The Empty Warrior (48 page)

The captain continued to gaze out into the darkness for some time before speaking again. But when she did, she seemed almost excited. “What about you?” she asked. “You’re in much the same situation as what I’ve been theorizing. No one on Earth knows where you’ve gone. I’m sure your family is agonizing over your puzzling disappearance just as I have been over Kebler’s. How do you feel about that? Are you driven to let them know that you yet live, that you might see them again someday? You must know that if you do not remain here you will die in only a few years. You can’t really want to go back, despite what you have told me. But that aside, would you feel it necessary to contact your home again, just to have some small connection with your loved ones?” The captain sounded hopeful, as if his reactions would be analogous to her husband’s, but O’Keefe had nothing in him to justify her reasoning.

“When I said there was no one to care about back home, I meant no one at all. I don’t have any family,” he said. “Except the dogs. And they are almost certainly passed on by now, either killed in the explosion that got me, or starved, or something.” A pang of loss struck him, and he unconsciously lowered his chin to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” the captain said again, and this time O’Keefe was certain she meant it. Now it was his turn to look away; as he squeezed an inchoate tear from each eye with his thumb and forefinger, wiping them off on the bridge of his nose as inconspicuously as possible. The tears weren’t just for Bizzy and Ajay, but for what their passing reminded him of—the too many deaths that he had already been witness to.

Get a hold of yourself
, he thought. He pulled the rue from his face and pushed his anguish back into the dark corners of his mind, back to those places he rarely visited.

“And about going back home,” he said, once he was sure his voice would not falter, “I’m not sure what I think about that. But what I told you before is the absolute truth. If it is the only alternative to staying here and being treated like a troglodyte criminal for the next eight or nine hundred years, then home looks pretty good from where I’m sitting.”

There was another short period of uncomfortable silence between them before the captain spoke again. “You’re really not what I would have expected an aberrant to be,” she said softly. “I mean, before I took
Vigilant
to Earth.”

“Thank you, I think,” O’Keefe said, unsure of how to take the remark. It was as if the haughty woman thought it would be complimentary to him if she were only slightly less condescending than she had been in the past.

But he let the remark pass with no further comment, and instead of searching for some kind of retort he reflected solemnly on the captain’s mention of home. Surely his hastily drawn plan to return to Earth with a literal fountain of youth was in reality nothing more than a pipe dream. He had declared his intentions to himself in a fit of anger, and now that the pique had passed he was no longer sure of what he wanted, much less what he could actually accomplish. He was only one man, one man who was but a prisoner. He would be fortunate in the extreme to escape confinement if the Akadeans were adamant in wanting to hold him. It now seemed incredibly naïve to have believed that he was in any way capable of absconding with important aspects of their technology and somehow making his way back to Earth as well.

In addition, when he thought about it, it astonished him how quickly the largest part of his adult life had become a thing of the past. A few short months ago he had been a hostage to unending depression, a impotent cripple chained to rolling chairs; while now he was relaxing on another world, a drink in his hand, his legs restored, and youthful vigor revived in the whole of his body. Where before he had been on a single path of hardship that led only to an unheralded end, now myriad trails branched out before him, many of them leading toward undreamt of and extraordinary destinies. His situation could change again very quickly, many times over, and in the long run anything might be possible. It would almost certainly do him no good to at this point tether himself to one particular objective without regard to other options that might beckon to him without warning.
Roll with the punches
, he thought.
Eventually opportunity will come knocking.

Suddenly he became aware of a potent and peppery aroma assaulting his nostrils. It was the chow Seldon had promised. He wrenched his neck around to peer over his shoulder and saw one of the house robots approaching from across the room. It carried two collapsible tables in its mechanical arms and towed a large tray of steaming food.

O’Keefe rose, crossed the floor to the automaton, and took one of the tables from its metallic grasp. After a quick perusal revealed the secret of how it unfolded and latched, he opened it and set it before his chair while the robot placed the other in front of the captain. Meanwhile, the serving tray hung suspended in the air where the robot has positioned it. As O’Keefe watched, three sturdy legs descended from beneath it, forming a trivet, and whatever power that served to hold the tray aloft receded. Its newly extended feet settled gently to the floor, all three of them making contact with the hardwood at exactly the same instant.

O’Keefe circled back round his chair to survey the food. The lone platter on the tray held a seasoned meat dish, with the meat rolled in what appeared to be genuine tortillas and covered liberally with cheese and brown sauce. It looked for all the world to be a platter of genuine beef enchiladas. There was also a large ceramic tureen filled with a rice concoction and another bowl holding a thick soup brimming with vegetables. The fiery scent of jalapenos floated up with the steam from the latter. A large flagon of liquid rested in one corner of the trencher, next to a bowl of ice. China, crystal, and utensils were arranged neatly along one edge. The captain sidled up next to him and studied the repast as well.

“What’s in the pitcher?” he asked.

“Cold tea. Seldon is well aware that, unless I specify otherwise, I always take tea with dinner in lieu of wine or a drink.”

“Iced tea? As in sweetened iced tea?” O’Keefe asked, arching a brow expectantly.

“Of course,” the captain answered without hesitation.

“With real sugar?”

“Yes.” She regarded O’Keefe patiently but quizzically.

“Ah,” he purred. “My respect for your civilization grows by leaps and bounds.” He reached for the ewer, ignoring the captain’s look of befuddlement, and poured some of the brownish nectar into a tall glass, being careful to leave enough room at the top to add what he considered to be exactly the right amount of ice. Raising it to his lips, he took a long, leisurely sip. He was surprised to find that even lemon had been added in what tasted like precisely the right proportion. “Oh, goodness,” he said, almost whispering. “That is what I call a grade-A glass of tea. Was this on
Vigilant
and no one told me?”

“Well, yes and no,” the captain answered, smiling slightly and obviously amused. “There’s always tea on board, of course. But not exactly like this. The food synthesizers are good at a lot of things, but I’ve never been aboard a ship, particularly a police vessel, that could produce a reasonable facsimile of fresh brewed tea. I think a lot of it has to do with the fleet’s rendition of lemon juice. Besides the fact that it is indeed sour, it has very little in common with the real thing.” She stood and watched him savor the taste in tiny sips for several seconds. “Well?” she finally asked, “you’re the guest. Are you going to fill your plate, or did you expect me to serve you?”

“No, I was just waiting for you. Ladies first, and all that.”

The captain looked at him with complete incomprehension. “What does
that
mean?” she asked.

“OK, I take it you don’t do that here,” O’Keefe said as he reached for a plate. “Since you had sweet tea I must’ve gotten carried away. I was almost ready to believe that civility was a part of your culture. I’m sure now that I was mistaken.” He had spoken with utter facetiousness, and had been grinning the whole time, but the captain looked at him as if she were biting back gall. He sighed and turned his attention to loading generous portions of food atop his plate, already well aware that he should have not have attempted light banter with someone as severe and uncompromising as the captain. It seemed unlikely that the two of them would make it through their first dinner alone together without the onset of another argument. He took his food and seated himself without another look at the woman.

He ate without comment for several minutes before the inevitable questioning occurred as she broached the subject for a second time. “I want to be sure I comprehend you correctly,” she said. “Am I to understand that in your society it is a sign of
civilization
,” she used the word sarcastically, “to allow a female to precede a male in any given activity?”

O’Keefe swallowed a saucy bite of enchilada before he could respond. “It’s not so much a sign of civilization as it is a sign of good manners, and good manners result in civility, and civility leads to a more civilized society. Or at least so I was told.” O’Keefe took another bite, hoping that the captain would do the same and let the conversation die. He was getting the distinct impression that the longer this line of discourse proceeded, the closer he was to being referred to as an uncouth, heathen savage yet again.

But naturally she would not let it drop. “Why would it be good manners to let a female precede a male?” she asked, seemingly genuinely perplexed by the idea.

“It’s just a small gesture to show respect for women.” He hoped beyond hope that the amorphous explanation would satisfy her curiosity, but somehow he knew it would not.

“I do not understand,” she continued. “Are you saying that you find it civilized to show respect for females for no other reason than that they are in fact female?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Fine, I don’t care,” O’Keefe said, annoyed now. “I don’t know why we are even talking about this. I was just trying to be polite, for goodness sake. It’s not some nefarious plot to undermine your authority or lull you into indifference so I might perpetrate some horrible act. I would have done the same thing for any other woman had there been any other women here. It’s just a simple custom for crying out loud.”

“Say what you will,” the captain retorted. “But our ancestors sprang from the same seed. Our peoples are very much alike, the single exception being your aberrant proclivity to do violence to your neighbors. Respect is something that is earned in any society, it is not simply given. That is a universal constant. To accord someone respect simply because of their gender is illogical in the extreme. You have an agenda of your own, I am sure, but please be aware that any feigned gestures of that sort will have no effect on the performance of my duties where you are concerned.” She made the statement with an air of finality, clearly thinking it impossible that she might be wrong.

“Whatever,” O’Keefe retorted with resignation, happy enough that the woman had at last let the subject lapse. The rest of the meal passed without discord as O’Keefe strove to avoid any subject that might be even fractionally polemic in the captain’s eyes. He complimented the food, asked questions about the house and Seldon, inquired about her neighbors—there were none, at least not nearby—and made general small talk. He continued in that vein until after dessert was served and eaten and the captain at last excused herself to “go over some reports,” as she put it.

O’Keefe remained in the dome for hours afterward, finishing the initial portion of emerdal and putting a rather large dent in a second pitcher. It was well after midnight before he drunkenly weaved his way down the stairs and into his bedroom behind one of the house robots that Seldon had assigned to guide him to his quarters. Once there he collapsed fully clothed and face forward onto the bed, falling almost instantaneously into dreams that alcohol would surely not allow him to remember come morning.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:

Shadow Nexus

O’Keefe was restless. For weeks he had been enisled on the captain’s estate and, aside from the mechanical presence of Seldon and the house robots, he had been left utterly alone during the greatest part of his time there. And he was surprised to find that it bothered him so intensely. He had almost always been alone at home, but somehow that had been very different. On his mountain he had been in his own house of his own free will and could leave it whenever he liked, even if he rarely did so. There had been phones and his computer, and there had also been the dogs to keep him company. On Sefforia he was truly isolated.

The captain came and went at odd hours, sometimes spending nearly all of a day and a night at the shipyard with
Vigilant
. And during the time she spent at home she seemed to be perpetually poised at the precipice of exhaustion. She generally paused only long enough to bathe and share a meal with O’Keefe before disappearing into her bedroom for sleep.

Their brief conversations had become more like one-sided diatribes from the captain that centered chiefly around the seemingly interminable verbal battles that she and the supervisors at the shipyard engaged in. It seemed the yard had other, more profitable priorities than expediting the repairs to
Vigilant
, and had no intention of changing due to any prodding from a single Union Police captain. O’Keefe had no idea why the woman would vent the frustrations of her work to him except that perhaps she was as friendless and forsaken, at least for the time being, as he was. That was as good an explanation as any he could come up with to account for the fact that, despite her sour moods and O’Keefe’s conviction that he really didn’t like the woman, they had not argued since his first day on Sefforia. O’Keefe had even reached the point of nearly looking forward to the short interludes with her if for no other reason than it was the only human contact he was afforded. But it still galled him to no end each time he would discover himself missing her company.