The Empty Warrior

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The Empty Warrior Page 27

by J. D. McCartney


  The captain, and everyone else at the table, still gazed at him blankly. Cyanne Lindy was the first to speak. “When you say ‘hit them first,’ exactly what does that mean?”

  “It means to be the first one to launch a major attack. To do it to them before they do it to you. With the right intelligence, it is possible to engage even a significantly stronger enemy and still have an excellent chance of success. If you mass your forces at the point of attack, it is generally not all that difficult to punch through a spread out defense. Once you have done that, you exploit your advantage. You keep his forces tied down trying to defend against your incursion while at the same time going after his strategic assets, his means of production. Not only does this force him to react to you, rather than vice versa, it systematically reduces his ability to fight. And as long as you can keep him on the defensive, it is very difficult for him to launch his own attack against your assets.”

  Cyanne had listened to O’Keefe with rapt attention, but now skepticism limned her features. “I take it you mean that we should use the police to destroy their shipyards, factories, and such, that is assuming we can find them, in an effort to put an end to their capability to produce weapons with which to attack us. Is this correct?”

  “Exactly,” O’Keefe said, surprised at the strategic acumen the woman displayed.

  He waited for a response from Busht or the captain, but they had ceded control of the conversation to Lindy’s wife. “But it is a foregone conclusion that many people would be killed using such a strategy,” she opined, looking grieved. “Many of whom may have had nothing to do with the attacks on our people. That hardly seems just.”

  “Well, yes,” O’Keefe said haltingly, “there is always a certain amount of collateral damage.”

  “I see,” Cyanne said thoughtfully. “And what of the ships they already possess?”

  “Well, you’ll have to destroy them in detail. There’s no getting around that.”

  “But it is abundantly clear that the Vazileks have no love for us as it is. If we kill the innocent and willfully destroy their property, would not that only inflame their passions further? And if the Vazileks already possess a fleet with which to attack us, I fail to see how the policy you advocate would result in putting an end to their rapaciousness. It seems to me that such a strategy would only widen the gulf of misunderstanding between us.”

  “I think you are mistaken to believe that their attacks are the result of some kind of a misunderstanding,” O’Keefe retorted, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. “I mean, think about it. If people want to get along with other people, there is very little to keep them from doing so. They could simply make the decision to get along and that would be the end of it. The truth is there are people who simply don’t wish to be friendly to other people. They want to fight.

  “And of course they will be upset if you attack them. They will be mad at you, plenty mad at you. And yes, attacking them won’t provide an instant panacea for your problem. Conflicts of this nature are not for the fainthearted. You’re going to have to keep the pressure on them. You’re going to have to inflict enough casualties and destruction on them to make them understand that it is in their best interest to leave you alone. Only then can you expect to have a return to normalcy. Otherwise they are just going to keep attacking you.”

  Cyanne leaned back into her chair, looking perplexed. “So it is your contention,” she said, “that in order to gain what we seek, we must first engage in the very thing that we abhor and are trying desperately to avoid. Is this correct?”

  “Yes,” O’Keefe said emphatically. “That’s it exactly.”

  “I don’t mean to be insulting, Mr. O’Keefe, but I see no logic to your reasoning. We have been made extremely angry by the depredations of the Vazileks. By your own admission, they would be very upset with us if we were to reply in kind. If this is indeed the case, it makes no sense for the two of us to fight. If neither side desires the inevitable miseries inherent in any conflict, then logically, there should be a way to avoid the conflict entirely. This is the option that we have chosen to pursue, and this is where we need enlightenment. We know that your world has conclusively ended similar conflicts. We wish to know precisely how that was accomplished and apply it to our own situation.”

  O’Keefe took his head in his hand, kneading his forehead between his thumb and four fingers, his eyes tightly shut, forcing himself toward rationality and fighting down the urge to simply disparage the woman and her simplistic moralizing.

  “Well,” he said, at last, “you could always surrender. You could march meekly into slavery and death, but I don’t think you really want to do that. So let’s try this one more time. There are several ways that conflicts have been ended on Earth. One way is by propagandizing the issue. If you are fighting an open society, it is possible to turn their own population against a conflict, thereby forcing their leaders to negotiate. But since you don’t know where these people live, and they refuse to communicate with you in any way, this doesn’t appear to be an option for you.

  “A second way is to blockade them, to interdict their commerce, forcing them to sue for an end to the conflict. But again, you have to know where they came from originally and where they are at present for this to work, so I think it would be a little beyond your means to accomplish a blockade.

  “You can also incite revolution. If there is a faction in a society opposed to a conflict, you can aid them in an attempt to overthrow the leadership that is prosecuting the conflict, and then negotiate a return to normalcy with the new leadership if the attempt is successful. However, if you are not successful, you will almost certainly harden the current leadership’s resolve to continue the fight. And again, it’s exceedingly clear that you have no idea if there are competing factions within their hierarchy or whether the leadership enjoys monolithic support for their actions.

  “All of these options can lead to the end of a conflict, but all of them require a lot more intelligence about your adversary than you appear to possess. The only thing that you seem to know about these people is that some of them are human, all of them are ruthless, and that they prefer suicide to surrender. And I’ve got to tell you, that set of facts doesn’t augur well for any solution besides fighting back. I can state almost categorically from my knowledge of the history of such conflicts on Earth that these people are fanatics. They are spoiling for a fight, and if you don’t give them one, they are going to eventually roll over you. They are never going to negotiate with you.

  “The dilemma here is that you are looking for a rational solution to a problem caused by irrational people. Sure, if they were rational, you could find a way to engage them and put a stop to their attacks. But if they were rational, they wouldn’t be attacking you in the first place. What you have on your hands is a fight, one that you seem to want no part of, but one that you are going to have to engage in nonetheless. I’m sure you don’t like what I’m saying, but you asked for my opinion and what I’ve told you is my opinion, and unless you have some other information that I’m not privy to, it’s not going to change.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he did so, sending a clear message that he considered the discussion over.

  Cyanne inclined her head slightly toward him. “Then it would seem we are destined to disagree, Mr. O’Keefe, but I thank you for your input. Your insights will give us much to ponder.”

  For the first time O’Keefe became conscious of the tension that had settled over the table during his exchange with Cyanne. In the silence that followed it was palpable. Lindy broke the spell by standing to reach for a pitcher of emerdal.

  “It seems the dessert is not quite ready,” he announced, smiling amicably around the table. “So we all simply must have another drink.” He poured liberal amounts into each guest’s goblet. “To good friends,” he said, raising his glass in the air, “and impassioned debate.” Everyone at the table raised their drinks as well, echoing his sentiments before sipping the
emerdal. O’Keefe was surprised to find the liquid still ice cold, despite the time the ewers had spent sitting on the table, and further noticed that there was no condensation on the outside of the pitchers or his glass. The Akadeans seemed to have technology for every occasion.

  His tablemates settled back into good-natured conversation—the captain and Busht talking shop, the Lindys and Beccassit discussing an art acquisition that hung on the far wall, while Pellotte seemingly could not keep her hands off O’Keefe as she made small talk about nothing.

  The domestic robot soon appeared with dessert—a delicate, fluffy, chocolate concoction that O’Keefe found to be utterly satisfying. For once he was the last to finish as he allowed each tiny fork-full to dissolve slowly on his tongue while he savored its flavor melting onto his taste buds. After the last morsel had been consumed he reached to refill his now empty glass with emerdal only to have Pellotte intercept his hand.

  “No more,” she said. “I can’t have you getting too inebriated tonight.”

  A moment later she was addressing the entire assemblage, making goodbyes for both herself and O’Keefe while explaining it was time for her to get him back to his quarters. O’Keefe thanked Cyanne and endured another embrace from Lindy while Pellotte got hugs all around. Then they were out the door, trailed by the two guards.

  As soon as the door slid shut behind the aberrant and Pellotte, Valessanna looked at Cyanne and shook her head dejectedly. “I know,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I am deeply sorry, Val,” Cyanne said. “But his ideas are utterly barbaric. He appears to be beyond reclamation. After what I have heard tonight I simply cannot recommend to my mother or any other high councilor that the Union make any attempt to use this man to aid or advise us. It would seem that our effort to gain information from the aberrant world has failed, and that there are sound reasons for the laws of quarantine. But we mustn’t lose heart. We will pursue other avenues, and we will find a solution. We will find a way to open pathways of communication between ourselves and the Vazileks on our own. Then we will put an end to this madness.” She turned to face Beccassit. “Are you absolutely certain of your findings, doctor?”

  “Without a doubt,” he answered, speaking with great self assurance. “As he is from the aberrant world, his mentality has been shaped by a short lifetime filled with violence and cruelty, but he simply is not a danger. He would defend himself if necessary and could quite possibly hurt and even kill others in an attempt to escape detention, but that is the totality of what I have found his propensity for violence to be. As incongruent as it may seem, all his personality scans indicate that his essential nature is responsible and benevolent, albeit terribly warped by his experiences. In short, he could quickly become a danger if provoked, but then the same could be said for any of us who sit at this table if the provocations became severe enough. After all, our own people commit every crime that his do, they simply do it far less often. The only absolute difference between the violence of his society and our own is the organized and institutionalized nature of the mass killings they employ to resolve disputes between their various political partitions.

  “As to his involvement in the those murderous orgies, most participants in these conflicts are viewed in his culture as merely defending themselves, as if entering into a kill or be killed situation, even in situations where that is obviously not the case. His mind is aware that his actions make him responsible for the deaths of many, and there is remorse. Yet, despite that he in no way believes himself to be a murderer. It is my opinion that had he come of age under normal circumstances he would be no more prone to violence than your average, garden variety Akadean, perhaps less prone to it than many. He simply had the misfortune of being born into an extremely hostile and unforgiving environment.”

  “That may be true, Merco,” asserted Cyanne, “but the things he said. How can a sane and balanced person advocate such behavior?”

  “Wait just a moment. All I said was that he wasn’t by definition dangerous. But I am in no way ready to vouch for his sanity. And speaking of that, I must beg to differ with your assertion that he is beyond help. It may take quite some time, but we can remediate his mental state just as we have repaired his body.”

  Valessanna spoke up from her end of the table. “As long as we are on the subject of his mental state, is it possible that he is somehow projecting a false image to the personality probes? I’ve heard there are people capable of that.”

  “I’ve heard that as well,” the Doctor answered. “But there is really no way to verify it as the few people suspected of that capability have consistently denied it. And even if deception were possible, those few accused of it were aware that they were being scanned. Hill believes the scanner to be a tool that Kira uses to check his physiology after a transplant. His mind has been completely open on every occasion. No, the data we have gotten is authentic. I’d stake my reputation on that.”

  “Then perhaps there is another opportunity here,” Cyanne said thoughtfully. “If he is not inherently dangerous, and his mind is open to adjustment, it may be that intense psychiatric treatment would not only be beneficent to him, but might also give our scholars a more accurate conception of comparable Vazilek psychology, allowing us to form a more coherent strategy for dealing with the current crisis. Therefore I suggest, rather than expecting help from him in the form of advice or counsel, that immediately upon our arrival at Sefforia we dispatch the aberrant to the best psychiatric facility available there. It could be that psychiatrists would have a better chance of mining useful information from him than anyone else, especially if he were accompanied by someone he trusts—perhaps you, Merco?”

  Beccassit nodded in assent. “Yes, it is quite possible that might work out very well,” he said. “But you have hit upon the key to his cooperation, Cyanne, when you mention trust. If you simply dispatch him to an institution, without his agreeing to such a step, it will gain you nothing. Although he has, like most of us, an innate desire to please, he can also be exceedingly stubborn when he feels he is being mistreated. And I fear he feels that way already, if you don’t mind me saying so, Mrs. Nelkris.”

  “I take it you’re saying,” Valessanna asked, “that our present course of action only increases the danger to ourselves and the aberrant rather than mitigating it?”

  “Yes,” the doctor said, with finality. “It is of the utmost importance that we begin using persuasion to gain his cooperation rather than simply demanding it.”

  “All right,’ Valessanna said resignedly. “I see your point. Colvan, end the surveillance of his quarters, except of course when one of our own is in there with him. Give him his privacy. Retain the guards, but move them away from directly outside his door. And from now on no one will enter his quarters without his permission. Give the orders now, if you please. And doctor, let’s have no more scans, either. If he is not a danger I cannot justify the continuing lack of respect for his rights. What he has done on his world is their business, not ours.”

  “Valessanna!” Busht cut in stridently. “Do you really think that is wise?”

  “Colvan, whether or not it is wise is not the question. It is the law that we have all sworn to uphold that is paramount. So far we have taken this man from his world when we were forbidden even to have contact with him. We have imprisoned him. We have implanted a chip in his brain. We have probed his mind. We have monitored his living space. And we have done all these things without his knowledge or consent. All of this has happened on my watch, most of it on my direct orders, so I am ultimately responsible. When we get back, I’ll be lucky to avoid a long stint in rehab, much less retain my commission, just on the basis of what we have already done. I simply cannot authorize any further deviations from the law. No, from this point forward we do things strictly by the book. He will be kept away from the general population of the ship in so much as that is possible, in order to uphold the laws of quarantine. That will necessitate him spending most of his time c
onfined to his quarters. Other than that there is nothing more that I can do.”

  The lift Pellotte had ordered up was slow to arrive, so she, O’Keefe, and the guards were still occupying the car when one of the guards’ comm units activated. He acknowledged the message in the softest of whispers, but in the boxy echo chamber that was the lift there was no possibility of him hiding his response. O’Keefe had no idea who had made the contact, but the guard had answered in that stilted and supplicatory tone that subordinates generally fall into when speaking to those in command. Whatever it was that had been said to him, O’Keefe was fairly certain it had not been a personal message, and it bothered him that one of the guards would get an official communication so soon after they had departed the Lindys’ quarters. O’Keefe figured it was a good bet that his only recently won privileges had now been suddenly rescinded. Well, that’s what you get for speaking your mind, he thought.

  As the lift doors opened O’Keefe stepped out into the passageway behind Pellotte while both guards followed, as they always did, but this time only after the one who had spoken into his comm unit held the other back and whispered closely into his ear. The group traversed the short distance to O’Keefe’s quarters and the door, recognizing the Earther, slid aside as he walked toward it. He stepped briskly through it with Pellotte on his heels. But before she could follow him, she was lightly restrained by the hand of one of the guards on her arm.

  “Sorry, Ms. Pellotte,” he said. “New orders have been given. Nobody gets in anymore without the, ah, gentleman’s permission.”

  O’Keefe turned at the unexpected sound of the guard’s voice. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “When did this start?”

 

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