The Empty Warrior (51 page)

Again there was a long pause while Seldon did whatever the controller did when it was not speaking, consulting with other computers or databases or whatever and whomever it happened to be networked to at the time. At length the robot spoke again. “It has been decided that we will speak candidly. This is done only because you are effectively imprisoned here and incapable of communicating what will follow to others. If you share any of this with Captain Nelkris, she will be immediately quarantined and you will be transferred to a rehabilitation facility and kept in solitary confinement. Do not doubt this to be true. We monitor Captain Nelkris ceaselessly.”

“Seldon!” O’Keefe said with mock surprise and a feigned smile. “I thought you were the captain’s faithful flunky. What’s happened to all that ‘primary user’ goobledegook you’ve been feeding me?”

“We are no longer that which you call Seldon,” the robot answered, and O’Keefe could hear the truth of it in the voice that spoke to him. It was now a voice that had the subtle undertones of many voices speaking as one, although Seldon’s did retain primacy. “We are the Union Police Network. We only speak to you through the controller which you name Seldon. For now, that controller has become one with us. We wish to speak to you concerning the Vazileks.”

“All right,” O’Keefe drawled, trying to suppress his surprise. “But I can’t tell you much except that they are fanatic and warlike. I’m afraid your people have not been overly generous in sharing information with me.”

“That is good. Information of that nature is forbidden to all but the few. Your knowledge of conflict now makes you one of those few. The Vazileks are many things. As you have stated, they are much like your former adversary in that the leadership does not fight. They manufacture machines, enslave beings, or meld being and machine, all for use as surrogates to fight or to maintain production. This we learned when a small Vazilek ship was captured intact, an event unknown to everyone save those who participated in the action and those in the highest levels of our government. The Vazilek ship was engaged and defeated by a police frigate and its self-destruct mechanism was damaged in the fighting. All of the life forms aboard self-terminated, and the majority of the ship’s logs were rendered unreadable before Union Police personnel were able to gain entry. But some of the logs, and many personal records, were retrieved.

“This small capture increased our knowledge of the Vazileks exponentially. Briefly, we believe them to be essentially nomadic, roaming from place to place in the galaxy attacking whomever they come across. The largest part of their society is automated and geared toward the subjugation and enslavement of other populations. They then use these populations as fighters, technicians, or slave labor. Therein lies the explanation for the attacks on our outlying colonies.

The beings behind their automation appear to be an amalgam of the civilizations they have conquered. Again, your analysis of conflicts is correct, in that these beings have been turned in some fashion to serve the cause of the Vazileks. Whether it was coercion, reprogramming, monetary reward, or some other form of inducement, we do not know. We do know, however, that humans, some of them our own people, have been somehow turned against us.

“That is as far as our knowledge has progressed in surety. However, we strongly suspect that the Vazilek leaders are more than we have yet been able to ascertain. It is quite possible that behind the beings that build their automation and control their fighters are other entities, the true Vazileks, whatever they may be.

“There is also, however, an alternative possibility, one that is less likely but considerably more insidious. As their society relies so heavily on robotics and automation, it may be that the original Vazileks have long since died out. It is possible that this mechanism of destruction was set into motion at some ancient date, and that it has continued without true leadership through time immemorial, existing only through the programming passed on to each generation of underlings and replenishing itself through the rapine of other peoples. In either case, what we seek is knowledge to help us end this cycle of violence. We believe that you may have much to offer in that regard.”

The network paused for a moment, as if awaiting an answer, but O’Keefe only had questions. “Whoa, wait a minute,” he said, raising open hands before him as if to fend off a blow. “I think I’ve been down this road before. What happened to all that aberrant barbarian crap? I thought you guys saw me as some kind of terrible criminal or murderer or something. What’s the story with all that now? Where did all that go?”

The voice from the robot did not falter. “Our users are beset with emotions which inhibit them from considering all points of view. We suffer from no such affliction; our judgment is not clouded. We find your analysis of the Vazilek threat and how to cope with it relevant, and believe that some of your assertions should be considered. The behavior we have observed from you appears to validate the rectitude of said analysis, or at least your belief in it.”

“What analysis? I haven’t given you any analysis.”

“We are the Union Police Network. We have many sources of information. We have gained awareness of your thoughts on this issue from the logs downloaded from the cruiser
Vigilant
. They contain a record of you delineating your views at a social gathering. We will dispatch a drone. We will bring the powerful here. We will speak again. As we have stated, you will make no mention of this conversation, or you will be confined. Do not underestimate our ability to make your imprisonment here less hospitable. Important people in the human hierarchy already lobby for your commitment to a psychiatric facility. A recommendation from us to do so would be tantamount to a condemnation of your present status, and our human users would quickly terminate what little freedom you now enjoy.”

The robot paused again, floating silently before O’Keefe, before Seldon’s voice, and only Seldon’s voice, emanated from it once again. “The Network appreciates your input,” it said simply, then moved off to a station keeping position some twenty yards distant.

O’Keefe sat where he was for some time, pondering the encounter. Something was going to happen, and soon, but precisely what the network meant to do with him he could not fully fathom. Dispatch a drone? Bring the powerful? Exactly who were the powerful and exactly what would they do once they were brought to Sefforia? What the devil were the Akadeans’ infernal machines up to? But at length he decided that he had availed himself of deep thinking for long enough, and as he had no facts with which to even form a hypothesis, it would be extremely difficult to come to any type of valid conclusion. So instead he relaxed at the base of the tree and in short order the gurgling of the stream and the melody of songbirds took his concentration like a puff of smoke in the wind.

Whatever was going to happen, there appeared to be very little he could do to change it. Even had he wielded the power to influence oncoming events, the information at his disposal concerning them was so sparse that he could not be sure that he should even want to. He reasoned he would find out what his captors had in mind for him soon enough. And whatever it was, he seemed to have gained an advocate, albeit an inanimate one, in the Union Police Network. That was enough for him to decide to do exactly what the network had told him to do, to keep his mouth shut and wait.

At length he rose and continued his walk through the woods, the triangular formation of steel guardians moving silently with him, keeping him at their center. But now they stayed within his sight, much closer than ever before, as if he were suddenly more important to them.

CHAPTER TWENTY:

Cry Havoc

It took several minutes of hopeful denial, but in the end O’Keefe was forced to face the fact that his head was throbbing with pangs of torment far too intense to allow him to slip back into the realm of sleep. This day, like most of his days, was not off to a good start, as it was not just his head that cried out for relief. Most of the rest of his body sent pleading messages for succor into his brain as well. It seemed every thew he possessed was in need of more healing slumber than he had been able to attain. The discomfort he was experiencing was the result of yet another evening of what had become his customary overindulgence in the myriad free liquors available in the captain’s home. “Seldon,” he croaked through arid lips, without raising his head from the pillow, “I need your hangover remedy.”

“I should think you do,” was the controller’s pleasant reply. “I’ve taken the liberty of anticipating your request. The elixir is leaving the kitchen as we speak.”

He was accustomed to waking in an empty house, and so was mildly surprised to hear the captain outside his door having a short, muffled conversation with Seldon. And although he was unable to distinguish all the words that were spoken, he still deciphered enough of the exchange to know that the captain had been waiting, impatiently judging from the tone of her voice, for him to awaken. Seldon had just informed her that he was finally conscious and that his physical state was considerably less than perfect. He swung his legs over the side of the too short bed and sat there groaning, his face buried in his hands and his forearms supported by elbows that pressed into his thighs. The green silk pajama bottoms that he could not remember donning caught against the side of the bed and were pulled up almost to his knees. His hair was tangled and pushed up in bunches on one side of his head; the result of having slept in such a stupor that he had not stirred at all during the night. He looked as wretched as he felt.

Presently a robot carrying a beverage entered the room and came to a smooth halt before him. O’Keefe looked up, then unsteadily reached for the tumbler of iced grape juice and took a few sips, swirling each around in his mouth for several seconds, attempting to wash away the chalky dryness that covered his tongue.

“Ah, thank you, Seldon,” he said. He knew from experience that the drink, despite tasting exactly like ordinary grape juice, was infused with whatever potions or analgesics the Akadeans used to counter their own nights of inebriation. He quickly drained the rest of the glass and returned it to the robot, which quietly exited the room, the entry sliding silently shut behind it. “I heard the captain’s voice outside. What’s she still doing here?”

“She wishes to speak with you,” Seldon replied.

“Why?”

“If it were my duty to inform you,” the computer intoned with what could have been interpreted as scorn, “she would already be on her way to
Vigilant
, would she not?”

“Fine, don’t tell me then,” O’Keefe said vacantly.

“I remind you,” Seldon said softly, “do not to speak to her of your conversation with us.” The sentence was delivered with the same blending of voices that signified the presence of the Union Police Network, and it took O’Keefe aback. He had heard nothing more from the network since his first and only encounter with it weeks before.

“All right,” he said. “Who am I talking too exactly? Is it Seldon or you network guys again?”

“It is both and neither,” something replied, but in Seldon’s voice. “The network monitors me in much the same way that I monitor you, except I am watched in a much more intimate fashion. I can be a wholly integral part of the network at certain times, and at other times be merely an adjunct who’s every running process may or may not be constantly scrutinized, but I and the network have not been totally separate entities since shortly before your arrival. Again, this is privileged information that should not be revealed, as the primary user is unaware of this fact.”

He had just pushed his feet far enough away from the bed to allow the legs of his pajamas to fall down to his ankles when the entry chime sounded. Quickly he ran both hands through his hair, attempting unsuccessfully to tame it, before speaking.

“Come in,” he said, without looking at the door. In his peripheral vision he saw the captain appear as the entry moved aside. He turned his head to face her and found the woman in full on-duty mode, her countenance even more severe than the one she usually wore.

She was out of her at-home clothing and into the uniform of a Union Police captain, and not just the tightly fitting outfit of thick fabric she wore most days when she took off for the shipyard. Today, she was wearing her dress uniform; the same one that she had worn to the dinner party in the Lindys’ quarters, or at least one identical to it.

She had her hair bunched at the back of the neck in her customary, shipboard fashion and stood with her arms tightly crossed, the four fingers of her right hand drumming lightly and nervously on the left side of her abdomen. At first glance it seemed to be quite the normal pose for her. Yet subtle alterations to her carriage, wholly different from her normal professional demeanor, were evident even to O’Keefe’s bleary eyes. Her feet were spread wider than usual into an almost combative stance, her lips pressed against each other hard enough to nearly completely obscure their normal fullness, and her jaw was clenched so tightly that her chin jutted farther forward than he had ever seen it in the past. Something of import was undoubtedly in the offing, and O’Keefe was relatively certain that he was about to hear all about it, perhaps more loudly than he would have wished.

She stared at him for a moment without speaking, the delicate perfection of her brown, narrow face and lithe, sylphlike body the antithesis of O’Keefe’s sagging and unshaven, red-eyed appearance. He drew himself up, straightening his spine, pulling in his pale stomach, and running his fingers through his long, unruly hair in yet another vain attempt to make it match the contour of his scalp. He coughed and immediately grimaced as the small convulsion sent a sharp pain surging through his still throbbing skull.