Wave Mandate

by Schneider, A. C.

It was madness, but the Captain was no longer listening. He punched the depressor by the door and it slid open. In front of the Captain, Kelerin could see the outline of Wollo in the corridor. His hands were raised in the universal sign of surrender and his massive frame blocked out everything going on beyond him, but Kelerin could still hear the familiar sound of adrenaline induced shouting coming through clearly. In close quarter space flights with Pulsers in play, that was never a good sound. With the door now opened the Captain could be heard calling out above the shouting, “I’M THE CAPTAIN, I’M THE CAPTAIN!” The doors closing behind him, Kelerin left alone - almost.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Analel.

  He ran both his hands over his face and then up through his hair while pacing the room. After a few strides he stopped, whirled around to glare at the door where the Captain had abandoned the smart fight for a fool’s play. “Thick headed hauler,” he muttered under his breath, and resumed his pacing.

  “Kelerin?” Alarm came through in Analel’s tone. She tried to keep it from doing so, but there it was, high pitched with a slight tremor. Maybe it helped because after she said it Kelerin seemed to settle on a course of action.

  “OK, we have to do this unarmed and in close quarters? Fine. Then we’re gonna WateRen this situation.”

  “Um, yeah, I have no idea what that means?”

  “WateRen’s about flowing with conflict and guiding aspects of it as much as it guides you. Influencing rather than opposing, minimum effort, maximum effect.” Kelerin quickly made his way over to the end of the communal table and sat down, positioning himself so that he faced the entrance to the access corridor, not two meters away. “One strategy to achieve that is to anticipate when and where an upcoming skirmish is going to take place,” he continued, “and to occupy critical territory before the battle gets there. That way you can set a precedent and establish the tone of the conflict before the enemy even shows up. When they do arrive, they start off playing your game without ever realizing it.”

  “Fascinating lecture, Academic, but what are you actually going to do!” She nearly screamed the question, her patience at its limit.

  “I’m going to sit here and cower like a scared, little boy.”

  Pause.

  “Aha… was not expecting that.”

  The panel door slid open, all commotion from the access corridor ushering into the communal room, beginning with Wollo backing in, hands held high, followed by Gowdy and finally the Captain. The two raiders came in afterward, threatening with their Pulsers and shouting at the crew to keep backing up. The big man was quiet, a blank expression disturbingly lifeless on his face; the Captain demanding to know what the raiders wanted from them; Gowdy taunting, daring his attackers to drop their Pulsers and face him like men, not like cowards - basically, completely unhelpful as usual.

  The procession filed in one at a time, passing by the sitting figure of Kelerin like a dysfunctional parade. Kelerin tucked his chin to his chest, lifted his hands in surrender-like fashion and added his own voice to the fray. “I’m sitting down, I’m sitting down,” he announced over and over - and without actually zeroing in on Kelerin, the two raiders modified their commands to the rest of the crew from ‘back up’ to ‘sit down.’ Before long, it was Kelerin up front, the Captain and Wollo sitting in back of him to his right and Gowdy opposite them to the left.

  Kelerin noted his progress so far. The crew was effectively contained behind him, minimizing the chances that a stray Pulse burst might find its mark on any of them. The two raiders had spread out and taken up positions in front of him and to either side, ensuring they covered as wide an angle as possible for managing the hostages, the muzzles of their Pulsers still within arm’s reach. Everyone was in as ideal a position as he could expect them to be in and they weren’t going to stay that way.

  Now or never.

  Addressing Analel under his breath, he called, “Prophet.”

  “Yes.”

  “I need extra focus on those raiders. I want to feel the slightest changes in their Wave patterns, physical, emotional, hormonal, whatever. The very moment their fast twitch muscles are least likely to fire, I want to know about it.”

  “I never-”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll know it. You just focus.”

  “You got it.”

  The Captain was still demanding to know what his captors wanted from him and his crew. That question they wouldn’t answer, but they did inform him, in no uncertain terms, that he was lucky enough to be alive, and that from now on they strongly recommended he shut his mouth and leave the questioning to them.

  The raider on the right asked, “Is this all of you? Which one of you is the pilot?”

  Kelerin cut in, “Um, not sure if you’re aware, but one Pulse with that thing in here and we may all die.”

  The raider looked at Kelerin as if noticing him for the first time. He walked over slowly, bent down and whispered menacingly into his ear. “Only of I miss.”

  In a split second, Kelerin shoved off the bench, scooping upward with his right hand, wrapping it around the raider’s Pulser and using his momentum to pivot sideways, swinging the Pulser up so that its business end faced the second raider on the left.

  The left side raider was quick to react, bringing his own Pulser around from where it was covering Gowdy, but he wasn’t quick enough. Kelerin reached out and intercepted the second Pulser by the muzzle midway with his free hand, pivoting 180 in the opposite direction and using the torque of the motion to pull the off balanced raider forward while bringing the second Pulser up alongside the first - muzzle to butt. He bear hugged the two Pulsers together, his right arm from the bottom and his left from on top.

  The two raiders quickly came to the realization that each of them was effectively aiming their Pulser at the other. Kelerin caught the look of shock in their eyes and winked playfully. Frantically, the raiders tried to yank their Pulsers free, Kelerin crunching his whole side around his prize and squeezing like he wanted to absorb the weapons into his body. “Any time you wanna jump in here, Cap,” he said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth as he struggled to maintain his grip.

  The Captain and his crew had been in as much shock as the raiders were, perhaps even more so. Kelerin’s direct request was the impetus that finally jarred them to action. The Captain barked the order to his crew, “TAKE’EM OUT!”

  In one long stride Wollo cleared the entire distance between himself and the raider on the right, who looked on horrified, releasing his Pulser to block the incoming blow from the giant, but to no avail. The boulder-sized fist plowed straight through the raider’s meager defenses, his face exploding into a bloody mass as he flew backward, landing unconscious on the floor.

  Gowdy let out a wild, high pitched battle cry, tackling the raider on the left. The two struggled on the floor for a bit but it was clear the raider was by far the superior fighter. He managed to get both his legs around the short crewman’s thick neck and left arm, trapping both in a figure four/triangle choke and constricting blood flow to the brain. Gowdy flailed helplessly with his free right arm and would have lost consciousness given a few more seconds, but Kelerin came up from behind and shoved the muzzle of one of the dropped Pulsers into the raider’s mouth. He allowed the raider a second to register the cold, metallic taste of defeat aiming down his throat. Realization set in and the man released his strangle hold.

  “Tie this garbage up,” Kelerin ordered, backing up a bit but keeping the Pulser trained on his target.

  Gowdy, whose face was bright red - either from the effects of the choke or from a murderous rage induced by the choke, very likely both - arched backward before dropping his compact frame downward, smashing his forehead into the defenseless raider’s face and knocking him out cold.

  “Suppose that works too,” conceded Kelerin.

  Stillness dominated the atmosphere after that. Nothing but heavy breathing to be heard, everyone taking a moment to process what’d just went do
wn. Kelerin spoke under his breath. “Thanks for the assist, Prophet.”

  “I don’t think I did anything. To be honest, you had me freaked out just sitting there the way you were.”

  “I didn’t know Prophets got freaked out?”

  “We don’t… usually.”

  Kelerin laughed. “You’re a strange one, Analel, but trust me, you helped out plenty.”

  Did he just call me a strange one? Analel asked herself, a bit mortified - spurring on another question; Why? Why did it even bother her, what he thought of her? This was a question she couldn’t answer simply by expanding her consciousness. She never had this kind of feeling Prophesying for any other Academic before and she wondered if her conscious-less body’s cheeks were flushed red to match the way she felt now. She hoped so. She hoped her emotions stayed in quarantine with her body and as far away from Kelerin as possible.

  The Captain was the first to make a move from the crew. He came up beside Kelerin and clapped a thick hand on the Academic’s back, cutting off the conversation with Analel who was all too relieved for the distraction. “Nice moves there, genius.”

  “Thanks. Your boys didn’t do too bad either - for a bunch of haulers.”

  The Captain bellowed out a deep laugh. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Name’s Urmston. Captain Urmston. Big man over there’s Wollo.”

  “He doesn’t do much talking, does he?”

  “No. Gowdy does enough talking for the both of’em. You’ve already met him, I believe.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Gowdy answered Kelerin’s barb by flashing him a wicked grin, some splattered blood from the raider’s nose now smudged on the crewman’s forehead making the smile that much more unnerving.

  “And the pilot back there?”

  “Pedashaw.”

  Introductions over with, the Captain scratched his beard and regarded his would-be captors lying unconscious on the floor. Looking over at Gowdy, he caught the stocky crewman reading his mind and nodding his agreement. He started off nonchalantly. “So... taking into account recent events, I suppose it wouldn’t be all that impossible to detour and get you over to the Prophesy for your rendezvous, assuming that’s still your destination.”

  “Really?” asked Kelerin, skeptical but amused at the same time. “I thought you had a claim to stake?”

  “I do.”

  “And I thought there was money involved?”

  “There is. But you see, the reason I run this outfit and the reason these boys come along with me, is because we don’t like being beholden to anybody. On this ship where more free than any Clansman or corporate lackey from Castious. But now we owe you, you see, and that doesn’t sit well - not with me and not with my crew. It’s worth it for us to scratch a single haul for a chance to pay off a debt this size.”

  “So it’s just business then?”

  “It’s always just business.”

  Kelerin was surprised to find himself beginning to admire Urmston’s stubborn independence, although for the most part it still drove him nuts. “No need to put yourselves out, Captain. As circumstance would have it, looks like I got myself my own ride.” He nodded, indicating the two raiders lying on the floor.

  The Captain followed his gaze and remembered the second ship still docked with his own, despite this young Academic’s warning not to let it happen. It also reminded him that this was mostly his own fault and his debt was even larger than he’d originally thought it to be, a bitter reality he would apparently have to remedy some other way. “Right,” said the Captain. “I suppose you’ll be taking this filth along with you, then?” He nudged one of the raiders with the toe of his boot.

  “Gonna have to. My Teachers and Professors will want to question them. I wanna question them. I assume that’s OK with you?”

  “Yeah, fine, what am I gonna do with’em? Wollo will help you load the skugs back onto the Life Pod.” The big mute gave Kelerin a look to confirm this. “We’re not even past the halfway mark to Caras 3,” continued the Captain, “so we aren’t completely out of your way just yet. It shouldn’t take you more than half a day or so to reach the Prophecy from here. Can’t help you with that Storm Field once you get there, though. You’re on your own with that unholy monstrosity.”

  “No worries, Captain. I’m an Academic. They’ll pick that up and let me through.”

  “If you say so. Thing churns my insides, if y’know what I mean. Run into any other kind of trouble and you reach out to us on the hauler’s channel. Just search for the Ket Ket in the database. We’ll come find you. I mean it.”

  “Ket Ket?”

  “My ship.” Urmston declared, spreading his arms wide to take in the room proudly. “Best Miner on all two hundred Islands.”

  “And his wife.” added Gowdy.

  Kelerin looked confused. The Captain clarified. “Ket Ket - named her after the misses.”

  “His second love,” Gowdy put in again.

  The Captain ignored his abrasive crewmember and went back to explaining how Kelerin could reach them. “The hauler channel isn’t encoded but nobody’s listening most the time, save us haulers, and we know how to keep to ourselves, or help out, as needed.”

  “So I noticed. Thank you, really.”

  “Don’t thank us. We still owe you. Is there something else you need? Something I might be able to help with? Go ahead, name it.”

  “Could use to have my Whip back, now that you mention it.”

  “Right, o’course. Gowdy?”

  The short man grunted and headed off to the bridge. Kelerin had to check a guilty pleasure sneaking up on him at the sight of Gowdy being ordered to reverse his confiscation, the blow to the man’s ego probably stinging more than that kick to his sternum did.

  “Anything else?” Urmston sounded eager, almost desperate.

  Kelerin couldn’t keep from smiling, sitting in the Captain’s seat on someone else’s ship, as it were. “Don’t you worry yourself, Captain,” he said after some consideration, fully aware his next words would have the exact opposite effect. “I know how to get in touch with you now. Trust if I think of something, I’ll be sure to be letting you know.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” grumbled Urmston, cynically. “Hate owe’n people.”

  Chapter 31: Options

  Deep orbit, Caras 4

  In some ways Dunner welcomed the nausea.

  For the first time in so many hours he didn’t have to fake the pain in his stomach. There was no trying to gauge what was the appropriate amount of displayed agony for a Pulse wound. He didn’t have to feel out the right amount of clutching and moaning that would sell his condition but not over sell it as to invite further attempts at triage from the raiders. And most significantly, something other than his bottled up hatred, the object of which was sitting triumphant and unharmed not five meters away, succeeded in dominating his thoughts.

  Staying in character had been psychologically taxing to the point of physical exhaustion, so when the Life Pod began its descent into an atmosphere with a level of turbulence the likes of which he’d never experienced before, and his stomach began rebelling angrily, churning up painful dry heaves and sending involuntary spasms running up and down his spine, Dunner was actually thankful for the distraction.

  “ETA 5 MINUTES, FIRST CLAN,” Egra, the raider who stole his ration called to Dunner from the bridge.

  Five more minutes of this? No way we’re gonna make it!

  As if the weather were taking its cues from his fears, a massive BANG sounded just outside the hull, throwing the pod off course by several degrees. Dunner sat up in alarm thinking evacuation was in order, but the crew remained calm, their demeanor suggesting this kind of thing was business as usual. He lay back down quickly and snuck a peek in the direction of the bridge to see if any of the two raiders had caught his break from character. They didn’t seem to have and he breathed a sigh of relief, silently chastising himself for nearly blowing his cover early.

 
Still, his fear was real and mounting because he now knew where they were, or at least which celestial body they were touching down on. Only one environment he could think of cooked up storms of this magnitude with a frequency that would be considered business as usual - Caras 4.

  He’d be the first to admit he wasn’t the most studious of his classmates but you didn’t have to be an Academic to know that Caras 4 was wholly incapable of supporting life. Breathable atmosphere aside, even temporary visits had very low survival rates. It’s why the Academy gave up on research expeditions to Osmos’ fourth moon long before he was born. Caras 4 just wasn’t worth the risk.

  Could they actually be based here? It defied logic, but then again, so did a head on assault of the Academy. The ramifications of this revelation for what he was planning to do where not insignificant. There would be no escaping by foot out the complex. There would be no escaping period, if he were being honest with himself. Dunner had some flight experience, like any Academy student, but nothing qualifying him to fly inside Caras 4’s super storm, at least not without some topnotch tech to compensate for his novice skills. The second he stripped and donned the raider suit he knew he was risking his life, but now he’d come to the realization that this was in all likelihood a one way ticket.

  The ship jostled again something violent and he felt the sensation of stomach acid being squeezed up through his chest, burning the soft tissue of his esophagus.

  “HEY! IF YOU’RE STILL ALIVE BACK THERE, BRACE YOURSELF. FINAL APPROACH. 30 SECONDS TO TOUCHDOWN. THIS IS WHERE IT GETS ROUGH!”

  And whaddya call the ride so far you psycho murderer?

  The raiders’ cavalier attitude to the danger they were in, their clear lack of regard for the gift of life - it angered him, reminding him of who he was dealing with, what they did and why he had to stop them.

  Fortifying his nerves, he swallowed down the taste of bile and rolled off his cot, falling to all fours and gripping the hilt of the combat knife secured on the right thigh of his pressure suit. He focused his attention passed the short buffer section between the passenger hold to the flight bridge where his targets sat, oblivious to his movement, wholly intent on the pod’s instrumentation and piloting it along its final and most treacherous approach.