The Empty Warrior (36 page)

O’Keefe sighed. There was nothing more annoying than judgmental people prattling on about a subject they knew nothing about. In this regard he judged Busht and the captain to be of the same ilk. They considered themselves superior to the primitive aberrant they had picked up on some out of the way planet, so now when they needed advice from that same barbarian it was a foregone conclusion they would not accept it. They had both spoken to him of war, yet they had so little real knowledge of the concept that their language did not even include the word. To them war was a reality that existed only in the dark corners of the universe and certainly never in their enlightened society. They wanted reassurance that war was not really what they faced, that there was a way out, some arcane conjure known only to aberrants like himself, some quick and easy wisdom that he could impart to them to save them from their fate.

For a moment he considered a lie, a balm that would ingratiate him to the two of them, and hopefully allow him more freedom. But although O’Keefe would lie in a heartbeat to gain a tactical advantage over an enemy or even a potential enemy, there was none of the shyster in him—there never had been. These people had asked for his advice in, for the most part at least, an honorable fashion, and in return they would get his unvarnished opinion. And that was a shame, he felt, as it would definitely end any chance of his getting out of his quarters more often.

“Let me get this straight,” he began. “These people are attacking the perimeter of your civilization. They’re killing your people. They’ve taken prisoners. You’ve sighted them repeatedly throughout your domain and they have fled at your approach. They’ve been doing all this for years, and it has only gotten worse. This is what you’re telling me?”

He looked directly into the eyes of the captain and waited for a response. But she had that nebulous, insensate look of someone being led from darkness into light and still being unable to see. At last she nodded hesitantly, confirming his postulations, yet confusion still reigned over her features.

“Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think it should be obvious what’s happening here,” O’Keefe continued. “The provocations you have described are almost certainly a prelude to…”
Damn
, he thought,
they have no word for invasion, either.
“They are going to attack you, and not in the way you normally use the word attack. This won’t be an attack of hunger or of sickness; this will be an attack of violence. They will come after you in a bloodthirsty, homicidal, merciless way. At that point there will be no more of these pinprick attacks; instead, you’re going to get a big one. They are going to try to eventually subjugate you, all of you, to their rule.” He would have used the word
conquer
, were there an Akadean equivalent, but of course there was not.

“Don’t you see? These probing attacks are meant to test your response. And what do you think they are doing with the captives they’ve taken? Don’t you suppose there is a good chance that they are interrogating them, squeezing them for information, the kind of information that you don’t seem to have about them? And the vessels you’ve spotted, do you think they are out there just cruising around the galaxy for the fun of it? No, they’re gathering intelligence. Surveying your strengths and determining your weaknesses, finding your means of production and population centers while scouting the defenses you have to protect them. I, of course, have no idea what kind of time frame you’re looking at, but if they have been doing this for as long as you say they have, they are probably ramped up by now and just about ready to come after you. If I were you I would start making preparations, start finding out as much as you can about them, and preparing for the worst. It may be too late now, but if they give you the time to gather intelligence and then group your forces, I would hit them first. I’d try and put them on the defensive. They’ve certainly given you ample provocation; you should have gone after them long ago.”

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.