Wave Mandate

by Schneider, A. C.

  “I think I found it,” announced Lyza, alerting her co-conspirators to join her. Placing a cheek to the panel door, she called quietly, “Annie? Annie, can you hear me?”

  “She can’t hear you,” explained Quinn, running over with Arah close behind. “If she’s in there, she’ll be in the middle of a Prophecy session.”

  Arah dismissed the notion with uncharacteristic derision. “That’s ridiculous, Quinn. This is the infirmary, not CentCon.”

  “I know.”

  “So then you know what you’re suggesting is impossible.”

  “Improbable,” corrected Quinn, remembering her conversation with Analel from what seemed like ages ago. “Now, can you manage this Reader, or not?”

  Arah was certain Quinn was wrong about Analel Prophesying in there but the practical challenge facing her at the moment left little concentration to spare for theoretical debate. They’d find out soon enough, if she could manage it. She stared down the Reader atop the door like an opponent before a duel. “I’ll give it a try. Please - some room, if you will?” Quinn and Lyza backed away a few paces, looking anxious. Arah licked her lips and rubbed the tips of her thumbs and forefingers together. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

  A long time passed with neither Quinn nor Lyza making a sound, knowing as they did the level of concentration Arah would have to muster in order to project a Wave Thought on the level of a Mother Prophet. Beads of sweat formed on Arah’s forehead and dripped down her temples. She kept a steady rhythm of long, deep breaths, drawn in through her nose and out from between lips rounded just so as to form a small ‘o’. Several minutes passed and suddenly, just like that, the panel door slid open.

  Arah’s body sagged from exhaustion. Quinn and Lyza came up beside her. “You did it!” Lyza gushed. “That was amazing.”

  “Thanks for proving me wrong,” added Quinn.

  “Anytime, Sister Quinn,” said Arah, weakly. “Truce?”

  Despite herself, Quinn smiled and grudgingly agreed. “Oh, alright. Truce.”

  The three of them entered the room and found Analel lying on a bed in a Prophetic state, deeper and more profound than a meditative one to those familiar with the nuisances of each. There was no doubt about it, Analel was Prophesying.

  “I don’t believe it,” exclaimed Arah, under her breath. “How is this possible?”

  Quinn might have gloated if she weren’t overwhelmed by the sight of her best friend lying peacefully on the infirmary bed. She rushed over, taking one of Analel’s hands in both her own, closing her eyes and projecting a Thought - I’m here.

  Slowly, Analel smiled, her eyelids fluttering open. The two laughed and hugged. “How are you feeling?” asked Quinn, still embracing her bedridden Sister, “I hope terrible.”

  Analel laughed some more, “Oh, I missed you, Quinn.”

  Lyza came over to the other side of the bed. “Looking beautiful as usual, Annie, despite your ordeal.”

  “Lyza? You didn’t have to involve yourself in this.”

  “Nonsense, of course I did.”

  Then Analel noticed Arah waiting patiently at the foot of her bed, seeming genuinely happy to have helped all this come together. “I knew you could do it, Arah!” she praised, grateful but not surprised at all. “I knew it. You truly are ready for Motherhood.”

  “Thank you, Sister Analel. And don’t be discouraged, I’m sure your time will come, soon enough.”

  Quinn rolled her eyes. “OK, truce over,” she declared, dryly.

  Arah looked surprised, “What did I say?”

  Lyza brought everyone back to the issue at hand. “Sisters, I don’t think I need to remind you that the Island Guard is looking for this girl, as we speak.”

  “Lyza’s right,” said Quinn, all business again. “We have to move. Can you walk, Annie?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

  “Good. Now which one of us is staying behind?”

  This caught everyone off guard. “What do you mean?” asked Arah, the others sharing in her confusion.

  Quinn explained. “Analel can wear her hood down to hide her face, but Mother Yetta still saw three of us walk in here.”

  Comprehension setting in, Arah exclaimed, “You’re right! It scares me the way your mind works sometimes.”

  “Yes. I’m very scary.”

  “Well I guess I’ll stay, then,” she offered. “I don’t think I’m cut out for all this clandestine stuff.”

  “You’re sure?” asked Analel.

  Quinn interjected. “The girl wants to stay, let her stay.”

  “Quinn, please! Be nice.”

  “It’s fine,” assured Arah, “really. This is not my sort of thing. I feel rather uncomfortable with what I’ve done so far as it is, although I don’t regret it. I’ll wait here and give you enough of a head start, then you’re on your own.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I can’t thank you enough for your help.”

  “One more thing, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t speak my mind - as much as it might bother Quinn - to tell you that I think you should turn yourself in. I’m sure whatever the situation is that you’re mixed up in, the Grand Mother can sort it out.”

  Quinn snorted, Analel was more understanding. “Thank you, Arah. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not just about me. This is something I have to do.”

  Stepping behind the dividing curtain in her room, she changed out of her infirmary gown and put on her familiar cloak she found folded neatly away inside the drawer of her nightstand. Then, leaning over close to the woman with the glowing hair, she whispered, “You’re in good hands with my mother, she’ll take care of you. Thank you... for everything.” Stepping back out from behind the curtain to her side of the room, she caught Arah stealing a peek at the strange and beautiful woman behind her, and felt obliged to impart a word of caution of her own. “Look but don’t touch.” Arah’s face registered many questions. “Trust me.” Then, turning to Quinn and Lyza she said, “OK, let’s go.”

  Outside, Analel pulled her hood low, and with Quinn and Lyza flanking her on either side they blended in to the everyday comings and goings of the Prophecy, managing to sneak passed Mother Yetta and avoid attention all the way to the docking bay. However, that was as far as luck would carry them.

  “There’s an Island Guard ship docked and a Guardsman is patrolling the corridor,” Lyza, who’d spied ahead, updated the others. “It looks like he’s being thorough. We’re not going to get you passed him like this, Annie.”

  Quinn looked at Analel, who was peering around the corner at the final obstacle in their way. “Any ideas?”

  Analel bit her lip. She had to trust Kelerin. “Patience,” she advised.

  Chapter 37: Storm

  Near orbit, Caras 1

  “I’m sorry Cap, but I gotta say, an entire haul, just like that?”

  Captain Urmston had been listening to Gowdy’s whining on and off since they left Caras 3 and by now he could feel the beginnings of a splitting headache coming on.

  “Quit your drama, Gowdy,” he ordered. “Twenty four hours’ worth is far from an entire haul. And it wasn’t ‘just like that’, either. We’re pay’n off an outstanding debt.”

  “Yeah? Well, that’s still a whole lot of Beautiful Black to just leave lyin’ around like that. Wouldn’t have killed anybody if we’d taken a few more hours to load it up.” Urmston rubbed his temples and tried to ignore his crewman, hoping he’d quit speaking of his own accord - no joy. “Whaddya think, Cap? Think that pile’s gonna still be there when we get back?”

  “Ya know, Gowdy, I’m starting to hope it won’t be.” Then, turning his attention to more pressing matters, “Pedashaw, how much more time till we’re inside that deathtrap.” By deathtrap the Captain was referring to the Prophecy’s Storm Field, infamous among haulers and the subject of dozens of modern legends rooted in rumor, colored by speculation, further embellish
ed, distorted and downright fabricated while passing from mouth to ear across an untold number of afterhours drinking establishments. Recurring themes are always the same; ghost ships floating aimlessly throughout space, entire crews found years later, minds wiped clean.

  Ushering them through this nightmare was Pedashaw, the best natural flying talent Urmston had ever come across. But he was also young and inexperienced. They took him on after their last pilot got picked up by the Guard for shuttling unsanctioned deliveries across the Telorn to the Mainland. Weapons, obviously. He claimed he was just a delivery boy and never knew what was inside the crates. Not surprisingly, the Guard didn’t buy it.

  Urmston had no knowledge of his pilot’s extracurriculars, but that didn’t stop the Guard from investigating him and the rest of his crew, all the same. The incident was still a sore point for everyone on board the Ket Ket, minus Pedashaw of course, who’d only come on board after the fact, three months ago. Didn’t even have a full hauling season under his belt, and now they were throwing him into the one stretch of space every pilot dreaded to fly. The kid was holding up fairly well, though, Urmston had to admit. If Pedashaw was nervous, he wasn’t letting on.

  “Caras 1’s Slingshot is close to the storm so it shouldn’t be long now,” the pilot answered.

  “Best guest?”

  “Maybe two minutes.”

  “OK.” Addressing the rest of the crew, the Captain asked, “Everyone remember their jobs?”

  “Yeah,” said Gowdy, “keep quiet and let you do the talking.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Means you just be yourself, Wollo,” added Gowdy, then he laughed at his own joke. The big man threw him a dark look.

  “Storm Field’s up ahead,” announced Pedashaw, and everyone turned serious. Even Gowdy, never known to be at a loss for words or attitude, kept quiet, watching the blip on the screen representing their ship steadily draw closer to the red ring surrounding a 3D rendition of Caras 1.

  Looking outside the viewing glass, Urmston could find no trace of anything unusual. It was the worst part of this whole misadventure. The prospect of flying into a Storm he couldn’t see unnerved him and an involuntary shudder ran down his spine, but he composed himself, knowing his upcoming performance would have to be convincing if he wished to avoid his crew becoming the subject of another hauler legend.

  “We’re insi-” Pedashaw cut off abruptly at the sight of a purplish flash of light in the middle of the cabin. A second later, a soft green streak lit up the area from behind Wollo’s head and had the big man looking over his shoulder wearily. Another flash directly in front of Gowdy. The rough-edged hauler sprang out of his chair, turning in all directions, yelling at the air around him, “Get off me!”

  They all heard it at the same time, clear as anything, a woman’s voice deep inside their heads: “YOU HAVE ENTERED A RESTRICTED NO-FLY ZONE. DO NOT PROCEED ANY FURTHER. PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELVES.”

  “Captain Urmston,” spoke the Captain to the air above him, “of the mining vessel, Ket Ket.”

  “WHAT IS YOUR BUSINESS HERE, MINING VESSEL?”

  Urmston had been prepared for the question. Kelerin laid out his plan earlier as to what he should say to get passed the Stormwatcher. He didn’t enjoy taking direction from a kid not even half his age, but he had to admit, it was a plausible claim, mostly because it was true. Now all he had to do was sell it to a Prophet who could read his thoughts and potentially wipe his mind clean if what she found disagreed with her sentiments. Wouldn’t be the first time a woman tried to drive me insane, he thought.

  “I came to get back what’s mine.”

  “ON WHOSE AUTHORITY ARE YOU HERE?”

  “Who’s authority? Unbelievable,” he muttered. “How about on the authority of a tax paying Islander of New Stellus. Someone who contributes to the whole cozy setup you got going on over here. You’re forgetting who works for who, Prophet.”

  “MINING VESSEL. YOU ARE IN A RESTRICTED NO-FLY ZONE. TURN AROUND AND EXIT IMMEDIATELY.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I get back what you stole from me.”

  “THE PROPHECY STOLE NOTHING FROM YOU, CAPTAIN.”

  “Says you. Two days ago I rescued an Academic from the Telorn Sea. Shortly afterward we were raided but managed to subdue our attackers. That Academic insisted we transfer those raiders into his custody to be brought here, to the Prophecy. He commandeered one of my dollies to do it. I want that piece of equipment back.”

  Pause.

  “STAND BY, MINING VESSEL.”

  The flashes continued and the crew of the Ket Ket waited uneasily for an answer.

  “WE HAVE CONFIRMED YOUR ACCOUNTING OF EVENTS, CAPTAIN. A FORMAL REQUEST TO THE OFFICE OF YOUR REPRESENTATIVE SHOULD BE ISSUED, AT WHICH TIME WE WILL HAVE YOUR EQUIPMENT RETURNED TO ONE OF THE MAJOR DOCKING STATIONS ON NEW STELLUS. YOU WILL BE NOTIFIED UPON ITS ARRIVAL. IN THE MEANTIME, PLEASE TURN AROUND AND PROCEED TO OTHERWISE SANCTIONED FLIGHT ZONES.”

  More than anything else, haulers hated being pushed around by the lumbering, bureaucratic arms of headless, heartless, soulless government bodies, so there was no way Urmston would have accepted her terms even if there was no ulterior motive of paying off a debt in play. He used that as motivation.

  “I don’t expect a wheel-cog like yourself to understand this, Prophet, but that dolly is costing me major capacity. Capacity means productivity. Productivity means Coin. And for people who actually work for a living, Island Coin means I get to put food on the table for my wife and kids.”

  “CAPTAIN, I REPEAT. TURN YOUR VESSEL AROUND AND EXIT THIS NO-FLY ZONE IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING BEFORE THE PROPHECY WILL BE FORCED TO TAKE ACTION.”

  Urmston looked around at the faces of his crew. Maybe it was a trick of the lighting, but everyone’s complexion seemed to drop an entire shade of color. He read the looks in their eyes and could imagine what they were thinking. Were they to become another legend? A catatonic crew wasting away? Another ghost ship to be salvaged years from now by some opportunistic treasure hunting outfit combing through space junk floating outside the shipping lanes?

  Slowly, Urmston shifted his gaze from his crew to the air above him, a scowl marring the features beneath his substantial beard. “Here’s what I’m gonna do, Prophet. I’m gonna continue on my course and I’m gonna collect what’s rightfully mine. You can either grant me access to dock at the Prophecy and make it all official-like, or you can lobotomize me and my entire crew. I don’t rightfully care anymore. But you are not going to intimidate me. You got someone you need to answer to? Guess what? So do I: My crew and their families, my wife and my kids. Do what you gotta do, Prophet. I gotta do what I gotta do.”

  Pause.

  Every crew member on the bridge could hear their own heartbeat, waiting as they were for the Prophet’s answer. Even Gowdy wondered if maybe the Captain had gone a little overboard challenging the Prophecy like that, but Urmston kept his bearing throughout. He wasn’t backing down.

  “STAND BY CAPTAIN... YOU ARE GRANTED PERMISSION TO DOCK-” A collective exhale sounded throughout the ship. “-AT SKYBRIDGE NUMBER 7. YOU ARE TO WAIT AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE SKYBRIDGE. YOUR EQUIPMENT WILL BE BROUGHT TO YOU. DO NOT VENTURE FROM THE SKYBRIDGE ENTRANCE IN ANY WAY. YOU ARE NOT TO BE FOUND ROAMING THE ACCESS CORRIDOR, NOR ARE YOU TO BE FOUND IN ANY OTHER AREA OF THE PROPHECY. IS THAT CLEAR?”

  “Crystal.”

  “YOU MAY PROCEED.”

  “Set a course,” ordered Urmston.

  “Course set, Captain,” returned Pedashaw, “docking in five.” The Ket Ket advanced and when the flashes abated, Pedashaw informed his crewmates they’d passed out of the Storm Field.

  “Thank you, Pedashaw.” Able to speak freely now, Urmston turned to the rest of his crew. “Gowdy and Wollo, head over to the main hold and be ready to welcome our distinguished guest.”

  Gowdy got up from his chair, groaning with the thought of unappealing work, Wollo following after him.

  “And Gowdy...
”

  “Yeah?”

  “Try not to be your usual charming self, will ya? She’s just a kid. Probably never stepped foot outside those walls.”

  “Go’n soft on me, are ya, Cap?”

  “I’m the father of a girl myself, Gowdy. When it comes to protecting her, there’s nothing in the Creator’s universe that’s tougher.”

  Gowdy sighed. “Got it. Gentle on the kid.”

  The Ket Ket approached the Prophecy at a respectful velocity. Neither Urmston nor Pedashaw had ever seen the sprawling complex from this close before. Only a few private contractors, with Parliamentary connections and a monopoly on Prophecy jobs needing doing, ever had.

  Pedashaw eased the Ket Ket into a lazy turn and circled the Tower with its awesome Antenna Storm of spiraling chromatic Mist, climbing high into the blackness of space and lighting it up with the collective power of hundreds of minds. Below and to the opposite side of the complex was the more subtle spectacle of the Biosphere; a mass, vibrant patch of foliage, stubbornly nonconformist in its relationship with the rest of the silvery rock serving as its home.

  Spotting the docking strip, Pedashaw could easily make out a larger skybridge, presumably designated for the on-loading and offloading of heavier/bulk shipments, at the end of a row of smaller versions for pedestrian use. Assuming it to be skybridge #7 he descended, confirming his assessment in the process by spotting the large number painted on the skybridge’s roof while landing.

  Urmston watched Gowdy and Wollo run through hull capture procedures from his console. The droning purr of the skybridge extending out to meet the Ket Ket came through over the comm, followed by the telltale hiss of pressure locks engaging after rows of metal teeth latched onto the hull.

  “Opening up the cargo bay door, now,” reported Gowdy. Wollo pulled a lever. Gowdy pounded on a depressor. The Ket Ket’s hangar bay gangplank began falling away from the ship, descending, forming a ramp leading down to the skybridge floor. There was no one waiting for them. “Should I head down?” asked Gowdy.