The Empty Warrior (28 page)

“As you wish, Mrs. Nelkris,” Beccassit said, noticing wryly that he inevitably ended up using that phrase in every conversation he had with the woman. Nonetheless he was secretly pleased that the use of her surname was still able to elicit a tiny moue of vexation from her. “I will see to it that he is moved as soon as possible.”

“Good. I’ll notify the exec that he is to be moved
today
.” Apparently the captain was well aware that to a doctor “as soon as possible” might mean weeks. “He will oversee the transfer. But other than Mr. Busht, you, me, your nurse, and the guards, no one else is to get anywhere near your patient. I’ll send Colvan down to sick bay in a few hours.” Her image winked out immediately as the captain signed off.

Beccassit leaned back in his chair and kneaded his forehead between a thumb and two fingers.
That woman is a walking headache inducer
, he thought. He yawned, massaged both his temples for several long moments, and then went to work.

“
Vigilant
,” he said, “display a map of all undamaged berths, and highlight those that are presently vacant.” The virtual monitor sprang to life once more, displaying a deck by deck schematic of every compartment aboard. Many were outlined in red. “All right,” he said, “let’s start with the most spacious quarters.” This was not, he thought, the work that a doctor, particularly a doctor of his status, should be doing, as all but one of the red outlines disappeared from the plans floating before him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

The Eyes of a Savage

Busht strode deliberately from the lift and turned crisply to his left, headed down the well lit corridor, and was almost immediately confronted with a coterie of loitering crew members meandering slowly toward him. The sluggishness of the laughing spacers’ progression through the passageway made it clear enough that the group had nothing better to do than wander aimlessly about
Vigilant
chattering amongst themselves, probably about the most recent scandalous hearsay to come slithering down the ship’s grapevine. Busht inwardly groaned, as he had hoped the corridors on his approach to sick bay would be empty.

When he reached the too loud clutch of crewmen it took him some time to pass, as he generally felt it a sensible practice to get in a word or two with as many members of the crew as possible while he traversed the arteries of the ship. A simple hello from the executive officer might not boost morale to dizzying heights, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. And right now, with
Vigilant
lying wounded in a lonely orbit over a dead world far from home, anything that might raise the spirits of the crew even fractionally was as indispensable to the ship as the deep drive itself. He also understood that it was unrealistic to expect much in the way of morale building from Valessanna, except under the most extreme circumstances, such as her recent visit to sick bay, a visit that had sparked stories commenting on her apparently genuine concern that heretofore few in the crew had suspected she felt.

So, with the captain for the most part indifferent, the duty of attempting to keep at bay any disheartenment amongst the crew, which at any time could very well run through them like wildfire considering the ship’s present situation, fell largely on his shoulders. Thus he forced himself to smile, to pat backs, shake hands, and exchange pleasantries, not because he had any real enthusiasm for doing so, but simply because he felt it proper behavior for a ranking officer.

When finally he made his way past the drifting clump of enervated spacers he resumed his brisk stride and in moments was turning down the corridor that led directly to sick bay; a corridor that was supposed to have been placed off limits to everyone. He was gratified to find that it, at least, was deserted. Security had obviously taken his orders seriously, however strange those orders may have seemed.

Empty, the passageway was quiet enough that even the low swish of his pant legs abrading each other as he walked echoed off the walls and rasped in his ears. But it was only about forty meters to the entrance. He quickly traversed the distance, punched the entry console, and walked in to find two armed guards amiably chatting and laughing in the large and once again pristine waiting room. Aside from the guards, the compartment was empty save several med-techs gathered into a whispering knot in one corner.

“Hello, men,” he said as affably as he was able. “Has everything been prepared for the relocation of our guest?”

The guards turned to look at Busht, both of them evidently startled to suddenly be standing before the first officer. There was a pause as each of them waited for the other to speak, but at last one of them stammered out a sentence.

“Yes sir,” he said with a bit of uncertainty, “at least as far as we know, sir.” He stole a quick glance at his friend before returning his attention to Busht and continuing in a voice that was slightly more self-assured. “I’m told the prisoner is restrained and ready for transport. The doctor and a nurse are in with him now. They say he is anxious to see his new quarters, and they anticipate no trouble. Lieutenant Marek has informed us that the corridors en route will be cleared at your command and that the compartment has been readied. All access points to the ship’s AI in that compartment have been rendered inoperable and anything that could potentially be used as a weapon has been removed. We’re ready to proceed whenever you give the word, sir.” The man nodded slightly to signify that he was finished.

“Good,” Busht said, careful to smile slightly. “Very good.” He clapped the guard on the shoulder like he was an old friend, trying to put both of the men a little more at ease in his presence. “Be sure to express my appreciation to the lieutenant when you see him,” he continued, all the while resolving to do that very thing in person once the aberrant was moved, contingent upon the transfer going smoothly of course. He surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on the med techs still muttering amongst themselves.

“Well, let’s do this,” he said. “You’re aware of the necessary procedures, I’m sure. Why don’t you two go and very gently evict them,” he motioned to the med techs with a jerk of his thumb, “while I go collect our guest and his caretakers. In which compartment would I find the good doctor and his nurse?”

Again there was a pause as the two men silently decided who was to speak for them both. Again the same man eventually answered. “They’re down that corridor, sir,” he said, pointing through the main clinical area to one of the hallways that opened into it. “The last door on the left.”

“Thank you,” Busht replied. “I’ll be back momentarily.” He turned and entered the hallway the guard had indicated, proceeding to the proper door. But it was surprisingly not programmed to recognize him or his rank as it did not slide aside at his approach, nor did it open when he tapped an entry command onto the console to its right. Instead the voice of Dr. Beccassit issued from the control panel.

“Is that you, Mr. Busht?”

“Yes it is, doctor,” the exec replied and was rewarded by seeing the door slide into the bulkhead to his right, finally admitting him to the compartment. Inside with the doctor were the aberrant and a female nurse he was sure he had seen before, but could not remember where or when. Even her name was a mystery, but for some reason he vaguely associated her face with the captain.

Immediately Beccassit sprang up from the stool were he sat and walked toward Busht, his hand outstretched. An oversized smile appeared from within his whiskers. “So good to see you, Colvan,” he said in a voice that sounded completely genuine.

Busht did not know the doctor well; this being his one and only cruise on
Vigilant
, and never knew quite what to make of him. His overly casual demeanor, the balding head, and those ridiculous spectacles he wore for reading, all were bright red flags that screamed to Busht that the doctor was not what he seemed but was instead someone who for reasons unknown had chosen to disguise his true self. Every time he saw Beccassit a pin-prick of mistrust was left twinging in his naturally suspicious policeman’s mind. He could not put his finger on precisely what it was that fueled his disquiet, but somehow it seemed that there was something a little too much out of kilter about the man for it to be labeled simple eccentricity, something about him that never sat quite exactly right with Busht.

But the doctor was, according to all the information that the exec had been able to ferret out about the man, some sort of highbrow, profoundly intellectual egghead who was obviously well respected by his peers. He had, after all, been the one chosen to accompany
Vigilant
to the aberrant world. There could not be too awfully much wrong with him. And he did have quite a genial and engaging personality. So despite the misgivings the doctor’s demeanor always engendered, Busht found that he could not keep himself from experiencing real amity for him. It seemed strange to the exec to feel friendship for someone he did not implicitly trust, but the doctor’s boundless and energetic good nature, regardless of how honest or how false it was in actuality, was irresistibly infectious to Busht’s natural state of introversion. He could not stop himself; he genuinely liked Beccassit even though he did not feel that he should.

He took the doctor’s hand and shook it firmly. “It is good to see you as well, Dr. Beccassit,” he said, his words actually matching his feelings, for once.

Beccassit drew his hand back from Busht’s and waved it in the air in front of him in a dismissive gesture, harrumphing softly as he did so. “My name is Merco, Colvan, not Doctor,” he said matter of factly. “I do so despise titles, especially among friends.” His smile instantly returned. “Allow me to introduce you. Do you know Kira?”

Busht shook his head, inexplicably embarrassed by his near total lack of familiarity with a crew member. After all, it wasn’t as if this was an unusual occurrence. There were fifteen hundred people on board, and crew rotations were commonplace at nearly every port of call. No one knew everyone, particularly those on different watches or in different departments. Nevertheless, he found his lack of knowledge to be an imperfection, and it had pushed a sliver of guilt into his mind.

“This is Kira Pellotte. She is the case nurse for our guest,” the doctor said. The woman said hello to Busht in a deferential way and the exec nodded to her in return but kept his distance, as was customary for him with all female crew members.

“Ah yes, Pellotte. That rings a bell. I remember your name from the personnel files,” Busht lied. “I hope you have recovered fully from our misadventure with the Vazileks.” Pellotte assured him that she had, but what else would she tell the ship’s first officer. The woman might well be a mere child still frightened to death since in truth Busht had never laid eyes on her file and had no idea how old or experienced she was; she might have been twenty four or four hundred and two. He quickly added the perusal of her record to his mental “to do” list. He thought it a wise precaution in any case as the woman would be caring for the aberrant and thus interacting with him on a daily basis, and Busht wanted to know everything about anyone who had anything to do with the barbarian.

No sooner was the introduction complete when Beccassit grabbed the exec by the upper arm, an action that made him flinch slightly as he found it a much too familiar gesture. But he did not protest in any other way and allowed himself to be led across the room to a gurney that floated about a meter above the deck. The aberrant lay atop it, covered by a sheet and a blanket, unable to move due to the action of a neural inhibitor. Val had been very specific about using the incapacitating device during the transfer. “And this is our guest of honor,” Beccassit said enthusiastically. “Hill O’Keefe, meet Colvan Busht, our ship’s first officer.”

Busht looked down, straight into the eyes of a killer. Those eyes were blue and piercing, made even more so by the pale flesh that surrounded them. They rested on either side of a hawkish nose and beneath a shock of jet black hair. The aberrant stared back at him, unyielding, as if even an exchange of gazes were a competition of some kind. Busht greeted the man without dropping his eyes and the aberrant responded in kind, but did so while still staring coldly up at him. The aberrant didn’t so much as a blink during the entirety of the exchange.

“Hello,” he had said slowly, “I’d shake your hand too, but oops, what do you know, it seems I can’t move my arm.” A small, wry smile had appeared on his face, the outward friendliness of the expression belied by the stare that continued to bore into Busht’s skull.

At last the exec had to look away, suddenly ashamed, but unnecessarily so, he felt. The aberrant was almost certainly a cold-blooded murderer. Surely he did not expect to move about the ship unfettered in any way.

“Well,” Busht managed to say somewhat good-naturedly, “you’ll be up and about soon enough. And to that end,” he continued, speaking to all three people in the room, “let’s get on with this.”

He motioned for the others to precede him, and the doctor took the lead, grabbing one of the arch-like handles that protruded from either end of the aberrant’s gurney and pulling the barbarian toward the exit. Pellotte took the other handle and, following behind Beccassit, assisted him in deftly maneuvering the aberrant out of the compartment. Busht followed, staying several paces behind. When they reached the anteroom, the doctor and nurse halted while he made his way around them and approached the guards.

“Lead the way,” he said to one, while holding the other back by his elbow, then settling him in behind Pellotte. Busht was certain nothing would go wrong, but hard experience had taught him to always make every attempt to be prepared for that which conventional wisdom said could not happen.