Wave Mandate

by Schneider, A. C.

  He rose from his crouch, managing a single step before another outside bang had the ship pop violently upward, throwing him into the air and smashing his back on the ceiling before slamming him down again to the grated floor. A follow-on pressure pocket knocked the vessel sideways, rolling him uncontrollably into the far wall, ramming his spine hard on a piece of sectional frame demarcating the passenger hold form the buffer section. Searing hot pain coursed through his back muscles, causing them to spasm.

  “YOU ALRIGHT BACK THERE?”

  Pain and the fear of being found out froze him in place. Seething from the mouth, spittle dripping down his chin as he bit down hard and held back his cry, he pitted his pain against his fear, one canceling out the other and leaving him with only vengeful drive. Unsheathing the 25 centimeter combat knife where he lay, he was ready to use it early if he had to, even with the ship in flight and all that that would mean, if it came to it.

  “You si’down and you strap down, Egra!” Dunner heard the pilot, Oppo, berating his partner. “Final approach. We check if he’s alive after we touch down.”

  Borrowed time.

  Growling under his breath like a wounded animal, his pain - fuel, his anger - motivation, he pulled himself to his feet, bracing against the side of the hull. Sticking his knife between his teeth, he used both hands to seek out holds wherever he could find them, stumbling along, using gravity to propel him forward when it was on his side and finding anchors to wait it out whenever it wasn’t. The final stretch between the passenger area and the bridge was the trickiest part. Open space with no readily available anchor points to stabilize himself. He held fast to the wall and was considering his options when the turbulence abruptly subsided. The ship slowed drastically and the floor ceased shaking. They were now in a hovering pattern and beginning a soft descent.

  Docking. This is it.

  The noise outside the ship had also disappeared and the ensuing silence was dramatic. Every tiny sound seemed amplified. He could feel his pulse beating away inside his ears, its steady rhythm growing maddeningly with each step he took to close the distance between himself and the raiders. Egra and Oppo were still focusing on the ship’s controls giving him hope that their attention to immediate surroundings wouldn’t be as acute as his own. However, extreme stealth would nevertheless be required to catch them off guard.

  He removed the knife from between his teeth with his right hand, exhaling thinly as he stalked forward, balls of the toes first followed by a controlled settling of the heel. He walked on a diagonal so that by the time he’d reach the raiders sitting at the bridge he’d be standing directly behind them. One step, two, three...

  “Dunner!”

  Whirling around at the sound of his name, knife slashing out in front, re-chambering just under and in front of his chin, left arm stretched out in a ward off, defensive posture - No one there.

  “Hey, First Clan, you’re up!”

  He whirled back to find Egra and Oppo standing directly in front of him.

  Figures.

  They went from looking at his eyes to his knife and down to his wound, which he could imagine didn’t come off quite as convincing from an upright position, and then back to his eyes again, taking in the whole picture. Suspicion dilated their pupils and each simultaneously placed a hand on the hilt of his blade.

  “What’s the knife for?” asked Oppo, all serious.

  Dunner snuck a glance over his shoulder and checked behind him again. Still nothing. He turned back to face the two raiders, a sheepish smile spreading across his lips. “Thought I heard something. Guess I was wrong.” He tossed his knife on the floor between the two raiders, their eyes dropping along with it, loosening their grips ever so slightly with the distraction.

  Lighting quick, he leaned forward, grabbing hold of the hilts of both Egra’s and Oppo’s knives with either hand, unsheathing them and thrusting upward, flipping his wrist to effectively orient the tips. Before they could react he’d stabbed through their chins, upper and lower pallets, straight on into their forebrains, releasing the blades almost immediately and allowing the bodies to drop where they stood.

  “What did you do?”

  The voice again. Dunner whirled around a second time, and for a second time faced off with an empty hold. Then realization sunk in:

  “Prophet?”

  “You just killed them!”

  “Yeah, I killed them, what did you expect me to do?”

  “I don’t know. Not that.”

  “Typical. Listen up bleeding heart. These guys are raiders. Murderers. They attacked the Academy and killed Creator knows how many Academics. I killed them and I’m going to kill a whole lot more of’em. In fact, I’m going to take out their entire base, which, if I’m not mistaken, I think we just landed on.” Then switching to a more cooperative tone, “Hey, y’know now that you’re here, do you think you can do your little Prophecy thing and figure out exactly what we’re dealing with on the outside?”

  “So that’s your plan, then? Suicide and mass murder to avenge their destroying of the Academy?”

  “Wait, what?”

  “You’re just going to become one of them. Do exactly the same thing they did and perpetuate-”

  “QUIET! Just, quiet a second. The Academy’s destroyed?”

  “… You didn’t know?”

  Dunner felt rage boiling up inside him, far greater than anything he’d ever felt before. He looked around the room, desperate for something to hit.

  “I’m sorry... I thought you knew.”

  Moving around all agitated his heel caught on something lying on the floor. He looked down and there was the body of the lifeless Egra. Rounding on the felled raider he unloaded, kicking the ribs over and over again, hollow thuds echoing throughout the pod like the steady beat of a drum.

  “Academic!”

  Kick, kick, kick…

  “Stop it!”

  Kick, kick…

  “Academic, STOP!”

  He did.

  “Get a hold of yourself!”

  Taking several deep breaths to calm himself, he plowed one more boot-full into the raider for good measure.

  “Dunner!”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

  “You are NOT fine. You’re not thinking clearly.”

  He exhaled deeply. “Prophet, I’ve never been thinking more clearly in all my life than I am right now.”

  “Really? Cuz I’d hate to see you on an off day, then.”

  “Exactly what are you worried about,” he asked, frustrated with the lecture. “The man’s dead.”

  “Well, from where I’m standing, or consciously hovering, whatever, it looks as though you’re planning on being next.”

  “Trust me, angel o’ mine, I’m not planning on being the one who meets their Creator today, but I’m touched that you care.”

  “Quit with the sarcasm, alright. You’re not fooling anybody. You were going to pick a fight with an entire enemy base! Do you have any idea how many silent Wave Cards I’ve read today? You want to add yours to the list?”

  “Look. Despite whatever Prophetic impression you might be getting of me, I happen to be a pretty capable Academic.”

  “You were going to charge in blind and emotionally compromised, how is that capable?”

  “I was gonna do what it takes.”

  “You were going to get yourself KILLED!”

  Dunner threw up his hands. “Enough! This is pointless. The argument’s theoretical now, things have changed.”

  “Good. So you’ve come to your senses. You’re coming back.”

  “Ha! No. I thought you girls were supposed to be perceptive.”

  “You’re starting to get on my nerves, Academic.” Dunner chuckled bitterly, the Prophet was not amused. “OK, so if you’re not coming back, then, what are you planning on doing?”

  With a wicked grin and a glint in his eye, “I’ve got options now, Prophet. You’re here.”

  Chapter 32: Proof

&n
bsp; The Prophecy, Caras 1

  Like most other parts of the Prophecy, the meeting room for the hastily convened committee was a stark chamber furnished with only the barest essentials. Whitewashed colors so prevalent throughout the seminary adorned the floor and three of its walls. Harsh lighting from above shown down on a centrally placed metallic table surrounded by plain white chairs offering nothing by way of comfort, only hard and unforgiving functionality.

  There was, however, one aesthetic feature of note. The fourth wall of the chamber was comprised of three massive, fully transparent, crystalline glass windows. So clear were they, one standing nearly up against them would feel no sense of separation between the room and Caras 1’s pale, powdery surface outside; a pristine lunarscape filled with shadowy craters and majestic peaks, moon dust reflecting light from the sun and sparkling like stars in an upside down, silver universe mirroring the familiar black one above it.

  Orisius stood at the center window soaking in this masterpiece of creation. He looked both patient and pensive. Jonas, who regarded his mentor from a seat at the table, would never have guessed this to be a man who’d just lost the legacy he was entrusted with and spent his entire life growing, safeguarding it for his generation of Osmosians to pass on intact for the generation to come. By all reports, Academy Island was still engulfed in flame. An unknown number of the Academy’s dedicated followers, his colleagues, each a living embodiment of its teachings, similarly broken and shattered, adding flesh to stone, sharing as one this tragic fate.

  Jonas wasn’t alone in observing the Headmaster. Each of the meeting’s invitees was likewise trying to get a read on the old man. These included Professor Halbard; Valix, who as a survivor of the attack and one of the first to get into contact with authorities following his coordination of the Student evacuation to Castius, was asked to join the meeting by the Headmaster himself and hitched a ride to the Prophecy via Island Guard transport; Commander Xervio of the Island Guard’s Anti-Raider Unit; and finally, Mother Jeserel, who was serving as acting host and voice of the Prophecy’s interests for matters to be discussed.

  It was not lost on Jonas that none of the other primary institution leaders had come in person. Not the Secretary General of the Island Guard or the Grand Mother. Instead, they opted to send representatives like Commander Xervio and Mother Jeserel. This, despite the magnitude of what the attack meant, not just to the Academy but to all members and institutional proxies of the Islands.

  Was it because it was Orisius who had called the meeting? Where the Islands’ foremost institutions still operating on the basis of power plays and petty divisions? If so, Jonas knew he would have more cause to worry for Osmos’ future than ever before.

  “Headmaster, can you tell us how much longer you expect your man to be?” inquired Commander Xervio. The Commander was of average height and incredibly fit for his age of fifty some odd years. His former stint as a fighter in the Special Forces Anti-Raider Unit he now commanded was apparent in the way he carried himself at all times. “I’ll remind you,” he continued, “that every minute spent here is a minute away from my forces and in aiding in the search for those responsible for the attack on your Academy.”

  Orisius did not turn away from the window. Halbard answered freely in his stead. “We appreciate the Guard’s patience in this matter, Commander, and we can assure you our intention is not to detract from your mission in any way.”

  “With all due respect, Professor, intentions and outcomes are two entirely different things.”

  “I have to agree with the Commander,” said Jeserel, weighing in. “As you know, a massive search is currently ongoing for survivors of the attack. These are your people, Headmaster. If it’s not of the utmost urgency that I be here, I believe my presence would be better served as part of those efforts.”

  Valix was not used to seeing the Headmaster operate in circles outside the Academy and was taken aback at how dismissive this group was behaving toward his judgment. “It was the Academy that was attacked and destroyed,” he noted heatedly, “not the Prophecy and not the Guard. I’m sure if the Headmaster called this meeting, it’s with full knowledge of those other concerns.”

  Jonas was thinking the same thing, but as a Teacher he had far more experience than Valix and knew when to hold his tongue. He placed a hand over Valix’s and signaled for him to keep quiet.

  Jeserel looked from Valix to Jonas and asked, “Why is he here?” Jonas took the question as rhetorical and did not answer.

  Orisius finally turned away from the window and walked slowly toward the table, addressing Xervio and Jeserel as he did so. “You’re both wasting your time.”

  The Commander’s reaction to Orisius’ charge was tight lipped, Jeserel’s, less so. “How could you say such a thing, Headmaster? People might be dying as we-”

  “You heard the reports, Mother. It’s total devastation. The Students that made it out and the serving Academics of the other 200 Islands are all that’s left of the Academy. Searching for evacuees is important but not urgent, as you put it. I think we can cancel out the possibility of further rescue from the equation. It’s callous, yes, but a practical imperative. There will be time to mourn for those we lost later. Right now is the time to act.”

  The patient Xervio now saw an opening. “And act against whom exactly, Headmaster?”

  Orisius began circling the table slowly, forcing all heads to follow him as he did so. A small victory in control, but one that would subtly contribute in eventually bringing those present around to his way of thinking. Xervio, the professional tactician, noted the move and quietly admired the man for it. “I think you and I both know who did this, Commander, even if the others sitting here do not.”

  “It’s obvious it was the Mainlanders,” Valix said, jumping in and letting everyone know he wasn’t to be included in that uninformed others category.

  Jeserel rolled her eyes and this time addressed her question to the Headmaster. “I ask again, why is there a Student here? He has no business sitting in on this meeting.”

  Valix took offense. “I was in the attack, Prophet! I have more business here than-”

  Jonas jumped in to save Valix from himself. “Quiet, Valix! Mind your place.” Then to Jeserel, “I apologize for his behavior. He’s just a Student and has been through a lot these past couple of days.”

  Jeserel glared at Valix who glared right back at her. “Disrespect me like that again, Student, and I’ll have you in an induced coma for a month using nothing but a thought.”

  Valix looked over at Jonas questioningly. Jonas raised his eyebrows and nodded, indicating that the threat was indeed real and should be taken seriously. Valix turned back to Jeserel. He was careful to keep his expression defiant but everyone noticed how he slunk down ever so slightly into his chair.

  The Headmaster sighed laboriously. Like dealing with squabbling children, he thought. “He’s here because I invited him here. He’s the only one in this room with direct experience in dealing with the particular enemy we face and he has demonstrated clear thinking under the threat of Pulse burst. I believe he’ll be an asset to this discussion and to our efforts once we’re ready to make our move.”

  “What enemy?” asked Xervio again, his tone displaying a slight increase in exasperation. “You still haven’t explained who was behind the attack, or how you even know this information to be accurate?”

  Orisius returned his attention to the elder warrior. “Tell us Commander, what do you know of the raiding group going by the moniker, Aberrations?”

  The Commander paused, clearly struck by the Headmaster’s question, although his features gave nothing away. “There’s no evidence that they had anything to do with this.”

  “No more, I suppose, than there’s evidence linking them to any of the other numerous attacks attributed to them. They appear to be very thorough in covering their tracks. And yet, you have a file on the group, do you not? In fact, it is my understanding that for the past year and a half the Secre
tary General, upon direction by Parliament, has made their killing or capture the number one priority of your unit, isn’t that correct?”

  All eyes were now on Xervio, awaiting his response. “If such a raiding group exists, yes. But my unit hasn’t found any solid proof indicating that to be the case. The only evidence we have of a group of raiders calling themselves Aberrations come from rumors, and questionable eyewitness accounts given by individuals having endured incredibly trying circumstances and still suffering the after effects of incident related stress.”

  “And yet you’re operating under the assumption that such a group does indeed exist, is that correct?” Xervio did not answer at first. “You’re not on trial here Commander.”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “And isn’t it true that given the limited information of what we know about this attack, that it fits the Aberrations’ modus operandi?”

  “It is not inconsistent with it,” granted Xervio, refusing to outright admit the Headmaster’s point.

  “Well then. For the sake of the rest of us sitting here at this table, would you please tell us what you know about this potentially relevant, alleged raiding group?” Orisius sat down at the table’s head and extended a hand, inviting Xervio to stand himself and address the committee. By doing so, he was sharing ownership of his Aberrations theory with the Commander, thereby converting a doubter into a collaborator. This particular manipulation was lost on Xervio.

  The Commander stood and cleared his throat. “The Aberrations: I’ll start by repeating what I said before, that there is no hard evidence confirming this group’s existence or direct evidence linking them to any single raiding incident. Yet there is no shortage of rumor, especially within Ipsidian hauling circles.

  “Like your typical raiding group, the Aberrations attack vulnerable shipments for profit and supplies, only Aberrations have been known to go after bigger prizes as well. A recent attack on a deep orbit Island Guard station and the blowing up of the Nebulous liner are just two well-known incidents attributed to them. They’re considered to be ambitious, daring, highly trained and highly professional.