Empty Space

by Alan Black

  The search didn’t take him long. After an hour of going low and slow barely brushing the treetops, he spotted a small wisp of smoke rising in the distance. He settled the car into a tiny clearing a mile from the smoke. He’d lied to Fugget when he told him he’d keep the GPS and radio on. The lie wouldn’t keep him up at night, on the other hand the car wasn’t his. He didn’t want to deprive the Fuggets of their property if he failed here in the unsettled north. He set a timer for the GPS to power up after twenty-four hours. The Fuggets could come and find their car if he didn’t come back within a reasonable time frame.

  Dark would come on quick at these latitudes. Even though it was hours until sunset, the temperature was already getting colder. His uniform would compensate, keeping him warm as long as he remained active. He decided not to wait until morning to investigate the smoke. He made a clear mental picture of where to find the car again, grabbed the rifle and a canteen with a small pack of food supplements and moved quietly through the forest towards the rising smoke.

  He was used to being alone; in fact, he liked and preferred to be by himself. But, he felt odd being alone in the forest and kept looking behind him. It felt as if someone was watching his every step. The shadows and smells were somehow wrong. He had spent many hours in escape and evasion simulators at the academy, moving and surviving in cities, forests, deserts and island environments, but this was different. It felt. Every sim he’d ever completed and later experienced in reality had been such a perfect match his memories couldn’t tell reality from simulated fiction. This was different. The trees had the same feel, the air smelled the same as many forest simulations and the sounds were so similar as to be indistinguishable. He couldn’t put his finger on what was different. It just felt. York wondered if the forest was different or if the change was in him.

  His fingers danced lightly on the handle of the little Walther PPK in its holster at his waist. Fugget had warned him about the native fauna in the unsettled areas reaches around the Torso Mountains and he was farther north than that. He had the heavy rifle on a shoulder strap where he was sure he could get it quickly, if he needed it. Somehow, the little pistol was more comforting. The heavy rifle might be necessary, but the little Walther carried the solid confidence of James Bond.

  York was downwind of the smoke and eased toward the camp quietly in the gathering darkness. A single figure sat quietly next to a roaring fire. The fire was much larger than anything they’d ever been trained to build in outdoor survival classes. Even though the flames were licking sky high, the man tossed another log onto the fire and glanced around him, obviously worried about what might be lurking in the dark. York smiled. He lurked in the dark.

  His feet didn’t even whisper as he slipped forward and slid the small Walther from his holster. He bashed the man in the back of the head at the precise angle with the exact force and on the particular spot his training said would render an opponent unconscious, but not dead.

  A short while later, York watched Lieutenant Junior Grade Bartol Samdon struggling to wake up. His fight against unconsciousness worked, conversely his battle against his restraints didn’t. It’d taken him longer to wake up than York imagined, but the extra minutes gave him plenty of time to scout the area around the fire. A huge escarpment jutted high into the darkness just to the north. A small nearby stream cascaded into a clear blue pool and wandered away into the forest for a thousand yards before crashing over the edge of another escarpment and dropping a few hundred yards to a steppe below. He hadn’t found anyone else. The dog pack’s rented floater wasn’t close by. He doubted Samdon would have been outside next to a fire if he had the option of being warm inside somewhere. The only paths through the forest were barely discernible animal tracks. He would have to wait until morning to see more.

  Samdon croaked, “You better cut me loose, budger. This is frakking crap. I’ll see you court-martialed for this.”

  Other than smiling, York didn’t respond. He munched slowly on a nutrition bar and watched Samdon struggle against his bonds.

  Samdon shouted, “My friends will be back soon and you’ll get what’s coming to you!”

  York chuckled. He really hoped Balderano and the rest of the dog pack would come back. It would be much more complicated to take on half a dozen trained military officers, but it would certainly make this more interesting. Complicated had its own special appeal. He pulled out the thin knife from his boot, letting the firelight twinkle on the shiny blade. Opening the pack, he pulled out a roll of duct tape. The blade on the knife was four inches long. Even such a short length was too long for his purposes. He knew if he wasn’t careful he’d become too excited and plunge the blade in long before he was ready.

  Samdon’s eyes went wide. He sputtered, “Wait. Wait. No. My family is rich. You let me go and I can pay you whatever you want.”

  York looked up with interest and said, “Really? How much?”

  Samdon said, “Whatever you want. A million credits … no, two. Yeah, two million.”

  York shook his head and wrapped three inches of the blade with thick tape. “How much money have you stolen from me in the past?”

  “Stolen? Nothing. I swear on my eyes I’ve never taken any credits from you.”

  “Yeah, I can’t remember you stealing from me either, so I guess money isn’t what I’m after, huh? It’s a strange coincidence you mention your eyes though.”

  Samdon squeezed his eyes shut and tried to yank his head to the side.

  York chuckled. “Oh, quit thrashing about. I’m not going to cut your eyes out. Hell, man! I want to you to see what I’m going to do. Now, don’t wiggle or I may cut you by accident.” He slipped the knife in at the man’s collar and sliced through his civvie clothes from neck to ankle, tossing all of the rags into the blazing fire. Civvie clothes were fire resistant, but weren’t fire proof and the blaze was hot. Samdon was naked to the cool night air. His clothes were unrecognizable ashes in a matter of minutes.

  Samdon started to sweat. York didn’t know whether the sweat was from being so close to the fire or due to his fright. He hoped Samdon was frightened. Making a man sweat with fear was exciting. The excitement wasn’t sexual, getting an erection at a time like this would just be weird, though the capture and questioning was giving him a wonderful dopamine and adrenaline rush. He was glad he’d wrapped tape around the knife blade. Without a protected cutting surface, it would be too easy to slice too deep, too fast.

  Samdon pleaded, “No. Wait. Tell me what you want.”

  “Sssshhhh.” York said. “Save your breath for later. I think you’re going to need it.”

  “No! Don’t—”

  York rocked back on his heels. “Great googa-booga, boy. Have you forgotten all your academy training? They trained us better than this at the prep school I attended. I mean, really, sir, I haven’t even cut you once yet and you’re ready to give up everything except your sister.”

  “Sister? You want my sister? Yeah, okay. I can make it happen.”

  York shook his head. “I don’t want your sister. Busty Beethoven and randy Rachmaninoff, Lieutenant! If your sister has any family resemblance to you, I wouldn’t let my dog take her.” He poked a finger on Samdon’s body in a couple of spots: neck, chest, testicles, and inner thigh. “Let’s see … where to start, where to start? This is so exciting, Lieutenant Samdon. I don’t mind admitting how much I’m enjoying this. Oh, don’t worry, sir. I’m not going to cut anything really important right out of the chute. Let’s work up to the good stuff.”

  Samdon blubbered, “No, please. I never did anything to you.”

  “Really? Nothing?” He grabbed Samdon’s nipple and slid the blade slowly through the flesh, tossing the small piece into the fire. He expected Samdon to scream, but when he looked at him, the man had fainted. He pulled a small vial of amyl nitrate from his pack and waved the smelling salts under the man’s nose. “Come on, sir. Stay with me.”

  “What do you want? Please …” Samdon begged. “I’m sor
ry I hit you on the Gambion. I’m … I’m sorry I threatened you. I’m sorry I wrote you up. I apologize.”

  “Oh, okay.” York said. “Shake on it? No. Oh, I forgot your hands are tied up.” He reached down and quickly sliced off the little finger on the man’s left hand, tossing the offending piece into the fire.

  Samdon didn’t faint. He squealed like a little girl, sobbed and then whimpered.

  York smiled. The whimpering noises were better. “Thank you, sir. I accept your apology.”

  Samdon said, “I’ll kill you when I get … no, I didn’t mean that. We can forget all of this, just let me loose.”

  York said, “Loose? Why would I let you go free? That isn’t what I want.”

  “What do you want? Wait … I have the girl. You let me go and you can have her.”

  York frowned. “Dammit, man. Why did you have to say that? You’re just too quick. You really suffer from tormenta interruptus. Okay, crap. Where is she?”

  “Downstream about a hundred yards is a clearing. We landed the floater there. I took Kenna back into the trees a ways and put up a small tent. We … we partied some. I left her in the tent when I went back to the floater for something to eat, but they were gone. Everything was gone. They left me here.”

  “She’s still there?”

  “Yeah, I think. East of the clearing. I came up here looking for fish in this pond or for berries or something to eat.”

  With a little shudder of enjoyment, York flicked the knife gently against Samdon’s neck, just below his ear.

  Samdon asked, “What did you do?” He struggled to see where he was cut, his eyes wide with terror.

  York said, “I must be getting soft in my old age. All of this naked skin to cut and I think I’m done. You just rest a minute while I go see if I can find Miss Altamont.”

  “You aren’t going to cut me anymore?” Samdon’s voice was already becoming slurred as the blood flowed from his cut jugular.

  York held up the knife, stripping the duct tape away. He threw the tape into the fire, wiped the blood away from the blade and held it into the fire to clean it. He would drop the knife into a sonic cleaner as soon as he got back to the car. He was sure he packed one with the camping gear appropriated from the Fuggets.

  Samdon was still muttering, but he quit after a minute and appeared to be sleeping. York watched for a while until he was sure the man wasn’t breathing and his heart had stopped pumping blood. He cut the man’s restraints and tossed them into the fire. They were thick zip ties, yet they would disappear in time. He tossed the rest of the small pile of firewood onto the blaze, letting it flame higher and higher. He glanced at Samdon’s body and decided to leave it to the buzzards and insects. He wasn’t sure if the planet had carrion eaters, but every habitable planet he’d ever heard of had some equivalent who would enjoy a fresh meal of protein, even alien protein was a buffet.

  He pulled a small light from his pouch. The night was full on dark as he followed the stream until he found a clearing. The whole area was a mess, filled with discarded debris left behind by Balderano and his dog pack. Scattered about with abandon were food containers, broken lawn chairs and dirty clothes. There was a flattened patch of grass and brush already struggling to repair the damage done by a floater crushing it. Wherever they’d gone, they’d left in a hurry, leaving everything behind.

  He scanned the forest to the east of the clearing. He hoped the late Lieutenant Junior Grade Bartol Samdon hadn’t taken Kenna too deep into the woods. He doubted the man would’ve gone too far. He’d been a lazy man, yet there wasn’t any clear path to follow.

  With a sigh, he started a search pattern, zigzagging around the thick trees. He flicked the light to rotate between infrared and visual light. After only twenty yards, he spotted a gap between two trees. In the gap was a small tent, invisible in the infrared spectrum. Not having an infrared signature, meant Kenna was dead or the tent was camouflaged. Upon closer inspection, the tent was military issue with the words ‘Property of the R.N.S. Gambion’ stenciled on the side. The tent would have kept anyone from picking up a heat signature from a body inside, even on a cold night. In the daylight, the tent’s coloring would have made it practically invisible in the forest. He only spotted it because he was using white light at night. Any trained military tracker would use infrared at night. The dog pack must have checked the tent out from the MWR department on the ship.

  He didn’t know why Balderano and the dog pack had left Samdon and the tent behind. Maybe they abandoned him as a useless asshole or maybe they hadn’t been privy to where he hid the tent with Kenna inside. Whatever the reason, he was glad Samdon was gone and he felt strangely glad when he ran a finger down the tent flap and saw Kenna Altamont sitting cross-legged in the tent, staring back at him.

  Her eyes were glazed as if she was still drugged. He glanced at her naked body. She was obviously bruised, her thighs covered in purple splotches and dried blood. She had bite marks on her breasts and scratches on her neck.

  “Are you okay?” York asked.

  “I’m okay,” she said with a slurred voice.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m hurt.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Kenna Georgine Altamont.”

  “Do you want to give me oral sex?”

  “I want to give you oral sex.” She got to her hands and knees and crawled toward him.

  York said, “Not now. Maybe later.”

  “Okay, maybe later.”

  He took her by the hand and helped her to her feet outside the tent. Her clothes were nowhere in sight. Rather than have her walk barefoot through the forest at night, he picked her up and carried her back to the clearing. He was surprised at how heavy she felt. She was tall, but not big, so she must have more muscles packed on her frame than he’d estimated.

  She stood in the clearing where he set her down. Scanning around, he found a pair of mangled flip flops and a pair of dirty shorts with a mismatching top. The colors of the shorts and top didn’t match but dirt was equally smeared on both. He dressed her carefully, touching her as little as he could.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I can walk.” No matter what she said, her first steps were more of a stumble than a walk.

  “Crap.” York grabbed her and picked her up again. She wasn’t so heavy that he couldn’t carry her the mile or so back to Fugget’s car. If he ran into any wild beasts, he could drop her and still get his rifle out in time … he hoped.

  TWENTY

  York glanced in the back seat. Kenna was laying quietly, staring at nothing. She’d been quiet since he put her there. Conversation was possible, however any talk was limited to her parroting back whatever he said. So, he left her to rest. He kept an eye on her even though he knew she would stay in the back for no other reason than he’d told her to.

  He guided the car around the back of the Torso Mountains through the dark. The sun wouldn’t begin to gray the sky until long after he reached Saorsa City. He spotted the glint of a small river and a lake below him. With a shrug, he flicked on the GPS and the radio. There weren’t any messages waiting for him so no one had bothered looking for him yet.

  He dialed Fugget’s number, selecting it from the frequent contacts on the comm’s list. He expected to have to let it ring for awhile, waking the man. Fugget picked up the phone before it rang a second time.

  “Ensign Sixteen, are you okay?”

  “Yes, Master Chief, I’m right as a phoenix rising. Why? You sound frazzled.” He’d left the video screen blanked. Keeping the picture off was the only polite thing to do when calling someone who might be in bed.

  “It’s been a rough night. We’ve had slavers hit a couple of farmsteads in the Ferguson district out west. They got away clean with a dozen people. We’re still waiting for the full reports on the missing and dead. And we still don’t have any word on the missing Gambion officers and Kenna Altamont.”

  York said, “I found Kenna out by the Torso Mountains
. I’m flying her back now.” He’d long since decided no one needed to know where they might find any part and parcel of the late Bartol Samdon. He wasn’t worried about being caught for murder. His arrest, trial and conviction would happen someday, no matter how careful he was. He wasn’t concerned about the whole legal end of his activities. He just wasn’t ready to share this experience with Samdon with anyone just yet, the whole thing was his private memory. “She’ll need a doctor right away. Please have people on standby.”

  There were more than a few people on standby as he flew into Saorsa City. The medical building was lit up like opening night at an opera premier. He ignored the roped off open square in front of the building where people were standing three and four deep around the ropes. He doubted any man, woman, or child would want to be gawked at after having been so violently and viciously assaulted. Guiding the car behind the building, he landed by a back door. The receiving dock area was unlit and the bright lights shooting skyward from the roof and in front, left its small porch in deep shadows. The door was unlocked and he managed to get Kenna from the back of the car and into the building before the crowd of lookie loos raced around the building.

  He was barely inside with the door shut behind him before the medical staff washed over him like a tsunami, pulling Kenna from his arms, settling her onto a gurney and whisking her away. A gaggle of Altamonts trailed the medical crew. No one paid him the least bit of attention, so he followed along behind.

  Pushing everyone aside, the Altamonts moved into a waiting area. York trailed along with them. He doubted they even noticed he was there. He recognized people aside from Toby, Chrissie and Captain Altamont. There were a dozen other family members gathered together. He wondered what it was like to have so much family, or if the truth be known, any family. He wasn’t a part of the Altamonts, so he stood alone in a corner. The waiting room felt as claustrophobic as a tiny closet.

  The doctor was back before anyone had time to get antsy. “Captain and Mrs. Altamont, we’ve done tests and the results are … um, unsettling.”