The False Mirror

by Alan Dean Foster

  One of the tall Copavi approached and activated an instrument to record the image for distribution purposes. See! the picture would say. The accomplishments of this brave Ashregan have raised him even above the Amplitur themselves. Figuratively, of course. A sardonic Ranji had no doubt that the image would be widely displayed.

  As he quietly held the unaccustomed position Ranji noticed that he could easily have slipped a knife into the base of the fleshy skull, penetrating the brain and forever shutting off the flow of gentle but irresistible suggestions. The violence of the notion unnerved him. The very concept would have been anathema to an Ashregan . . . but not to a Human.

  When the Copavi finished its work, a shaken Ranji was allowed to slip off the slick, spineless back and resume his place in line. The Teachers formally addressed the entire gathering, praising them for their dedication and bravery, exhorting their dedication to the Purpose. Ranji listened as intently as the others, but drew no comfort from the compliments. It was as if something unwelcome and vaguely diseased were squirming unimpeded through his thoughts, rearranging them to suit its own specific notions of right, wrong, and reality.

  A parasite, he thought, only becomes a parasite when one is made aware of its presence. There were on many worlds bloodsucking creatures which released anticoagulants that allowed blood to flow painlessly and unbeknownst to the host animal. The Amplitur, he now saw, did something similar with thoughts, causing commands to be perceived as suggestions, orders to be seen as polite requests. The realization made him feel unclean.

  As the nearest member of the pair stared at him he again felt the mental contact, the suggestion that by way of concluding the ceremony he offer a few inspiring words to his fellow fighters. Anger momentarily overcame common sense.

  "I'm sorry, but I'd rather not." Even as the words left his mouth he found himself regretting them.

  The Amplitur's weaving tentacle froze. Protuberant black eyes tilted further in his direction. The suggestion was repeated, this time with compelling force.

  Damn all ignorance! Ranji thought furiously. He deliberately ignored the unmistakable command. Though the Teacher was three times his mass, in a close-quarter fight it would be no match for his Humanized bones and muscles.

  Unable to restrain their curiosity, a few fellow soldiers leaned forward just enough to stare in his direction. The continued silence was making them uncomfortable.

  The second Amplitur approached and reiterated the suggestion. In the grip of projected compulsion Ranji should have enthusiastically stepped forward to harangue his friends. Instead he remained stolidly immobile, his expression blank.

  The Teachers conferred. Though Ranji could not read their thoughts they broadcast their confusion through the active movement of eyestalks and tentacles. Clearly they were puzzled rather than apprehensive.

  After several minutes they turned again to face him. He readied himself to attack or run as the situation dictated.

  "You are tired," came the empathetic thought. "It explains your hesitation. You have been through a most difficult and trying time from which you have not yet fully recovered. We understand."

  Ranji's muscles untensed. Having discussed his defiance, in the absence of any other immediate explanation they had chosen to interpret his noncompliance with their request as the result of lingering trauma! His immunity remained a secret.

  Relief continued to flow through him as they turned to exchange final formalities with the base commander and his staff. He was angry with himself. His resistance had been foolish and unnecessary. Had they suspected anything unnatural he would have soon found himself in yet another operating theater full of Amplitur surgeons eager to explore the parameters of his enigmatic mind. Luck and circumstance had saved him, not a dubious intelligence.

  He joined his companions in voice if not enthusiasm in shouting fond farewells as the Teachers reboarded their transport. The encounter had left him more confused and uncertain than ever. What sort of creatures were they, these Amplitur, who could urge others to violence against their will while simultaneously anguishing over their welfare? He had personally experienced that concern along with their exercises in mental dominance. It was a contradiction he found himself unable to resolve.

  About one thing they had been quite accurate. He was extremely tired.

  As the skid rose to treetop level and pivoted, the assembly began to break up, officers and troops returning to duty stations or barracks. Conversation was split evenly between the unprecedented visit and the forthcoming evening meal.

  A number of Ashregan and Crigolit came over to congratulate him on the honor he'd received, intercepting him before he could make it back to his room. One Crigolit subjoiner was particularly effusive in her praise, offering by way of the ultimate compliment the opportunity to copulate. Metaphorically, of course.

  Saguio was waiting for him, the naked adulation on his face painful to behold. Ranji found himself looking past his younger brother's admiring eyes., deep into the brain, in search of a peculiar neuroganglion that was not of natural origin. Suddenly he wanted to thrust his hand in, through one of the unnaturally large eye sockets, to pluck out the offending, traitorous organ.

  How many other races sported similar Amplitur-induced modifications within their minds, he wondered? The Crigolit? The Mazvec? Perhaps even the intelligent Korath. The Amplitur dominated a vast number of worlds, he knew, and the more he learned the more it was made clear to him that all of them were in need of exploratory surgery.

  "Wait until the family hears about this!" Saguio was rambling. "To be so congratulated by a Teacher . . . no, two Teachers. That they should take the risk to come this close to a fire zone just to praise you in person . . . it's a singular honor, Ranji."

  "I know." He glanced up. "Did you sense them in your mind?"

  "Sure. Several times. It felt good, like it always does." He blinked uncertainly. "Why would you ask such a thing? Didn't you feel them?"

  "Of course." He looked away. "They asked me to do something. They asked more than once. I refused each time."

  Saguio considered. "Well, I guess they felt you weren't up to it. What did they want, anyway?"

  "For me to-make a concluding speech. 'Fight to the last for the Purpose!' That sort of thing."

  "You couldn't manage that? For the Teachers?" Saguio eyed his brother askance. "You don't look that tired to me."

  "I'm afraid that I am." Ranji found himself staring outside, at the surrounding, all-encompassing jungle. "I'm very tired. I'm more tired than you know."

  A note of alarm crept into his sibling's voice. "Maybe you'd better check back in to the infirmary. You might've picked up something latent out there."

  No, I didn't pick anything up, he thought. I left something. "I'll be all right. I just need to rest. The strain of having the Teachers here . . . you understand."

  "I guess so." Saguio sounded doubtful but willing.

  "It's almost meal time. You start on over. I'll be along in a minute." Ranji barely quashed an incipient Human smile.

  "If you're sure ..." His brother managed a grin. "I'll find some good seats, though after what you've been through you can probably sit anywhere you want."

  Ranji watched until Saguio disappeared around the next barracks. Surprisingly, he felt the first pangs of evening hunger. Food, at least, was devoid of biological and philosophical complications. Human or Ashregan, he could still take pleasure in eating.

  He had to tell Saguio soon, regardless of possible consequences. Better to have it all out at once than wait for it to slip out in confusing, contradictory bits and pieces.

  Or he could end it. Just lift the service pistol from his belt, place it gently against the side of his skull, and in an instant banish all pain, all confusion, all uncertainty. No need then to agonize over who was telling the truth, over the true nature of himself.

  It was the thought that perished, not the mind that conceived and discarded it. He did not fear death, but he refused to die wit
hout answers.

  That much, at least, he knew about himself.

  14

  The three Humans sprawled languidly around the crescent-shaped table, shuttling down drinks as they watched the projections which cavorted amid the storm of colored lights that filled the relaxation center. Music caressed respective tympana as near-naked men and women flitted erotically through fragments of light sharp and distinct as metal shavings. They and their immediate surroundings danced submerged in the mists of a perfumed artificial twilight.

  The Center was extensive and they were not alone. Representatives of other Weave species sought similar solace in the febrile evening. Massood and Wais, S'van and Hivistahm and more eagerly availed themselves of the soothing surroundings. For each, different images dwelt in the deliberately coy shapes which darted through the high-tech fog.

  Not surprisingly, the perceptions of the Massood differed little from those of the Humans, though the figures that twisted and pirouetted for them in the suggestive light were taller, slimmer, and completely covered in fine gray fur. The Wais saw elegant movement devoid of heavy sexual overtones, while the contemplative Hivistahm willingly allowed themselves to be blinded by deceptive iridescence. Whatever the S'van observed amused them greatly, but then there was very little which did not. Being bright and intelligent but woefully deficient in imagination, the O'o'yan saw not much of anything. Within the confines of the Center, not merely beauty but virtually everything was in the eye of the beholder. Most of the time the three visiting Humans preferred to eye the projections instead of each other. Though Sergeant Selinsing was moderately attractive, her fellow noncoms Carson and Moreno wouldn't have dreamed of undressing her with their active imaginations the way they did the figures in the projections. She was, after all, very much one of the group. Besides which she outranked them.

  Carson manipulated a switch on the table. Instantly the projection he'd selected was sitting there beside him, inviting him with her eyes and more. He knew he could reach out and touch it, experiencing a tactile fabrication guaranteed to please. Like all such liaisons, however, it would prove as transitory as the contents of his credit line, and about as satisfying. With a sigh he nudged a control and watched as the apparition, like so many previous loves, returned to the wizard regions which had spawned it.

  Moreno was next to rejoin reality. To the silent amusement of her companions, Selinsing lingered longest among the projections. She blinked as the last one vanished.

  "That one was new to the files." She was mildly apologetic. "Mutant slavo-equine. Very interesting."

  "Spare me." Moreno slugged down recombinant liquor. Smallest of the three, spare of word and feature, he had the doe sadness of a saint and the moves of a pit viper. His tiny black eyes scanned the rolling, uneven levels of the Center.

  "I'm sick of this. Look at that odious pair over there." His head bobbed.

  Like a bear emerging from hibernation, Carson swiveled in his seat. Selinsing tilted her head to one side.

  The two Wais were deep in conversation, the hypnotic movement of arms, fingers, head, and neck supplementing verbal communication. In attire they were impeccable, in gesture flawless. Moreno wanted to puke.

  "They squat on their feathery butts and never get within a hundred kilometers of any actual fighting, but if we happened to ask about joining the Weave they would immediately vote against us."

  Carson belched, a rolling benthonic exhalation. "Who gives a shit about their stupid Weave, anyway?" He sucked at his tankard. "Screw "em."

  "We do all the fighting and they won't even let us vote in their organization," Moreno muttered bitterly.

  "I don't mind that." Selinsing was incongruously petite. "What I don't like is sitting here while their stupid Military Council decides strategy. They've always been overcautious."

  "Just so." Moreno straightened in his chair. "The only way we're ever going to get off this stinking, sweaty dung-ball of a world is to kick the living mierda out of the enemy, and we can't do that while we're getting blitzed in here."

  "Can't do it out there, either," Carson reminded him. "Orders. You know what the Council says. Patience."

  "Yeah, patience," said Moreno morosely. "And the Massood go along with 'em. Damn shrew-faces."

  "They've always gone along with the Council." Selinsing drew imaginary lines on the tabletop. "That's why this war's been going on for so long. Not that they're cowards. Just overcareful. They've been listening to the S'van and Wais for too long. Not to mention the Turlog."

  "I heard that two of the crabs were on Eirrosad, dictating tactics." Moreno glowered at a distant pair of necking S'van. Their eruptive beards intertwined indistinguishably.

  "It would not surprise me," said Selinsing. "Orders are that no unit can advance more than two kilometers for fear of being flanked."

  "Flanked mierda." Moreno's disgusted gaze abandoned the S'van. "War's been going on here long enough for everybody to know everyone else's position. We know pretty well where the enemy headquarters for this region is situated. We ought to smash right in there, take it out, verdad?, and not stop until we reach their planetary HQ.

  That'd put fin to the Purpose on this piece of dirt. Then maybe they'd post us somewhere decent."

  "I agree," said Selinsing, "but Command doesn't."

  Carson leaned back in his chair. "Why don't you two quit yer bitching? We're stuck here and there ain't a damn thing we can do about it because our own officers spend all their time diplomatically disagreeing with Massood and S'van tactical drivel. They've got less guts than the squids."

  "As a matter of fact," Selinsing murmured softly, "it is said that the Amplitur actually have two sets of guts."

  "Then they're probably real happy with the current state of affairs." Carson sought wisdom in the depths of his impressive tankard. "Me, I personally don't think they want to beat us. Just keep things stalemated until they can outlive us."

  Moreno rested his forearms on the table. The music of many-species music ricocheted off surrounding walls. "I say somebody's got to do something to change the present state of affairs. Somebody's got to do it now.'"

  "What did you have in mind?" Eyes half-closed, the relaxed Selinsing contemplated invisible amours.

  "Our position is pretty isolated, the farthest advanced of any firebase. The ideal place from which to strike. An end could be put to the business of Eirrosad ... if somebody had the guts to do it." Eyes narrowed, he appraised his colleagues. "Preferably several somebodies."

  "You mean hit 'em with just our own squads?" Carson shifted in his seat. "Wouldn't be enough firepower to be sure of success. Anyway we'd be ordered back too soon for it to do any good."

  "Not if we started out with incontrovertible orders in the first place," Moreno ventured conspiratorially.

  Carson blinked at him. "Must be too many lights in here. I ain't followin' you."

  Moreno put a hand on his friend's arm. "What if the word came down from Command level to carry out just such an attack?"

  Selinsing uttered something unmistakably derisive in the language of her ancestors. "At least you have chosen the proper venue for wishful thinking."

  "Yeah, dream on," Carson grunted.

  "You know Colonel Chin?" Moreno inquired of his companions.

  When they drew close together Carson's thick eyebrows resembled a pair of caterpillars engaged in unspeakable activities. "Sure. Everybody knows Chin. But Chin ain't in command of our position. Wang-lee is."

  "That's so. But right now Wang-lee is busy conferencing with the major minds back at Katulla Nexus, hashing strategy with the crabs and the S'van. That leaves Chin in charge until she gets back." He leaned forward eagerly. "I happen to know Chin's as tired of waiting on the Council as the rest of us."

  "I have never heard him say anything along those lines." Selinsing was being cautious.

  "You wouldn't expect him to blurt it out in public, now would you?" Moreno smiled like a man in possession of a considerable secret.

>   Carson's eyes widened. "You've talked to him! About this?" He whistled softly. "One wrong word scrapes the wrong nerve and you'll find yourself back at Supply Central, busted in rank and cataloging foodstuffs for the duration."

  "Anything would be better than squatting in the middle of this jungle, waiting to go mad."

  "You are joking," said Selinsing slowly. "Though if someone like Chin were to give the orders ..."

  "Give orders, hell." Carson turned to stare intently at Moreno. "If Chin feels the same way about these delays as the rest of us, could be he might consider doing more than just issuing orders. Like maybe leading an assault himself."

  Suddenly aware he might have gone too far too fast, Moreno adopted a cautioning tone. "Slow down, my friends. I've only suspicions. I don't know Colonel Chin's feelings exactly. It's only been mentioned on a couple of occasions, and casually at that. Chin never got specific. He's a funny kind of guy, even for an officer."

  "Nothing wrong with his rep. I know he's got what it takes upstairs." Carson rapped his belly. "Question is, does he have it here?"

  "If we hit the enemy with our full strength," Selinsing was murmuring, "not just our three squads but everything on the base, we could roll right over them and strike for their planetary headquarters. Ja; maybe even get ourselves a couple of squids. Vacuum them right out of the forest."

  "That's the wipe!" Carson drained his tankard, glanced hopefully at Moreno. "How about it, Juan? You think Chin might go for it?"

  "Not in so many words," the shorter man replied carefully. "Chin's as focused on his career as any officer. He'd have to feel he was covered in case of a screwup."

  "Certain ambiguities might creep into official communications, rendering ultimate comprehension a matter of individual interpretation." Both men looked at Selinsing, who smiled like a petite wolverine. Communications was her subspeciality.

  "There is a certain officer in Base Operations," she explained unctuously. "He is Massood. If these hypothetical orders happened to be received in Massood, difficulties in translation might have to be resolved as best as possible by whichever personnel happened to be present at the time."