The Empty Warrior

by J. D. McCartney

  But instead of answering O’Keefe rose from the mattress and stood over her frame, forcing her to look up at him. Her glare lost some of its intensity and she unconsciously backed away a tiny step. “My, my,” O’Keefe said through a lascivious grin, “I didn’t know you had such deep feelings for me, Val.”

  “What are you talking about?” the captain said scornfully.

  “I’m talking about this Commissioner Burkeer coming to take me away from you and you having a fit about it. It seems you care more about what happens to me than you’ve let on.”

  “I don’t care one iota what happens to you,” she stammered. “I just…I want to know what is going on in my own home, that’s all.” Her gaze no longer held his, and her arms had assumed their familiar clench beneath her breasts.

  “What’s happening is this,” O’Keefe said in a tone that oozed superiority. “Your high commissioner is coming to this house to see me, and I need to get cleaned up before she gets here. So I could use a bit of privacy, all right?”

  As he finished speaking he ostentatiously tugged at the drawstring of his pajamas with thumb and forefinger, releasing the knot that held them around his waist. Only his tenuous grip on the string kept the silky trousers from falling to his ankles. The captain glowered at him disgustedly for an instant but then pivoted and marched out of the room, the door sliding silently shut behind her.

  An hour later O’Keefe was clean, dressed, and with the help of Seldon’s pharmaceutical concoction, more or less totally recovered from his hangover. As he exited his sleeping chamber he was surprised to see that the high commissioner, easily identifiable by the conspicuous, jeweled markings of rank that adorned her gold uniform, had already arrived. She sat chatting with the captain over tea in the common room, the two of them flanked by armed guards. Both women rose as he approached.

  “Ah, Mr. O’Keefe,” the commissioner said with what sounded like genuine warmth, “I am Uthelle Burkeer. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I’ve heard so very much about you.” She walked toward him comfortably and extended her hand, which O’Keefe readily accepted. Her clasp felt strong and dauntless, especially for that of a woman. The commissioner seemed like one of those people who walked through life enfolded in an aura of imperturbable confidence.

  O’Keefe’s eyes wandered over her face, evaluating her. She appeared to be in her early to mid-thirties from a purely physical standpoint, and quite pretty aside from the slightly bulbous nose that was a bit large for her angular face. But the easy self-assurance of her smile and her movements, the measured tempo of her words, and the dignity of her carriage all belied the appearance of youth. He suspected her to be his senior by at least half a millennium. O’Keefe had expected as much.

  But it abruptly struck him that aside from a light patina of makeup which might very well have been permanently affixed; the high commissioner sported none of the cosmetic alterations that seemed so popular among other Akadeans. Her eyes retained their natural brown color as did her wavy and almost disheveled hair, which she wore short enough to just fall over the lobes of her ears. And aside from the badges of rank, she wore no jewelry whatsoever. She projected the image of an industrious woman who no longer had the time or the inclination to expend the effort on her person that beauty would have demanded. O’Keefe was suddenly certain that she was older, much older, than any Akadean he had previously met.

  “You’ll be no doubt pleased to learn that the reconnaissance mission to your Earth has returned,” the commissioner continued, “and that the Vazileks have apparently decided not to proceed with further incursions into your system. Perhaps they view your people with as much trepidation as we do. In any case, we’ll be sending you home in short order, with your legs intact, and with enough precious metals to compensate you many times over for the damage caused to your property by our and the Vazileks’ intrusion.

  “A police scout, the Doughty, will be arriving in a few days to transport you. In the meantime, I was hoping that you would consent to be my guest at a private resort, here on Sefforia, that I have secured for the duration of my stay. It is my desire to confer with you before your departure concerning matters with which you seem to have intimate familiarity. Will you accept my invitation?”

  O’Keefe didn’t believe a word of what the woman had just said. It was as the captain had reasoned; the high commissioner would not have come all the way to Sefforia merely to confer with him for a few days and then see him off to Earth. There were more choices in play here, more cards to be laid on the table.

  He looked beyond the commissioner, surveying the two gray clad guards that stood warily behind her. They were more intimidating than any Akadeans he had yet seen. They were not much taller than the norm, the top of their heads rising only to about the level of O’Keefe’s shoulders, but they certainly were in better shape. Even partially obscured by the body armor they wore, their rippling musculature showed clearly through the uniforms beneath. And they were armed to the teeth. From their belts, straps, and bandoliers hung everything from simple night sticks to menacing sidearms so sophisticated that O’Keefe could only guess as to what they fired or how they were operated. Even resting at ease the men appeared dangerous. And despite the visored helmets that hid every facial feature save their thin, impassive lips and tightly held jaws, O’Keefe got the impression that they watched him in the way that wary but confident hunters would watch the unexpected emergence of a dangerous animal from the undergrowth of a jungle. One even slightly aggressive move and they would kill him.

  In light of the guards’ presence and deportment, it appeared that the commissioner’s invitation could just as easily become a command should he refuse her. Plus O’Keefe badly wanted to know exactly what else she had to offer. So he stared downward into the woman’s eyes, smiled as widely as his sour disposition would allow, and said, “I’d love to. When do we leave?”

  “Immediately,” she answered.

  “Great,” he said with forced enthusiasm. “Just give me a moment to collect my things.” He turned to the captain. “I take it you have my personal effects stowed somewhere in the house?”

  The captain swallowed hard, and then looked away. “Seldon has already packed your things along with some extra clothing and toiletries. The luggage has been loaded aboard the commissioner’s car.”

  “Well,” said O’Keefe, sweeping a quick perusal over the group standing before him. “Since my chosen path seems to have been anticipated, there’s no sense wasting any time. Captain,” he said, extending his hand toward Valessanna, “it’s been a pleasure. I thank you for your hospitality.” She shook his hand woodenly.

  “Good luck,” was all she said.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “If you’re ever back in the Terran neighborhood, look me up.” He gestured to the commissioner to precede him, then followed her out into the garage and the stairway that led to the surface while the guards followed closely behind.

  They climbed up to the forest floor and into the filtered light of midday. The breeze outside, tinged with the first cool touches of the oncoming winter, was strong enough, even through the trees, to blow O’Keefe’s now very long hair across his face. He roughly pushed the black strands back behind his ears. Branches above them groaned and creaked, their dying leaves rasping against each other with every gust. To his left a long, black, limousine-like vehicle floated over the clearing where the garage door, now closed, was located. Beside the shining, rakishly streamlined transport stood two more of the helmeted, gray uniformed guards.

  Each reached for one of the center opening rear doors, pulling them away from each other and standing at attention as Burkeer approached. The commissioner stepped into the limo, seating herself with her spine to the front of the vehicle, while O’Keefe followed and took a seat facing her on the opposite side of the passenger compartment. The two bench seats were spacious and plush, with the one O’Keefe occupied having more than enough room for the two trailing guards who deposited themselves to his left a
nd right.

  Both sets of doors smoothly closed, and he felt the car dip insignificantly as the two other guards clambered into the unseen forward compartment. Then in an instant the vehicle was rising and turning back toward the approach passage. As it glided effortlessly up through the trees, O’Keefe could see their upper limbs slide by the side windows, and then there was nothing in his view save wind-driven patches of clouds scattered across the sky. Sighing, he settled back into the seat, trying to relax.

  He cast a glance to either side, but the guards appeared to be staring stoically ahead. Burkeer busied herself by pulling a folder-sized electronic device from under her seat and opening it in front of her. O’Keefe guessed the unit to be akin to a laptop. The high commissioner placed a wire-thin com unit over her ear, pushing one padded end into her auditory canal and adjusting the other to hang before her lips. She began to mumble into it while her hands manipulated the controls before her and her eyes scanned the screen that only she could see. She seemed hard at work for several minutes, but then abruptly removed the communications device from her ear and set the device aside. She crossed her legs at the knee and placed her folded hands atop a thigh.

  “Mr. O’Keefe,” she said forcefully, “I was not at liberty to speak freely in Captain Nelkris’ home, but now that we have our privacy I must tell you that there is an alternative to your imminent return to Earth. Would you be interested in hearing more?”

  Ah, here it comes, thought O’Keefe, let the bargaining begin. But he answered with a simple, “Sure, why not?”

  “If you wish, you may return with me to D’mirnoch, the seat of our government, and become a noncommissioned advisor to Police High Command. There would be quite a generous salary involved. We would also provide housing for you, comparable to what you have become accustomed to over the past several months, and educational opportunities, all at no personal expense to you. In addition, you would be accorded benefits not available on your home world, first and foremost being the potential of centuries of life. And there could also be companionship provided. D’mirnoch is possessed of quite a large population; a great many young courtesans could be made available for you to choose from. Some restrictions on their freedom would of course be necessary, and expensive I’m afraid. But should you accept, that would be a problem for the state. Perhaps even your former nurse—Pellotte, I think her name is—could join you, if you wish it and she were to consent. It would certainly be a far better situation for her than the quarantine she is currently enduring.” Burkeer, her offer made, looked at O’Keefe inquiringly.

  He smiled at her, but raised both hands in the air in a gesture of skepticism. “There’s got to be a catch. You want to tell me what it is?” he asked.

  “The catch,” Burkeer said carefully, “is that your interchange with the population at large will out of necessity remain rather limited. Despite the fact that you appear, as best as we have been able to determine by our study of you, to pose very little if any threat to the well being of the people, there would still almost certainly be an uproar in the media if your presence here was allowed to become public knowledge. The force is not prepared to deal with that at the present time.”

  “So how long would I remain…” O’Keefe wanted to say imprisoned, but found a better word, “…sequestered?”

  “For the foreseeable future. But try to keep in mind the fact that even fifty years here is an insignificant portion of your lifespan. And I think we could manage to do away with most of the restrictions imposed upon you in far less than five decades, particularly if you prove to be a benefit to the Union.”

  O’Keefe was sorely tempted but still unsure. The proposal appeared too good to be true, and he had not had to haggle at all to get it. That in itself was enough to make him suspicious. He had always been of the opinion that any offer too easily obtained wasn’t worth nearly as much as the offeror made it out to be.

  “What if I take you up on the deal,” he asked, eyeing the commissioner warily, “and then it turns out that I hate D’mirnoch. Will your first offer still be good? I mean the ride back to Earth and the precious metals and all that. And speaking of which, I like gold. Gold is good; it works for me.”

  There was a pause while the high commissioner drew herself up and then leaned in toward him. “Mr. O’Keefe,” she nearly whispered in what was effectively a slow snarl. “The Union Police, and in particular the High Commissioner of the Union Police, are not in the habit of reneging on deals made in good faith. Anytime that you wish to return to your home with your compensation, we will be happy to take you there as quickly as humanly possible.

  “And please do not misunderstand me. What I am offering you is a job, a temporary assignment, not a holiday. The artificial intelligence of UPHQ has asserted to us that your expertise could be of great assistance in keeping the Vazileks at bay. We mere humans disagree, but as a matter of historic precedent, the AI has very rarely made misjudgments. Its past track record is the only reason you are now being offered this opportunity. But you will be expected to work, to work hard, and I will want to see tangible results from your labors. You will in fact be under a contractual obligation to produce said results. And as you will be working under contract, the rights afforded and consideration due to both parties in case of termination by either will be clearly and succinctly spelled out in writing. You needn’t worry.”

  “All right,” O’Keefe said defensively. “There’s no need to get bent out of shape here.” Burkeer looked at him curiously, apparently in response to his use of a Terran idiom, but he ignored her. “I only want to be sure that I know what I’m getting into. But it sounds good. I’d be glad to help you out in any way I can, contingent on all the paperwork being in order, of course.”

  “Of course,” echoed the commissioner, her voice betraying a hint of mockery.

  “Well, okay,” O’Keefe said, determined as ever to get in the last word. “I’m glad we got that straightened out.” Before the woman had a chance to say anything more he spoke again. “So how far is it to wherever we’re going?”

  “I’m sorry to inform you of this, but it’s quite a way,” Burkeer answered. “I’ve arranged for accommodations on an island on the far side of Sefforia. It is quite remote, nearly deserted, and very pleasant. I’m sure you will like it. As you have already agreed to our terms, I am staying there only to enjoy its beauty and enchantment. And don’t worry,” she added, correctly reading the flash of concern that had raced across O’Keefe’s features. “We won’t be taking the car all the way there. We will be meeting an orbital transport presently, so the trip won’t take too awfully long.” With that she placed the com unit back into her ear, reached for her computer, or whatever it was, and in moments was back at work as if O’Keefe had never existed. He looked to either side at the guards, who also ignored him, then laid his head back and closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

  The compartment remained silent save for the mumbling of Burkeer and the susurrus of speed sliding past the windows, so it was not long before O’Keefe was genuinely drifting in and out of consciousness. He had never been able to sleep deeply while traveling, and he was dimly aware that he should not have been able to nap even for short intervals in the high commissioner’s limo. The armed guards alone should have been enough to keep him wide awake. But then again, he reasoned though a yawn during a fleeting moment of lucid awareness, extreme drunkenness had never been known to nourish one’s next day alertness.

  After what seemed to O’Keefe as a considerably longer time than he had expected before meeting their transport, he was startled into full wakefulness by a sudden but pleasant carillon-like chime that sounded in the compartment. The commissioner pulled down her microphone and spoke aloud into the air. “Yes, what is it?”

  It was the driver, explaining that the shuttle they were to meet was not waiting at the rendezvous point. Burkeer sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “Wait five minutes,” she said. “If they haven’t arrived by then, call it in. And circle p
lease. No hovering. You know my stomach.” She went back to her work. O’Keefe thought he saw, at the edges of his vision, the guards incline their heads toward each other for one short moment, as if some small concern was passing between them.

  Five minutes and more passed. The tone sounded again and again Burkeer answered. Again it was the driver. “Madame Commissioner, we’re having trouble getting through to traffic control,” he reported. “Audio transmission is garbled and breaking up, but it sounds like there is some sort of emergency going on. Request permission to—Oh, shit!” Even as the expletive was uttered the car banked steeply and nosed over into a dive. O’Keefe leaned heavily against the guard on his left as the atmosphere hissed ever more ominously by the windows with each increment of acceleration.

  “What’s going on!” the commissioner demanded. The driver’s voice came back, barely audible over what had by now become screaming speed.

  “Vazilek intruders, Madame Commissioner! We’ve got one right on top of us, going atmospheric. We’re heading…” The guard’s report was cut short by a scorching explosion forward that sent sparks flying through the passenger compartment. Acrid smoke invaded O’Keefe’s nostrils. The car briefly pulled up into level flight and slowed, while the guards on O’Keefe’s seat immediately stood and moved toward Burkeer. But even as they gained their feet the limo fell off to its left and began tumbling downward. The men began to bounce about the compartment as the car careened toward the trees while Burkeer shouted in vain for the passenger compartment to be manually ejected. Apparently neither of the guards in the forward section were left alive to hear her.

  O’Keefe meanwhile mumbled a prayer, as his seat, like Burkeer’s, had morphed over his thighs, his head, and his chest to hold him securely in place. But the passive restraints offered little in the way of protection from the bodies of the guards that pitched about the compartment like dish rags in a launderette’s dryer. They banged repeatedly into both O’Keefe and the commissioner, O’Keefe at one point taking a boot to the nose.