The Empty Warrior

by J. D. McCartney

  “And why is that?”

  “In the conference room you expressed some misgivings that the man might be some sort of murderer, and, well; I’m afraid you may be right. In fact, you are almost certainly right. Come, look at this.” Beccassit made his way over to the desk and pulled open a drawer. In it lay some burnt and water damaged items of fabric and leather. But what caught Valessanna’s eye was a large, angular, bluish gray metallic object placed off to the side and surrounded by smaller, cylindrical objects with conical tips. “These are all personal effects that we found on the aberrant,” the Doctor said. He picked up the intriguing metal thing and offered it to Valessanna.

  Taken aback by its weight, she nearly let it fall to the deck before recovering her grip. It was cold, and imparted a feeling of cruelty to her fingers. “It’s heavy for its size,” she whispered. “What is it?”

  “It is a weapon,” the doctor answered. “I had no idea when I first saw it, but the aberrant was carrying it, and it looked unusual. After what you said in the meeting, I had Vigilant analyze it as soon as I returned here. It is a projectile weapon, and it is quite deadly. The projectiles,” he said as he pointed to the little cylinders that still lay in the drawer, “are held in the back of the weapon and then forced out the open end of the it here,” he tapped on the elongated, tubular end of the oddity with his pointer, “at high velocity by an exploding, or more accurately, very quickly burning, propellant. The tube is manufactured to spin the projectile as it leaves the weapon, making it stable as it flies through the air toward its target. And it gets worse. The markings on this weapon indicate that it is of a type formerly issued to those employed in one of the organized killing units maintained by the government that controls the area where he was found. An ordinary citizen of their society would in all likelihood not be carrying this. This man almost certainly is; or more probably was, considering his injuries; a member of one of those units.”

  “So exactly how did this thing manage to get all the way down to sick bay without being detected?” Valessanna asked, concerned.

  “Well as you can see,” Beccassit continued as if lecturing a student, “it doesn’t look very dangerous in and of itself and it radiates no energy signature. Simply put it is so primitive that Vigilant did not recognize it as a threat.”

  “But I thought you said…”

  “I know, I know,” the Doctor said, interrupting. “The ship did not initially recognize the artifact as a weapon for me either. As with everything else about the aberrant world, the research files we downloaded prior to departure are restricted; they are partitioned away from the rest of the system files. So the programs dedicated to weapons detection do not have access to the files concerning the barbarians. It wasn’t until I got into the partitioned files that the ship was able to tell me exactly what the object was. And I must say it was insanely difficult for me to gain the access I needed. A damned nuisance, if you ask me.”

  “Well, you were not supposed to gain access to those files at all, doctor,” Valessanna chided. “That is why they are restricted, to keep the curious away from them.”

  “Ah yes,” the doctor retorted derisively. “If the government doesn’t keep its little secrets the entire fabric of our civilization will come crashing down around us. What bunk! And besides, the only members of the crew to have legitimate access to the restricted files were the acquisition team, and they are no longer with us. With all due respect to the force’s ridiculous need to keep everything concerning the aberrants classified, there simply has to be someone among us with the wherewithal to find out what is going on with regard to our guest. I merely took it upon myself to be that person.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Valessanna said. “But if you don’t mind, let’s not let the whole crew in on the secret, all right? I don’t want every spacer on board perusing files they have no business even knowing about.” As captain, Valessanna already had access to all the restricted files, but that too was classified, so she let the matter drop. If it became a problem she, and only she, could increase the security measures surrounding the files, or delete them entirely.

  She turned her attention back to the weapon, gingerly returning it to Beccassit. “So these are the projectiles here?” she asked, as she fished one from the bottom of the drawer.

  “Only the small rounded part,” answered the Doctor. “The back section houses the propellant. I took the liberty of removing them from the weapon as a safety precaution.”

  “It hardly seems efficient,” Valessanna mused as she dropped the cylinder back into the drawer.

  “On the contrary, despite its crudity, it is surprisingly powerful and effective. Vigilant estimates its effective range at well over two hundred meters, although hitting a target at that distance would appear to be problematic. Apparently discharging the projectile produces a significant recoil effect. It seems it was designed more for use in close quarters than at extreme ranges. But if one were able to hold the weapon steady…” Beccassit’s voice trailed off.

  “Over two hundred meters,” Valessanna echoed, impressed.

  “Oh yes,” Beccassit murmured. “And if you were to be hit by it…”

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Well,” the doctor continued in a voice that was softer than his normal tone, “the analysis indicates that a direct hit from this weapon could very nearly tear off an appendage the size of your arm.”

  “Really?” Valessanna unconsciously backed away a step from the doctor and the weapon.

  “Absolutely. It might even sever it completely, if the projectile impacted at exactly the right spot. You can imagine the effect it would have on your chest cavity, or your cranium.” The doctor paused to replace the weapon inside the drawer and push it shut. “Remember, the aberrants have been improving their killing technology, in an unending effort to slay each other with maximum efficiency, since shortly after the Cataclysm. They know exactly what they are doing. Our giant here,” he said, turning back to the tank, “in possession of that weapon, would be a formidable and lethal opponent, at least the equal of one of our most well-trained and well-armed guards.”

  Valessanna stood staring into the tank as if facing an apparition. She was still somewhat in disbelief that she actually had an aberrant confined to her sick bay. What kind of man would he be? Could he be controlled at all or trusted in any way? Certainly the legislature did not think so, or all the laws that forbade Akadeans from making contact with the savages would never have been put on the books. And she did not think so either, she abruptly decided. The idea of the killer armed with his weapon and running amok on her ship was chilling, to say the least.

  And yet there were other considerations that Valessanna was forced to review in regard to the man. Now that she knew something of his background, it was possible that his unexpected arrival aboard could be as much a benison as it was a bane. Many of her crew had died trying to obtain the data that the Union needed, and many more, as she had so recently been horrified to see out in the clinic area, had been wounded. Suddenly it was conceivable that their sacrifices may not have been totally in vain, as another potential source of information had now propitiously reared its head. If this man had indeed been a member of one of the aberrant death legions, he might be a treasure trove of just the kind of information that Vigilant had been sent to collect. If he could be confined and yet still reasoned with, it was quite plausible that he could relate to them everything they had been tasked with discovering.

  Another, more personal consideration, was that if the man was cooperative, having him in her possession could quite conceivably save her from being drummed out of the police force, and perhaps even rescue her commission and her rank. And a successful conclusion to their mission might alleviate some of the guilt she felt as well. The possibilities were too tantalizing for her to ignore.

  But there was a problem. Only the members of the acquisition team had been outfitted to speak what was probably the only language the aberrant understoo
d. There was at present not a crewmember aboard who could communicate with him, and only Beccassit could change that.

  “Doctor,” she said, “our giant will need to be able to speak with us once he is conscious. Implant a language chip before you bring him around, if you don’t mind.”

  “Mrs. Nelsik?! You know I can’t do that.” The Doctor acted as if his honor had been impugned. “The man is severely wounded and in a coma, not to mention the fact that when he is brought back to consciousness he will find our civilization to be completely different from anything he has ever experienced. Even if I had a language at the ready with which to program an implant, which I don’t, he won’t be ready to give his consent for that kind of thing for many months, if not years. And we don’t even know for an absolute certainty what language he speaks. No. No, I can’t do that at all.”

  “What happened to all that bombast about what a ‘damned nuisance’ regulations are?”

  “This is not about regulations.” Beccassit looked even more offended than before. “This is about ethics!”

  “Oh please,” Valessanna said, irritated that the doctor, among others of her crew, seemed not to understand when she was issuing a direct order. “This is not a Union citizen, this is an aberrant barbarian. I will take the responsibility, and besides, this is not a request. This man could be very important to our mission, and as such I have an overriding interest in being able to communicate with him as soon as possible. I feel certain you will be able to find a wide selection of aberrant languages in the restricted files you had so little trouble hacking into. Assume he speaks the language that is prevalent in the area where he was found. Even if you don’t get it right, he will still be able to understand us better than with no translator chip at all. Then when we figure out what the proper language is we’ll change the damn thing out. Your medical ethics are laudable, doctor, but out of place in the current situation. So if you don’t mind, please do as I say.”

  Beccassit shrugged and sighed. “As you wish, Mrs. Nelsik,” he said. Then, arching an eyebrow, he continued. “I will of course need you to take the responsibility in writing before I proceed.”

  “Yes, of course you will,” Valessanna snapped. “I will make certain you have the necessary paperwork. You just make sure that I can talk to him once he’s awake. And have that weapon sent to my quarters, along with the projectiles. I want that thing locked up.

  “And one more thing; I don’t want the crew parading in and out of here. There may be nothing we can do about their awareness of the aberrant’s presence, but they are not to come into contact with him. I’m not sure I believe all that rot about ‘psychological contagion,’ but we won’t take any chances. Only you, essential medical staff, myself, and perhaps Mr. Busht are to be allowed anywhere near this man. Understood?”

  She glowered at Beccassit as menacingly as she was able until he nodded, then turned and walked toward the door. She was out in the corridor before she remembered her promise to Busht. “And doctor,” she called back loudly, “send someone to check on the exec. He doesn’t look well to me. Make sure he’s all right.”

  “I’ll see to him personally, Mrs. Nelsik,” Beccassit replied from inside the overnight room, sounding browbeaten, and again suddenly tired.

  Too bad, Valessanna thought. She had a ship to run and a mission to accomplish. If that bothered the doctor, or anyone else on board, they would just have to get over it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE:

  Eluding the Pursuit

  After making her way onto the bridge through a hatch in the stern-ward bulkhead, Valessanna quietly seated herself in the captain’s chair. It was nearly time to gamble with the lives of her crew and the safety of her ship once more, to go sub-light for the course change that would hopefully, in the end, lead to sanctuary. She took a moment to scan the compartment, appraising the deportment of the command crew. All of her best people, save one, sat at their consoles, and in appearance at least, seemed competent and professional. The maneuvering station was unmanned as Darcon, who was senior steersman aboard, was conspicuously absent. Beccassit had pronounced her unfit for duty, insisting she would need weeks, if not longer, in counseling. Busht stood behind the empty chair at her station, prepared to take her place. He was casting his own experienced eye over the bridge when Valessanna spoke. “I have the conn, Mr. Busht,” she said.

  “First officer relinquishes the conn, Captain,” Busht answered. “Vigilant stands ready for action. Deceleration protocols are in effect. The chief engineer has cleared the ship for sub-light operation and the subsequent reengagement of the deep drive.” He then moved closer the captain’s chair and spoke in a near whisper meant for her ears only. “Calese does however request, in her own sublimely delicate way, that we be gentle with her baby.”

  “I am sure she did. Thank you, Colvan,” Valessanna replied. Her expression of gratitude was heartfelt, not obligatory. Busht had, on his own initiative, interposed himself between the captain and Arkhus, acting as Valessanna’s liaison with engineering for the last sixteen or so hours, giving her a much-needed break from the belligerence of the sullen engineer. He nodded his head in recognition of her thanks before stepping to the maneuvering station to take a seat.

  Valessanna raised her voice to address the bridge crew as a whole. “All right, people. All set?”

  Murmurs of assent rippled through the compartment. “Good enough,” she said. “Commence braking.”

  “Braking commenced,” echoed Busht. Valessanna felt a momentary pull of forward G-force that almost toppled her from her perch, but fortunately the dampeners kicked in before she was dumped to the floor. Obviously the repairs due them were far from complete. She pushed herself back into the seat and strapped in. For a split second she considered activating the action cocoon, but then thought better of it, noting that the rest of the crew were merely belted in at their stations.

  Slowing to sub-light would take a while, almost sixty minutes as Busht was decelerating at a very leisurely rate, following Arkhus’s directive to avoid applying any undue stress to the damaged vessel. If the Vazileks were indeed behind them, they would almost certainly begin to close on Vigilant now. Valessanna tried not to think about that possibility, as nothing could change it. Instead she concentrated on monitoring the ship’s steadily decreasing velocity.

  She fidgeted restlessly as the minutes passed. The core of her being was relentlessly urging her legs to motion, and only the knowledge that it might instill dread in the crew after what had occurred the last time she paced the bridge kept her from hopping down to the deck to begin her repetitious promenade across the width of the rear of the compartment. The force prided itself on the rationality of its members, but like anyone who spent their life sailing the void, Valessanna knew every spacer was deep down superstitious. There would be no pacing today.

  At last Busht made the announcement that everyone had been waiting for. “One minute to sub-light,” he said loudly. “Look alive, everyone.”

  Valessanna turned her attention to the viewscreens. Two showed nothing but darkness while the other, the one focused forward, showed a pinpoint of bright light in its center which faded into progressively darker, bluish coronas nearer its edges. That would soon change. As the ship slipped below one point zero, the screens would be brilliantly illuminated by the varying intensities of light from a billion visible stars. It happened as she watched, all three viewscreens simultaneously exploding with light. “Sensors?” she barked, having neither the time nor the inclination to admire the view.

  “All clear, Captain,” a crewman responded. “No one’s out here but us.”

  “Excellent. Stay alert up there. Navigation?”

  “Working, Captain,” Abblehoff replied. He bent over his station for several seconds, studying his readouts, before he spoke again. “I have a position fix.” There was another short pause. “I have a vector. It is a significant correction, but it is the closest way to charted space available. I suggest we move to course forty-seven
point four by two-twenty-seven point eight.”

  “As you wish,” Valessanna intoned.

  “Maneuvering, do you have the coordinates?” Abblehoff asked.

  “Affirmative,” answered Busht. “Inputting. Request permission for burn.”

  “Keep the mains off line, Colvan,” Valessanna warned. “Permission granted for maneuvering thrusters only. Commence burn at your discretion.” Igniting the main engines would have been much quicker, but it would have left a trail that would be hard for the Vazileks to miss. There was no sense in providing them a signpost showing which way Vigilant had gone. The thrusters could put them on the proper course just as easily, and without leaving readily discernible evidence behind.

  “Commencing burn now,” Busht announced.

  Valessanna’s heart pounded as the seconds ticked by. This was the most dangerous segment of the turn, that part of the arc where they were traveling very close to their old course. If one of the Vazilek ships was lucky enough to go sub-light at the proper spot along their old trajectory, Vigilant would be directly under their guns as their sensors came on line, and Valessanna would have bet everything she owned that the Vazileks kept their weapons powered and ready at all times during a pursuit. If the unthinkable happened, Vigilant would be very lucky to escape a second time.

  Forward, the stars moved down and to the right across the viewscreens at an excruciatingly slow pace. A minute passed, then two, and no Vazilek ship appeared. A third minute elapsed, and Valessanna began to relax slightly. They were now headed away from their previous course by more than twenty degrees and at nearly the speed of light. If the Vazileks showed themselves now, even at the closet point along their old vector, they would be hard pressed to inflict any significant damage to Vigilant before she could disappear back above the threshold of light speed. The worst they could do would be to shadow her again.