The Empty Warrior

by J. D. McCartney

  He slowly opened his eyes to find the car hovering over an expanse much like the one from which they had departed the spaceport, only much smaller. The vehicle’s top was already rotating up and away from his head. As soon as it was clear the captain sprang nimbly out onto the surrounding apron.

  “Stay here, Mr. O’Keefe,” she said. “Tangie, don’t let him out, and activate the curtain function please. I’ll be back as quickly as I am able.”

  She stood by long enough to see the top of the car clamp shut over O’Keefe before striding away between other vehicles toward a door marked “Police Personnel Only.” For several seconds she stood in front of the doorway. O’Keefe guessed there was some sort of identification protocol to be met before she could enter. At last the door swung open to the inside and she was gone.

  O’Keefe took a few moments to look around, craning his neck to see as much as possible of what was around him from within the cramped passenger compartment. From what little he could see through the available windows, the area where he now sat was a parking lot that stretched out about a hundred or so feet from the side of the high rise to which it was connected. It seemed to reach around the entire circumference of the rounded structure. Several stories above he could see an identical parking area, and he guessed that there were many more built out from the skyscraper both above and below him.

  On the lot where O’Keefe was now imprisoned, there were numerous other vehicles of various sizes, shapes, and colors parked nearby; but they all appeared to be empty and sat atop sets of four sturdy struts rather than floating on antigravs the way the captain had left Tangie.

  As he was still gazing about, the door the captain had entered swung open once more, and a couple stepped out onto the deck. They walked almost directly toward O’Keefe, and he waved at them furiously, with both hands, but elicited no response. They simply climbed into a bright yellow machine some ten yards away. It immediately folded its short legs beneath it and soared away into traffic. As he had suspected, the “curtain function” was much like privacy glass; he could see out, but no one could see in.

  The minutes stretched into what seemed like an hour, more than long enough for O’Keefe’s jangled nerves to relax and his heartbeat to return to normal. At length he was simply bored. Everything of interest was going on behind him, and as it was uncomfortable to twist his head around to observe the city over his shoulder, he settled deeper into his seat and stared at the unchanging façade of police headquarters. At length his eyelids became heavy and his head slowly tilted back on his spine, a few degrees at a time, until his cranium came to rest on the back of his seat and sleep overwhelmed him.

  The hydraulic whine of the car’s top being raised woke him. He blinked away sleep as the captain stepped back into the vehicle and took her seat. “Have a nice nap?” she asked.

  “I guess so,” O’Keefe replied groggily. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the thin, black, rubberized ring that now encircled her wrist just below the tight gold sleeve of her uniform.

  “It’s my new bracelet,” she snapped waspishly.

  “Well, it certainly is an elegant piece,” O’Keefe said, loading his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

  “Yes, they’re all the rage here, and very rare. It has taken me all of my life to get one.” The captain spoke the words evenly, and O’Keefe could not tell whether she was serious or not. But before he could pursue the issue any further she addressed the car. “Tangie, take me home. And have Seldon draw a hot bath for my arrival. A bubble bath, with salts and oils, if you please.”

  The car rose higher above the lot while acknowledging the captain’s commands, pivoted, and then accelerated out into the stream of traffic that still coursed by the building. Immediately O’Keefe was treated to another petrifying jaunt through city traffic that for a second time slammed his vital signs through the roof. Fortunately, the city seemed to be more tall than wide, and they were out over the forest again in only minutes. But it was still a good while after they had left Bensora behind and had been speeding along on an even keel before O’Keefe could bring his breathing back to normal.

  His body did not feel as though he had slept for too long a time, but he must have as it was now past midday and well into the afternoon. Judging by the height of the sun, he estimated there was only another hour or two before sunset. For the first time since they had lifted off the pad at police headquarters he spoke to the captain. “So how far is it to your home, time wise, I mean?”

  “Oh, not far,” she answered, “about a half hour.”

  Good, O’Keefe thought, time enough for a discussion. “So answer me this,” he began. “Suppose when your ship gets back from Earth it turns out that the Vazileks have indeed attacked there since we left. I don’t think for moment that they would be foolish enough to do that, but just for the sake of argument, let’s assume that it has in fact happened, and that the entire population of Earth has been either killed or enslaved. Would your people do anything about it, or would you just let it pass?”

  The captain looked at him as if she were trying to discern some hidden trap buried within the question. When she did answer, she spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “I suppose we would do whatever possible to arrest those responsible. Even a barbarous society deserves justice.”

  Gaping at her like she had just spoken gibberish, O’Keefe retorted incredulously, “Arrest them? What do you mean arrest them? You people don’t even know who they are or where they come from. How would you go about arresting them?”

  “Mr. O’Keefe,” she answered, now obviously annoyed, “I can see where this conversation is headed, and I am not arguing this point with you. We have been over this ground before. We are making every effort to gain information about the Vazileks. Eventually these efforts will bear fruit, we will open a dialogue with their leadership, and some accommodation will be reached that will put an end to this insane violence. I understand that you are a product of your environment, and that it is difficult for you to accept the way we do things, but accept it you must. If you eventually return to your own world, you will be free to cling to your feral beliefs; but as long as you are living among us, it would behoove you to try to embrace a more civilized view.” She turned her head to gaze out her window as if to put an end to the discussion, but O’Keefe would have nothing of it.

  “Not everyone in your society believes that nonsense, you know,” he persisted.

  The captain slowly turned her face back to his and regarded him suspiciously. “What would lead you to say such a thing?” she asked pointedly. “You’ve hardly spoken to anyone save a few police officers and some medical staff. How could you possibly know anything about what people think?”

  “I’ve spoken to Kira, and she doesn’t believe it. She expects to die in the near future, and she expects to die at the hands of the Vazileks.”

  The captain stared back at O’Keefe, disbelief obvious on her countenance, but still she seemed hesitant to refute what he alleged. “I never heard that from her,” she finally said. “Why would she tell you that and not me?”

  “Because we were lovers, that’s why.”

  “No, you weren’t,” the captain said vehemently. “You were an assignment. I was her lover. She expressed some fears about the Vazileks from time to time, as we all have. But she never said anything about expecting to die. I don’t believe you.”

  O’Keefe was far too dumbstruck by the revelation of a sexual relationship between the captain and Pellotte for it to register on his brain that she had spoken far less forcefully than someone who truly placed absolutely no credence in what he had just finished stating. So instead of pressing forward with his arguments all he could do was stumble over his words. “You two?” he said incredulously. “Lovers? While I was with Kira?”

  “Yes, while you were with Kira,” she said mockingly.

  “What kind of civilization is this?” O’Keefe cried. “Where the police force is full of promiscuous lesbians.”

>   “You ignorant savage!” the captain spat, infuriated now and leaning closer to him, aggressively intruding into his space. “My husband is missing; he has been for a long time. Kira lost her fiancé in the same way. Neither one of us knows if our men are alive or dead. We were hurt, we were lonely, and we served together. We needed each other. What we had was good for both of us. And we certainly never needed the approval of an aberrant barbarian such as yourself! You may not have noticed this, but most Akadeans have had a great deal more experience in life than you have had, and our sexuality is much more highly developed than yours will ever be. We certainly enjoy sex, but our relationships are precipitated by the emotions that we feel. We are not ruled by simple hormonal attraction, like say an insect, or perhaps you, would be. But I would not expect a beast like you to understand that.”

  The captain fell sullenly back into her seat, again assuming her familiar command posture of both arms crossed tightly over her torso, while again staring out her window at the landscape below. This time O’Keefe—properly chastened, utterly shocked, and having failed yet again to gain any traction with the captain as far as enlightening her as to the danger her society faced—kept quiet. He did not know if it was possible for her to have the car summarily eject him from the cabin, but he didn’t feel like tempting fate. The two of them flew onward in silence until Tangie slowed and began to descend toward the trees.

  “Does this mean we are almost ready to get out of this heap?” O’Keefe asked virulently.

  “That is exactly what it means,” the captain replied, in a tone equally acidic as his own, making it consummately clear that she would be much happier after escaping his proximity.

  “Good,” O’Keefe snorted, trying his best to convey the same message, but still feeling that she had somehow bested him yet again.

  The craft continued to slow and descend, yet O’Keefe saw nothing that might have been a homestead anywhere. There was only the endless vista of primeval woodland laid out beneath them. As the uppermost branches of the trees loomed ever closer to the underside of the vehicle, O’Keefe could stand it no longer.

  “Are you sure this thing knows where it’s going?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course I’m sure.” The captain still spoke with disdain icily coating every word. “We’ll be there in just a moment.”

  But several seconds later they were still slowly skimming along nearly within arm’s reach of the treetops, and O’Keefe had yet to sight anything that looked remotely like any kind of habitation. He had not even spotted an opening in the seemingly solid carpet of tall hardwoods. Nevertheless, the craft suddenly banked to the right and dove down into the forest. “Oh, shit,” O’Keefe cried out reflexively as he braced himself, convinced, for the fourth time since he had stepped off Vigilant, that death was staring him in the face.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:

  Woodland World

  Despite O’Keefe’s fears—his mind’s eye had for an instant been treated to an imagined snapshot of the vaulted roof of the forest filled with flaming debris tracing smoky arcs through the shaded stillness—the car did not smash itself to bits against the interlocking mesh of thick branches that the vehicle had suddenly pitched into. Instead he now watched with boundless relief as Tangie performed a slow, banking descent into a previously unseen and perfectly manicured passageway that spiraled down through the deciduous canopy.

  He exhaled and slowly unclenched his fists, checking his palms as he did so for blood brought forth by the pressure of his fingernails. He was pleased to find none. Then he laid his head back, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let out another long, slow, grateful exhalation.

  When his eyelids lifted, the car was beneath the lowest of the leaf bearing limbs. Here, the canopy’s supporting boles were widely spaced and the car indolently steered left or right, avoiding them with ease. The diameters of the trees were considerably larger than the car was long, and nearly all of them were hundreds of feet in height. The titanic trunks filled the view in every direction, melding into a mottled sea of gray in the distance. Here and there across the shadowed and dreary sea of rough barked columns were lifted a few pathetic bits of greenery, the straggly and drooping leaves of the giant’s stunted offspring that struggled in the shade at their feet, attempting in vain to reach the life-giving light that shone so brightly on the forest’s crown. Their meager spreads of foliage, stubbornly clinging to their spindly limbs, looked lost and forlorn amid the bases of their massive progenitors. Only the floor of the forest showed any vigor, as darkly colored patches of ivy and delicate ferns proliferated there in the rich humus formed from the fallen and decomposing leaves from seasons past.

  As the vehicle continued its lazy sweep downward, a split appeared in the earth below them, widening to reveal a sculpted oval opening. The car sailed gracefully into it, and floated down a short underground tube, the light fading as the doors behind them closed. Tangie’s roof began to rise even as the car still braked, admitting cool air and the loamy scent of the forest floor. When the vehicle had come to a smooth halt artificial light came up and gradually suffused the room in which they had parked with welcoming radiance. Hydraulic whines, amplified by the hard surfaces in the large but now sealed chamber, issued from beneath the car as its support struts extended and its wings were stowed. It settled lightly to the floor, and all was deathly still and silent.

  O’Keefe realized at once that they had flown into a garage. Another vehicle—this one silver in color, slightly smaller, and with a bubble canopy rather than a conventional top—was parked on the far left side of the white-painted repository. It was as shiny and clean as Tangie, but nevertheless O’Keefe had the impression that it had not been moved for an extended period of time.

  The chamber itself was much like any parking garage on Earth. It was larger than a standard two car model, but still it was a spare and spartan area with what appeared to be merely concrete for a floor. What differentiated it from most garages that O’Keefe had ever seen was that it was immaculately clean. Not so much as a single grease spot stained the floor. Also, it had been built with no right angles. The floor curved up into the wall while the wall arched over into the ceiling. There were no corners where dirt might accumulate.

  Various appurtenances hung from the pristine walls at regular intervals. O’Keefe thought they must be tools of one sort or another, but few looked familiar and he could only guess at the functions of any of them.

  Suddenly, a door at the front of the garage moved to one side to admit a floating robot and give O’Keefe a brief glimpse of the living area beyond. But the entrance closed as quickly as it had opened, leaving only the barest outline in the wall as evidence of its presence. The robot, a chromium canister covered with mechanical arms and connections of every sort, moved slowly but precisely down the wall, deftly snaring one of the utensils hanging there as it passed by. It attached the device to one of its connective ports and immediately the garage was filled with the muffled roaring of what was obviously a vacuum. The machine moved off behind the car and down the entry tunnel, sucking up the dry leaves and tiny debris that had been pulled into it by the passage of the captain’s vehicle.

  O’Keefe turned to her, but she was already exiting. He snorted softly in exasperation before debarking himself, hurrying to intercept her in front of the car’s raised canopy. Forced at last to acknowledge his evidently repellent presence in her heretofore private domicile, she scowled grimly and finally spoke.

  “Now that we have arrived without incident,” she said caustically and with only thinly veiled animosity, “welcome to my home.” O’Keefe duly noted that her tone did not sound welcoming in the least. He nodded sardonically and grunted softly with displeasure, but did not retort in any other way, while the captain brushed quickly past him, striding toward the same door that had admitted the robot. He turned to follow as it opened to allow her entry.

  As soon as she crossed the threshold, a voice that seemed to come from close by and yet from no p
articular point, much like that of the car, greeted her. “Welcome home, Valessanna,” it said. The voice was feminine, tonally different from Tangie’s but still much the same in character. While the car had sounded girlish and obeisant, this voice had a slightly more dignified tenor; yet still it was almost cloying in its subservient sweetness. O’Keefe wondered to himself what her choices in machine servants revealed about the captain that he did not already know. He thought about it for only the briefest moment, and unable to come to any definitive conclusions due to his near complete lack of familiarity with Akadean technology, he simply shrugged and walked through the door himself. “I hope you had a pleasant voyage,” the voice continued.

  “No, I had a perfectly awful voyage,” the captain answered. “Is my bath ready?”

  “Of course, but do test the water before you immerse yourself. Tangie’s only instruction to me as to the desired temperature was ‘hot.’ Please inform me if the water needs heating or cooling.”

  “I will,” the captain sighed, as if a heavy load still rested on her shoulders even after leaving Vigilant. “We have a guest, as I’m sure you are aware. Do your best to make him comfortable please.”

  “Certainly. I have retina and voice print identification downloaded from Vigilant. Retina scans are congruent, but I would feel more comfortable with a voice comparable from Mr. O’Keefe before we go any farther.”

  “Yes, I suppose you would,” the captain answered. “Mr. O’Keefe,” she said, “would you mind saying a few words for Seldon?”

  “What?” O’Keefe muttered.

  “She wants a voice print to compare with what she has on file. It’s just a security precaution; it’s nothing to worry about.”

  “All right,” O’Keefe said skeptically. “It’s nice to meet you, Seldon. Is that enough, or do you need more?”