The Damned Trilogy

by Alan Dean Foster

  Will was speaking again. “So on your worlds you don’t have separate continents?” The translators struggled with the concepts.

  “Each planet has the land, where life evolves and develops, and there are usually some islands,” T’var told him. “The land accretes into one large mass. It does not fragment. Your world is unprecedented.”

  “Mayhap it has something to do with the moon.”

  “What?” Caldaq and T’var both turned to look at the translator. One did not expect scientific speculation from a Wais.

  She gazed back at them. “Its mass has been remarked upon. It is much too large for a planet of this size. More appropriate to describe them as twin worlds. I was simply thinking that its size and proximity may have in the past had something to do with the fracturing of the land.”

  “A worthy hypothesis which we must leave to the geophysicists to explore.” Once again Caldaq experienced a need to trade the incomprehensible for that which might be understood. He studied the native thoughtfully. Since its initial violent reaction to their arrival it had been calm, even cooperative. Still, he readied himself in the event his next question provoked another unpredictable reaction.

  “Will you consent to a physical examination?”

  “Of what? Me?” Will switched off the satellite receiver and the television. His mouth was dry.

  The fridge held a six-pack of pineapple juice. He inserted the accompanying straw into one and sucked, conscious of the fact that he was alone on his boat with a dozen or more aliens. Maybe Caldaq had told the truth and the majority of them weren’t fighters, but that still left him badly outnumbered. He was no fighter himself. And he’d already found out that he couldn’t swim to freedom.

  “What if I say no?”

  The alien captain managed to convey the feeling that he’d just been insulted. “Then nothing will happen.”

  “You’re not planning anything like exploratory surgery, are you?”

  “No. You are an individual sentient. Why would we want to do anything to harm you?”

  Will slugged down the last of the pineapple juice. “Then I guess it can’t hurt. Where do you want to do this?”

  “If you would not mind, we have facilities on our shuttle.”

  “The ship you landed in? I think I’d enjoy seeing that.”

  “Everything can be arranged.”

  X

  Will was fascinated by the shuttle, which was much larger than what he’d expected. A fair amount of the interior was comprehensible. A chair, for example, was a chair regardless of how outrageous its size and shape. But other constructs left him puzzled.

  “I see what you mean about our lighting.” He extended a finger toward one of the illumination bands that ran across a wall like so much electrical tape. It was cool to the touch.

  “Please feel free to ask questions about anything that interests you,” said T’var, who together with the female Wais constituted his escort.

  They ended up in a small chamber crammed with instrumentation and devices Will could not identify. A number of Hivistahm and O’o’yan techs were present, along with a couple of S’van. There was a small oval platform fastened to the center of the floor. Will knew that had his visitors been so inclined they could easily have brought him to this place by force, but he was still apprehensive.

  “You’re sure this isn’t going to be painful?”

  “No.” T’var wondered at the question. “Why should it?”

  “Clearly you’ve never visited my doctor.” The joke did little to ease his nerves. “There aren’t any straps or anything?”

  “Restraints? Why would we need to restrain you?”

  “Exactly my point.” He inhaled deeply. “Where do you want me? Up there?” He gestured at the table.

  “If you would be so kind,” said the Wais.

  Will gingerly lay down on the smooth, slightly warm platform. The overhead light was bright but not intolerably so. Several Hivistahm came over and looked down at him. It was impossible to tell from looking up at their toothy faces what they were thinking. The eyeshades of this group were not decorated. O’o’yan skittered about adjusting controls.

  None of them wore translators, so they spoke through the Wais, who requested that he remove his swimsuit. He did so, wondering if any of his examiners were female and then realizing it didn’t matter.

  A thorough inspection followed. He was prodded with devices he didn’t recognize, scanned by instruments whose function he could not imagine, poked with digits that were not human. None of it was painful or discomforting. They gazed into every part of him, asked him to manipulate his eyes and mouth, to flex and stretch. He obliged, asking more and more questions of his own as the examination proceeded.

  Caldaq came in and stood silently next to T’var, watching. A senior tech broke away from the examiners to join them. As the only Wais present was otherwise engaged, they were forced to rely on their translators.

  “Truly a strange structure. An unremarkable appearance conceals numerous surprises.”

  “For example?” Caldaq inquired curiously.

  The Hivistahm tech regarded the platform somberly as his colleagues continued with the examination. He murmured to a nearby O’o’yan, who gestured deferentially and rushed to comply with the order. On the table Will whistled and twisted, breathed deeply and rolled his eyes in response to a steady stream of requests.

  “Cranial peculiarities there are. Beyond that we cannot say. Results are limited by our instrumentation and the fact that we have no other specimens available for comparison. We could do better on board ship.”

  “Perhaps you will have such an opportunity soon. What else?”

  “Again, assuming that the specimen representative of its kind is, it would appear that for their size extremely strong bones and a very dense musculature they have. Neural response time is exceptional. It is possible these developments may constitute an evolutionary response to their abnormal history. This is a preliminary hypothesis only. We can only begin to guess how fighting constantly with members of one’s own kind has affected their physical development.

  “Excellent day vision across the normal spectra and quite serviceable night vision they have, depending on the standard one judges it against. The daytime vision of the Hivistahm, for example, is slightly sharper, but little at night can we see. This is true of most other races. Human night vision may be another defensive response to an inimical evolution.”

  Massood night vision was considered excellent. “Would you say that their nocturnal visual acuity was greater than my own?” Caldaq asked the tech.

  “Yes. It may also exceed that of the Massood in daytime.” In response to Caldaq’s reaction the tech added, “There is something more remarkable still. Examination suggests and the native confirms verbally that they are capable of limited distances underwater seeing, on the clarity of the liquid environment depending.”

  That gave T’var a start. “Without artificial lenses?” The tech indicated assent. “Surely they are not like the Lepar?”

  “No. They are not amphibious in any way. While comfortable and agile in water they are, also strictly air-breathers are they. Furthermore, the native indicates that his people spending time in the water enjoy.”

  “We have recorded proof of that.” Caldaq’s snout quivered at the unnatural thought.

  The tech wasn’t finished. “Whether such activity is an evolutionary or social development we cannot as yet say.”

  “Then what we have here,” said Caldaq as he gazed at the occupied medical platform, “is a sentient who can see better than a Massood, is stronger than a Hivistahm or Bir’rimor, and can swim better than any known sentient species save for the Lepar, who are slow and clumsy when out of water.”

  “Physically they would appear to be extremely versatile and adaptable, yes,” agreed the tech.

  “You spoke of exceptional neural response time.”

  “The specimen’s reactions to certain stimuli are superb. Wh
en something is thrust toward it, for example.”

  “We have witnessed that, too,” said the captain.

  “Reasonable digital dexterity they possess, but in this area they are not remarkable. I would rate their manipulative abilities the same as the Massood or S’van, considerably below that of Hivistahm or O’o’yan. While superb is hand-to-eye coordination, other movements are quite clumsy, a possible consequence of the development of exceptional strength in nontraditional areas of the body.

  “Also the ability to adapt well to climatic extremes they have. I venture to say cold that would be fatal to a Hivistahm or heat that would fell a Massood they could survive. Their lungs process oxygen with great efficiency. Coupled with the structure of their bones and muscles and a redundant mass of ligaments and tendons, I see them as capable of great feats of endurance compared to, say, one of my own kind.”

  “Or to a Crigolit?” Caldaq asked quietly.

  The tech’s reply was deferential. “Possibly.”

  T’var spoke up. “This Will insists he is a musician, an artist who has no interest in fighting. He says that his friends feel similarly. This is contradicted by the evidence of their visual transmissions. Their daily activities, their forms of art and entertainment are all suffused with violence unimaginable in our respective societies.”

  “Only to our results so far with this single specimen can I speak,” said the technician. “I cannot vouch for the truth of what it says, but I attest to its physical versatility. That is what is intriguing to me. The Chirinaldo are stronger, the Hivistahm see slightly better, the O’o’yan are far more dexterous, the Lepar better swimmers.”

  “And the Massood?” Caldaq asked slowly.

  The tech hesitated, glanced back at the platform. Three Hivistahm and an O’o’yan were recording and observing as the naked specimen did sit-ups, performing the remarkable feat of touching its elbows to its knees. It was something only a Massood could have duplicated, or perhaps an Ashregan. The native executed the maneuver repeatedly.

  The tech’s teeth clicked. “The Massood run faster.”

  Caldaq felt relieved without knowing why. It was absurd to compare racial attributes. One could only make honest comparisons among members of the same species.

  “Without better instrumentation and more elaborate tests involving multiple specimens impossible it is to verify these preliminary conclusions.” The tech adjusted an eyeshade.

  T’var asked the big question. “What of their battlefield potential?”

  “Physically it is considerable, as just indicated have I. Mentally I cannot say. You report that the native decries combat. It therefore to the accepted norm among intelligent species conforms. Yet the visual transmissions viewed thus far would appear the native’s claims to contradict.

  “The fact that they have evolved fighting each other may have engendered in them an abhorrence or fear of doing battle with representatives of any species other than their own. May be self-confining their madness. I do not know. Not a xenopsych am I. And other problems there may be.” He picked at his teeth.

  “While judgment on a species based on observations of a single individual we cannot render, I must confess I and my group in this one a wealth of contradictions find, both physical and mental. Contradictions imply unpredictability, and the Hivistahm find unpredictability unnerving. To be a life-musician dedicated to peace and his art the specimen claims, but even his music full of violence is.”

  “I wonder,” T’var murmured, “what he would think of some of our music?”

  “Truly an interesting thought.” The tech pushed his eye-shades back on his head and rubbed gently at his wide eyes. “I will propose the experiment, though I do not expect it to resolve anything.”

  “If analysis proves difficult we will proceed a little at a time,” said T’var, “but proceed we must.” The tired Hivistahm indicated agreement.

  Will declared much of what they played for him lovely and charming. When the last strains from the alien device had dissipated in the cat’s main cabin he sat up on the couch and smiled at his visitors.

  “Delightful, but pretty simple rhythmically.”

  “Appreciation of music is wholly subjective.” T’var did not waste time on tact likely to go undetected. “We find yours … rough.”

  “My stuff’s pretty mild compared to what some of the so-called popular groups put out. You should hear an outfit called Cadmium. I have to admit I like strong rhythms and lots of percussion, but I’m by no means considered dissonant. Your music, though, it’s like Bulgarian folk chant or Palestrina. None of which means anything to you, of course. Why are you playing it for me?”

  “You are a musician,” said the Wais. “We thought you would find it of interest.”

  “I do. Very much so.” He leaned back on the couch, hands behind his head. “Play that first part for me again, the piece that sounded like electric bells.”

  Aboard the shuttle, as Will submitted to more testing, Caldaq greeted the chiefs of his scientific staff. T’var was also present, along with the omnipresent Wais.

  “Time runs. We have a decision to make, one of vital importance. I must know if these people are potential allies and if so, to what degree. Might they be trained to participate in the actual fighting, even a little, or are there other functions they could perform? Or does this perceived instability of theirs render them useless to us? Naturally we welcome assistance of any kind.”

  “We’ll find out what we need to know only by acquiring and studying additional specimens,” T’var said, “or by probing this one more deeply.”

  Second-of-Medicine protested. “Too soon it is to subject a native to advanced procedures.”

  “I disagree.” T’var objected with un-S’vanlike pugnacity. “Look how cooperative he’s been so far.”

  “Some of you have alluded to potentially useful aggressiveness. I see no evidence for that,” Caldaq commented.

  “Truly it broke Dropahc’s wrist.”

  “The creature claims it was an accident. The incident proves only that it is strong and clumsy, not necessarily feral.”

  Second-of-Medicine was still troubled. “A cooperative, helpful specimen we have. Dare we risk that cooperation by performing risky procedures whose results we cannot with any accuracy predict?”

  “In case anyone’s forgotten,” T’var pointed out, “there’s a war to be fought, a war that has been going on for longer than any of us can imagine and which will doubtless continue following our deaths. Shortening that is worth the loss of a single native’s cooperation. All precautions will be taken, but we must be willing to take certain risks.

  “As you say, he has cooperated well. Until he demonstrates otherwise I believe we must rely on him to continue to do so.”

  With its clever words and ingratiating manner, Caldaq knew that a S’van could secure a commitment to cooperate from a rock. If anyone could persuade the Human to participate in a difficult procedure, it would be T’var.

  “Examinations of further complexity would require the consent of the native.”

  “Naturally.” T’var looked up at his captain. “We have done all that can be done with our limited facilities here. We must be allowed to continue them aboard ship.”

  Will Dulac sat up and swung his legs over the side of the platform as the floor shuddered slightly. His busy entourage did not pause in its work.

  “What’s going on? It feels like we’re moving.”

  Second-of-Medicine addressed the native via her translator. “Truly it is deemed necessary that to our ship we return.”

  “Hey, wait a minute.” An alarmed Will slid off the platform, scattering a pair of O’o’yan as he grabbed for his swimsuit. “I said I’d try to help you out here. Nothing was said about going to another ship.”

  The Wais smoothly interposed itself between the native and the agitated Hivistahm physician. “A semantic discrepancy. To us ‘the ship’ means all of its individual components, of which this shuttle is bu
t one.”

  “Then I agreed to visit this component.” Will struggled with his suit. “That’s all.”

  T’var joined the conversation, all energy and shared enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t you like to see our ship? To be able to look back and view the whole of your own world?”

  Will looked down at the squat speaker. Beneath the profusion of hair it was more humanoid than any of the other aliens, including the tall, shrewish Massood.

  “Sure, all this is fascinating, and I’d like to help you out, you bet. It’s just that nobody said anything about any long-distance commuting. You’re not kidnapping me or anything, are you?”

  “Kidnapping?” The translator struggled with the term. T’var glanced up at the Wais but it clacked its beak to indicate it, too, was confused.

  “Taking me somewhere against my will.”

  “This obsession with compulsion by force.” T’var stroked his beard in exasperation. “It is as characteristic of you as your hairlessness. Why would we do that?”

  “To get what you want from me.”

  “We want your cooperation, which we already have. Therefore the use of force would be redundant as well as repugnant. Have you learned nothing of our society?” He spoke in Hivistahm to the group of attendant technicians. “I begin to despair of these creatures. It may be they are not civilized.”

  “Truly truly of such possible contradictions I warned.” Second-of-Medicine hissed softly. “Their behavior remains utterly unpredictable.”

  T’var indicated acknowledgment, turned back to the native. “I assure you we will do nothing against your will. If you wish to leave now, you are welcome to do so.”

  Will looked at him. The unblinking stare made the S’van far more uncomfortable than he would have thought possible. You could stare back at a Lepar, an O’o’yan, even a Massood without experiencing the same sense of unease. Yet this native had repeatedly emphasized its commitment to nonviolence. Why, therefore, T’var wondered, do I feel so uneasy in its presence?

  “I can leave? Right now, and go back to my boat?”

  “Certainly,” said T’var. “By doing so you will deny yourself an experience beyond your imagining, but that’s your choice. I’m sure we can find another of your kind willing, even eager, to accompany us.” He hoped the translator would make it sound intriguing and not patronizing.