The Empty Warrior (46 page)

O’Keefe twisted his neck to his left and looked around the back of his chair at the woman. She stood at the top of the stairs, barefoot; dressed only in an ankle-length, white robe, with a towel wrapped around her hair. Out of uniform, she seemed unexpectedly dainty and frail, and very feminine—a perception that took O’Keefe by surprise. He had not expected to ever see her as anything more than a battleaxe, a lean and shapely battleaxe to be sure, but a battleaxe nonetheless.

In a moment, her eyes, which had been casting glances about the room, locked onto his face. “Ah, there you are,” she said, as a brief hint of a smile adorned her face. O’Keefe got the unequivocal feeling that the upturned corners of her lips were an expression of relief rather than affection. Her smile was that sort of pleased expression that one employs when a new pet is found to have done no damage when left unsupervised for a time. “Seldon tells me you have yet to visit your room,” she continued. “Wouldn’t you like to change, bathe, see where you are to sleep?”

“I got sidetracked,” said O’Keefe, noncommittally, as he noticed that a smallish, shining, cylinder shaped robot had risen through the skylight and stationed itself high above the center of the room. He watched it for several long moments before he came to the conclusion that as long as the captain stayed upstairs, it would as well.

The captain paused while he studied the robot, making it seem as if she were vainly groping for something to say. When she continued, her tone fairly shrieked of forced congeniality. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. What would you like for dinner?” As she spoke, she approached him, her arms tightly crossed in her habitual pose. She stopped her advance about ten feet away and stood, waiting for his response.

“How about Mexican,” he finally said.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific. Seldon knows naught of your world’s cuisine.”

“All right,” O’Keefe began slowly, searching for the words in his mental database, and finding that all of them existed. “Something spicy, with beef or chicken. Something garnished with lots of cheese and with sides of rice and beans. Something with corn tortillas, salsa, and hot sauce. Can you come up with something like that, Seldon?”

The computer’s soft, level voice immediately filled the room. “Of course I can. I have the culinary database of the entire Sefforian network to draw from. It will take about forty-five minutes to prepare. May I fix you a drink while you wait?”

O’Keefe stifled a laugh, still amazed at the controller’s abilities. “Yes, please,” he said. “How about some of that emerdal, do you have any of that?”

“It is a household staple,” the computer replied. “What would be your temperature preference?”

“Just a shade this side of freezing would suit me just fine.”

“Very well,” Seldon continued. “Shall I prepare the dining room, Valessanna, or do you prefer to eat in the dome?”

The captain looked to O’Keefe. “You’re the guest here. What would be your preference?”

“I like it here,” he said, more because he did not feel like moving than anything else. “It’s beautiful.” But the view had already faded into the night. The light from the lamps, somehow unreflective against the inside of the dome, cast a lambent glow over the area next to the house, but otherwise all that could be seen were the small gaps in the crown of the forest where the twilight sky peeked through. Nevertheless, he stared out into the darkness, still mesmerized by its spell.

“Very well,” Seldon again intoned. “And for future reference, I do have some conception of Mexican cuisine. Since your arrival I have downloaded a great many previously restricted files, now available to me because of your presence here, concerning your home world. I am now able to decipher your native tongue and should be able to comprehend all but your most exotic requests.” O’Keefe shuddered slightly, recalling his previous circumspection. “Will you be sharing the emerdal, Valessanna, or shall I bring you something different?”

“No, emerdal is fine, thank you,” she answered before padding softly over to one of the desks. O’Keefe could hear her behind him but did not turn to look. There were the sounds of drawers opening and hands retrieving articles from within them. Shortly, the drawers were pushed shut and the sounds ceased. The captain wrestled a chair over the thick area rug and placed it next to O’Keefe’s, with only a small table between them. She held out her hand to him. “Here. Try these. It will make the scenery much more interesting.”

O’Keefe looked down at her hand and took the proffered item. It was what appeared to be a pair of sunglasses, with lenses as black as obsidian. The frames were not overly thick, but the glasses were nevertheless quite heavy for their size. He got the impression by their heft that they were densely packed with power. He raised them to his eyes and the night suddenly became day. It was not the green-tinged light enhancement of Terran-style night scopes. He looked out into the trees as if it were noon. He pulled the spectacles down on his nose and looked over them, if only to verify the night, then pushed them back up to cover his eyes. The forest was contagiously irenic. He settled back into his chair, watching as the leaves high above swayed gently in the breeze.

O’Keefe glanced over at the captain, and saw that she too had donned a pair of the night vision glasses. She now sat in the chair next to him and gazed placidly out into the forest as if the aversion she had felt for him only an hour ago had been completely scrubbed away during her bath. He checked her hands and noticed that the paralyzer she had used on him at the spaceport was now conspicuously absent. “So why are you being so nice all of a sudden?” he asked bluntly.

He heard a slight sigh escape the captain’s lips before she began to answer. “Now that I’ve taken some, ah, medication, for the stress I’ve been under, and had some time to relax, I regret my earlier inhospitality, Mr. O’Keefe,” she said haltingly. “I’ve had a bad few months, and I wasn’t altogether pleased by the living arrangements made for you by the force. I’m not used to sharing my home and my possessions with outsiders. However, I recognize that you have been through a difficult time as well, and as we are going to be living, at least for the time being, in the same abode, I thought it would be much easier for both of us if we made an effort to be civil to each other.” He turned his head to see the captain sitting expectant and erect on the edge of her chair, her arms still tightly crossed, awaiting his reply.

But still he was silent for several seconds before nodding slightly. “Sounds good to me,” he finally said, and then added, “and you can drop that Mr. O’Keefe stuff. Call me Hill.”

“Yes. All right,” she said, relaxing slightly and dropping her hands into her lap. “My name is Valessanna. I guess you know that, but most people call me Val.”

“Okay,” O’Keefe said, “Val it is. These glasses are amazing by the way. It’s like broad daylight out there when I look through them.”

“Well, now that you can see what’s going on outside, would you like to hear it as well?” the captain asked.

“You can do that?” O’Keefe ventured tenuously, his voice betraying disbelief.

“Of course,” she said.

“Well, all right. I would like to hear it.” He expected speakers connected to outside pick-ups to come to life, or for the captain to hand him some type of ear wear to enhance his perceptions. But there would be none of that. The captain simply spoke to the controller instead.

“Seldon, open the dome please,” she ordered.

O’Keefe sensed no movement nor heard any mechanical whisperings, yet almost immediately the room was filled with the soft stridulation of the insect world. He felt as if he were sitting unprotected amidst the trees.

“Is the dome gone?” he asked, pulling the glasses from his face and looking questioningly toward the captain.

“No, it’s still there, it’s just open,” she replied. Then, to his look of bewilderment, she continued. “The dome is constructed of two pieces, one atop the other.” She placed the palm of one hand over the clenched fist of the other to demonstrate. “Both have openings at intervals in their surface. To open the dome, the outer section is rotated until the holes align. Sound is allowed through, though at somewhat reduced decibel levels, as even the passage of air and sound is impeded by the protective field. Anything liquid or solid is kept completely out. You could open up this room in the middle of a snow storm and sit here just as comfortably as you and I are now, though it would tax the environmental plant a bit.”

“Humph,” O’Keefe grunted appreciatively, replacing the glasses over the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, out of a tree directly before him, came a streaking spot of mammalian vitality. It swooped speedily down through the air until it landed easily against the side of its objective, one of the hanging bird feeders. Once it gained its perch the form froze and its gray fur coalesced into a rodent—a flying squirrel. After a few moments of tentative watchfulness, the bug-eyed little creature apparently decided it was safe, and began to contentedly dine on the various seed offerings held within the feeder.

“Well, I see my little friend is still here,” the captain said, obviously amused by its antics. At her words the squirrel started a bit but quickly went back to munching seeds after a cursory inspection of the surrounding area. But it did not stay at the feeder for long. In only a few minutes, an owl-like bird came winging through the trees and found a perch on a branch high above. That sent the squirrel gliding away and scrambling up a tree before the bird had finished folding its wings. The avian predator sat utterly immobile, except for its head, which swiveled at intervals to gaze intently in one direction or another. After several minutes of detecting no prey, it took wing and flew gracefully away until it was lost from sight.

“How can the forest here be so much like a forest on Earth?” O’Keefe asked. “I always figured if there was life out here it would be unlike anything I had ever seen before. I would have expected red tree trunks growing in spirals with big copper leaves, or something like that.”

“Much knowledge was lost in the Cataclysm,” the captain answered. “But we know that the ancients remodeled worlds as easily as we build cities. In doing so they spread many life forms across this part of the galaxy. Depending on the environment, species have in most cases evolved to become slightly different on different worlds, but by and large most of the planets in the Union have much flora and fauna in common. Don’t let me deceive you however; there are many living things here that you would find nowhere on your Earth, and vice versa.”

Out of the corner of his eye, O’Keefe discerned subtle movements off to his left. He turned to see a silent robot floating toward him, clutching in its mechanical hands a silver tray holding a small pitcher of emerdal and two crystal glasses. The machine approached with surety and, like its gravity bound counterpart owned by the Lindys, deftly placed the gleaming tray on the table between himself and the captain without the slightest hint of impaction. Then it grasped the crystal flagon of emerdal and filled both glasses until they were precisely three quarters full. Setting the pitcher back on the tray, it retreated the way it had come.

O’Keefe reached for one of the tall, slender goblets. It was cool to the touch, cool enough to induce from him an unconscious nod of approval. He had learned from repetition that when the outside of Akadean crystal was cool, its contents would be frigid. He took a generous sip, savoring the piquant flavor on his tongue for long seconds before slowly swallowing. Despite its chill, the liquid warmed him as it flowed down his throat and into his belly. The tightness in his muscles fled as the drink began to spread succor through his bones. Soon the glass was empty, and he poured himself another. As more of the sweet intoxicant flowed into his limbs, his ingenerate predisposition for introversion began to ebb and was replaced by a slightly less inhibited and more gregarious temperament.

He turned to look at the captain, pulling off the night vision device as he did so. The liquor seemed to have relaxed her as well as she now sat leaning deeply back into her chair with her legs curled beneath her, her robe pulled tightly about her body and snugly up beneath her chin. Her glass, only about a quarter full now, was held demurely within her delicate fingers. She brought it smoothly to her lips for another sip. The night vision spectacles remained perched high on the bridge of her nose as she watched the forest outside. O’Keefe studied her for several more moments before abruptly jumping into a chat session with both feet.

“The other desk, and the car in the garage. Your husband’s?” he asked.

The captain turned to him and pulled off her glasses, startled. She remained mute for a moment, as if weighing whether to enter into such a conversation or simply tell her barbarian guest to shove it. She looked away, but somewhat to O’Keefe’s surprise she answered as she did so. “Yes,” she said simply.

“So what happened? I know from Kira that his ship was lost. Was it the Vazileks?” O’Keefe was dimly aware that he might be treading over ground the captain was averse to crossing, but with the drink emboldening him and the sudden changes the day had wrought, he needed to talk to someone. He was hoping that maybe the captain felt the same way.

“No,” she answered, before quickly correcting herself. “Maybe. No one knows really. His ship just disappeared. There was no wreckage, no debris, no drones, no buoy; nothing at all. They were just gone.” She turned her face away, staring out into the night. “I don’t know why I keep all his things. I need to accept that he’s not coming home.” Her voice was draped with the sound of bereavement.