in the United States and internationally. Rachel began publishing her own work under the auspices of Little Dozen Press in 2007, but it was in 2011, with the e-book revolution in full swing, that writing became a true priority again. Since that time Rachel has published many of her older never-published titles and written two new fiction series, The Oneness Cycle and The Prophet Trilogy. Over 30 of Rachel’s novels, short stories, and nonfiction works are now available in digital editions. Many are available in paperback as well, with more released regularly. The God she fell in love with as a teenager has remained the focus of Rachel’s life, work, and speaking.

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      Book preview

      The Babel Chip - Rachel Starr Thomson

      Prologue

      THEY SAY ONE PERSON can’t change the world. Only a fool would even try. I don’t know. I owe a lot to fools.

      My world and yours probably don’t have much in common. I was born in Icarius, a world of skyscrapers—a city on tiptoe, looking to touch the sky, and crushing the dreams of people like me under its feet. It would have crushed me, if one fool hadn’t tried to change things. His name was Jordy Sharp.

      This is his story.

      Chapter 1

      SO WHAT? HOME’S NOT good enough for him anymore?

      It’s not exactly the home he grew up in, Maury. He doesn’t have anything to hold him here since his mother died.

      Sure. All the years we gave him mean nothing.

      Jordy Sharp stared at the thick fog outside the airplane window and fingered the guitar pick around his neck. It was brown and green, mottled and greasy, and grooved where he had carved his initials with a pickle fork on his twelfth birthday and filled the scratches with Wite-Out. Voices argued in his memory, and a door slammed, and he jumped again. The sound of the door slamming was a cutting sound.

      He thought he saw a shape through the fog. The city was out there somewhere, its topmost spires stretching up higher than the plane. The captain’s voice came over the intercom, something about landing conditions. Jordy leaned his forehead against the window and closed his eyes.

      His ear was against the door of the tiny kitchen where his mother’s best friend argued with her husband.

      Harry wants him.

      "We want him. Don’t we count now?"

      Harry’s his uncle. Jordy deserves to be with family, especially at a time like this.

      Sure, Joanne, sure. We treat the kid like our own son for all these years, and the day after his mother dies he decides to run off and live with someone he’s hardly ever seen.

      I know Harry hasn’t been around much, but he’s a good man. Look at all the work he went to to get Jordy a visa into the city.

      A grunt. Then Joanne’s voice, shaking.

      Julie loved him.

      I know.

      She would have wanted her son to know him.

      I know. I’m sorry.

      I miss her.

      A long silence. Jordy shifted his weight uncomfortably and his guitar pick swung free from his collar. There was a clatter as Maury threw his coffee cup into the sink, already overflowing with dirty dishes.

      I just don’t want Jordy to be disappointed. He thinks he’s going to take Icarius by storm. Thinks he’s going to march in there with his guitar and become the next Crystal Wheel. It’s not going to happen, Joanne.

      It might.

      It won’t.

      It’s his dream. We all need to chase our dreams.

      The fog was a deep curtain of dark grey, cold and menacing. Jordy’s breath fogged up the window and he squinted for some sign of light, of shadow, of anything except grey.

      I know you’re out there, Icarius, he said.

      He pulled out the flight magazine and looked at the cover. Icarius: City of Wonders. Skyscrapers gleaming forever in the warm blue sea of air. The ground couldn’t be seen in the photograph, only the upstretched fingers of the greatest city on earth, piercing the clouds.

      He flipped through the magazine: a two-page spread on Crystal Wheel, the city’s groundbreaking rock band, caught his eye.

      Jordy closed the magazine and tore the back cover off, claiming the song lyrics he had scribbled before his pen ran out of ink. He stuffed the page inside a notebook already brimming with loose sheets, and one fell out onto the aisle. Jordy reached over to get it just as a polished black shoe pinned it to the aisle carpet.

      The shoe moved and a manicured hand reached down and lifted the paper off the ground. Jordy sat up straight as a young man about his age—perhaps a little older, early twenties—wearing an expensive suit without a tie, handed the paper over. Jordy mumbled his thanks as he stuffed the paper inside his notebook. His eye brushed over the paper and rested for a moment on his own handwriting:

      There’s a window in the wall that I stand within; I’m still just an outsider looking in . . .

      He looked up. The young man was holding out his hand.

      Sorry, Jordy said. I didn’t know you were staying. He grinned sheepishly and shook the stranger’s hand.

      Ryan Cinderella, the young man said as he seated himself next to Jordy. The hair gel holding every strand of his blond hair in place smelled like money.

      Cinderella? Jordy said. You mean like fairy godmothers and pumpkins and all that?

      Ryan Cinderella’s smile cooled and his voice altered. Yes, he said.

      Jordy put up his hands. No offense.

      None taken, Ryan said, his tone still offended. He twisted a ring on his finger as he looked Jordy over. His eyes lingered on the guitar pick.

      Do you play? he asked.

      Yeah, Jordy said. I’m hoping to get some kind of a break in the city. I’ve heard there’s a booming musical underground and uh . . . his voice faded under Ryan’s amused expression.

      Coming to Icarius to seek your fortune, are you?

      You might say that.

      Where are you from, Mr . . . .

      Sharp. Jordy Sharp. Jordy looked his visitor in the eye. And as of today, I’m from Icarius.

      Is that so? Ryan said. The city has to accept you first, and she doesn’t take just anyone under her wings.

      I’ve got an entrance visa. And I’m not just anyone, Jordy said. I’m Jordy Sharp.

      And soon the world will know it, is that it? Ryan gestured to the guitar pick. You’ll ride magic music to the top of the world, I imagine.

      Jordy’s face burned. That’s the dream, anyway, he mumbled.

      Ryan stretched out his legs. And just what do you know about my city, Mr. Sharp? What did they teach you in your suburban high school? Assuming you went to high school.

      Of course I did, Jordy said. I know all about Icarius. The City in the Sky, the great wonder of the modern world.

      How old are you, fifteen? Ryan asked.

      Eighteen, Jordy answered. Ryan wasn’t even looking at him—he was looking up at the ceiling the way Jordy’s science teacher used to do when he was done listening to you and had decided to explain something you wouldn’t understand anyway.

      And your family? Did they just cut you loose?

      Jordy looked back at the window. My mother died, he heard himself saying. I didn’t have any family left in Suburbia.

      It was a hot night, sticky and buzzing with crickets, when Jordy sat at the kitchen table with Maury. He pushed his chair back, leaned forward and clinked ice cubes in his glass.

      I’ll never forget everything you’ve done for me, Uncle Maury. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I’m just not sure how to live anymore, now that Mom’s gone.

      I know, Jordy. And I don’t blame you. Maury cleared his throat. You’ve probably overheard me talking about you going away—like I didn’t want you to. You know, me and Aunt Joanne are going to miss you. You’ve been a part of our lives for a long time.

      Jordy just nodded.

      You’ve got a chance to chase your dreams now, boy. I want you to go out there and chase them good. You show that city what you’re made of. Don’t come back here until you’ve exhausted the dream, do you hear me? But when that happens—if that happens—you’ll always have a place with us.

      A long and exaggerated sigh from Ryan pulled Jordy back to the present. Ryan tapped his fingers together and leaned back, an enlightened teacher speaking to a naive student. Icarius is not just a wonder. She is perfection. She is a queen. She decides who to love and accept and who to reject. He smiled and looked at Jordy, and for the first time his eyes smiled along with his mouth. I think she’ll like you.

      Jordy opened his mouth to answer when a stewardess made her graceful way down the aisle. Mr. Cinderella? she said. Your father is on the line.

      Thank you, Ryan said. He stood and followed her back to first class, turning to hold up a hand in farewell.

      Jordy closed his eyes and squirmed in his seat in a vain attempt to arrange himself comfortably. He leaned his seat back and someone kicked it. Down the aisle, a toddler started to wail.

      Mr. Cinderella, he said, his voice a perfect imitation of Ryan’s highbrow tones, you’re not allowed to use the phone on a plane. Sit down and put your seat belt on like the rest of us. He laughed to himself, but the laugh sank inside of him until it became an ache in his stomach. Laughter always made him feel like he’d lost something, these days. Things were funny for a few seconds, and then they were too sad to keep dwelling on.

      Jordy remained awkwardly positioned in his seat for a minute and a half, and then jumped up and pushed his way down the aisle and past the first-class curtain, where he slipped into the loo. He could hear Ryan Cinderella’s angry voice through the flimsy door.

      "What do you mean they’re turning planes back? Well, they’re not going to turn this plane away . . . No. I don’t care. Isn’t there a clearing anywhere? Good. We’ll land there. So tell the tower just who’s flying in on this bucket of bolts! They won’t turn me away. They’d sooner turn away the king of England. Yeah. Thanks. Put my father back on."

      Jordy turned on the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Longish brown hair hung into his eyes. He wore a bright orange shirt under a scuffed denim jacket. The guitar pick hung on a tarnished fake gold chain. He smiled at the reflection. That’s right, Icarius. You tell them just who’s flying in on this bucket of bolts.

      He opened the door and nearly stepped into Ryan, who was standing just outside with his arms crossed. He seemed mildly surprised to see Jordy.

      Good news, Mr. Sharp, he said. We’ll be landing on the west tarmac. I hope that’s not too far from your final destination.

      I’m not sure, Jordy said. He fumbled in his vest pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with an address on it. Ryan held out his hand and Jordy gave him the paper.

      The Verde Building, 140th floor. That’s in the south quadrant. You’ll have a bit of a jaunt getting there. But at least you’ll be landing, eh?

      THE LIGHT No. 12, Vol. XIII

      September 12, Year 68

      FOG SHUTS DOWN ICARIUS

      Concerned citizens ask: Is this one more plot against our city?

      a special report by The Light’s star reporter,

      RUDOLF R. HERTZ

      Last night’s atypical—to some, terrifying—weather broke Icarius’s thirty-year history of life without fog.

      While we recognize the need for various types of weather, heavy fog would of course be an unmitigated disaster for the city. The frequent occurrences of light fog which Icarius has experienced since its inception have made everyday life difficult enough. The Cinderella government has long recognized this problem, and I am proud to say that today we have solved it. The Anti-Fog Technology, or AFT, which we have installed is fool-proof, fail-proof, and of course, fog-proof. Icarius has seen its last gloomy day.

      So said former mayor Alister Cinderella shortly before his long term ended in favor of his son, Mayor Richard Cinderella. We wonder how Mayor Cinderella will explain the fact that yesterday, AFT failed. The City in the Sky became the City in the Smog.

      Fog warnings were broadcast throughout the city, but they were of little use to those already on the airways when the fog hit. Hovercraft accidents broke every record in the city. Although reports are still being gathered, there were at least thirty-one fatalities.

      The fog was particularly hard on the Icarius International Airport, where planes were unable to land or takeoff from all four tarmacs surrounding the city. Frustrated travelers were forced to spend the night within the confines of Double I-A.

      The question concerned citizens are asking today is this: Is this fog simply a natural occurence, an acceptable failure of technology? Or is it yet another attack on the city from one of its many enemies, who will stop at nothing to see Icarius brought to its knees?

      JORDY SAT ON A BENCH outside an airport coffee shop, where half a hundred caffeine addicts were nursing their sorrows. His guitar was propped up beside him; his feet rested on his suitcase. Herds of people flowed past, people on cell phones, angry people. Stranded people.

      The airport was a rectangular structure built like an enormous oil rig—a deck atop steel pillars. Its four sides surrounded the city—North Tarmac, South Tarmac, West Tarmac, East Tarmac. Each side had its own runways and terminals, which were built underneath the runways. Double I-A was a marvel of modern engineering, the first thing Jordy had looked forward to seeing when he stepped off his plane into the City of Wonders.

      He hadn’t seen it, of course. Not the outside of it. Only pavement under his tennis shoes and lights orangely shining through the grey, then a flight of stairs leading down to the terminals and shops. The interior of the airport was pleasant enough—lots of shiny flooring and expensive decorating that included plants and fountains, as well as the usual curiosity shops and restaurants.

      Announcements every ten minutes or so confirmed that the travelers’ outlook was bleak. The entire upper half of the city had shut down due to the fog. Those out driving in the airways were advised to take shelter immediately and stay there till the fog lifted. It was too heavy for motorists to see the lights that marked the airways—the hovercar roads.

      Jordy flipped open his notebook and stared at the pages, most of them covered with ink scrawls. He pulled out his pen and shook it vigorously, and wrote lyrics as fast as he could while the ink was still coming.

      Stuck on the right rhyme for pair, he sighed and looked over the toes of his shoes to the crowd, pacing like caged animals.

      Unfair, he wrote. There wasn’t enough ink to finish the r. He shook it again and drew little circles on the top of his paper without results. He threw the pen, and it bounced off a black-coated shoulder. Jordy sat straight up as the owner of the shoulder turned around. It was Ryan Cinderella.

      We do keep bumping into each other, don’t we? Ryan said, brushing his shoulder off. He sat down beside Jordy. "Look at this, will you? Who would have thought you and I would be caught in such a mess? Icarius’s favored sons, trapped by weather." He sounded disgusted.

      Jordy grinned. Her favored sons? You’re referring to her greatest rock star and her, uh, wealthiest . . .

      Ryan leaned back with his hands behind his head and laid his leather shoes atop Jordy’s suitcase. Pre-cisely.

      Does this happen often? Jordy asked. Fog, I mean?

      No, Ryan said. It never happens. He frowned. The fog is getting worse. The clearing we landed in is now smothered in smog.

      Which means . . . ? Jordy said.

      I hope you’re comfortable. We may be spending the night.

      You’ve got to be kidding, Jordy said.

      I wish I was. Not exactly how you pictured your first night here?

      Not exactly.

      Jordy sighed and looked out at the crowd again. The people and the airport walls were crushing in on him, making his stomach hurt. He blinked back a tear and wondered where it had come from, and then he saw a man slip a woman’s wallet out

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