The Damned Trilogy

by Alan Dean Foster

  “You know why,” said Sixth-of-Technics. “Because Omaphil the nearest fully developed Weave world to Eirrosad is.”

  “Council is anxious.” The other Hivistahm’s inner, transparent set of eyelids were shut against the bubble’s glare. “They do not what to make of it know.”

  “Well I know what to make of it.” Teoth was emphatic. “I believe that all the worst rumors are accurate, that this creature is the latest example of the Amplitur’s immoral experiments in bioengineering.”

  “There must be more,” insisted Sixth-of-Technics. “The Amplitur would not just a single such creature release.”

  Teoth gestured significantly. “Surely you have heard about what happened on Koba.”

  “Truly.” Eighth-of-Records shuddered. “Can you imagine what might happen if it were to aboard this ship get loose?”

  “I am less concerned with what happens aboard this ship than I am about my cherished homeworld.” Seeing that he was starting to rotate, Teoth reached out with two of his three hands to steady himself against the padded wall.

  “If that were to happen, how many cubs would it kill before it could finally be destroyed? How many homes would it ravage? The ‘specialists’ admit they know little about it, about its ultimate abilities or potential. Why subject a peaceful place like Omaphil to their dangerous experiments?” He focused all three eyes on his companions.

  “The Yula have always been willing participants in the workings of the Weave. So why should they be singled out for additional risk?”

  “They are not singled out being.” Sixth-of-Technics felt compelled to restate the obvious. “The Ashregan is being there taken for reasons of time and urgency, and proximity to Eirrosad.”

  “I am not mollified by the explanations.” Teoth’s tone grew less peremptory. “My people are not as mature as yours, or certain others. They would not deal as well with the knowledge that this creature had been brought into their midst.”

  “Sure I am that the intention is to keep its presence on Omaphil a secret.” Sixth-of-Technics hissed softly.

  “The Yula believe in openness.” Teoth’s fur bristled. “I simply do not agree with any of this, any of it at all. Is this but the first of many such impositions to be made upon my world? Does the Weave military council intend to bring all such mutants to Omaphil for study? What if they should begin to breed in captivity? If one is as rumored capable of great horrors, what might many do?

  “We are not fighters. The Yula are civilized. We would be helpless in the face of such an onslaught. Massood would have to be brought in to control the problem, or even worse”—and his distress was palpable even to the Hivistahm—“Humans.”

  “Truly I would not on my homeworld wish this being loose,” agreed Eighth-of-Records.

  “Let them take the scientists to Eirrosad if they wish to study it.” Teoth’s legs drifted lazily.

  Sixth-of-Technics clicked claws together. “What do you think should be done?”

  “I am not sure.” Three eyes blinked. “I am only a simple technician like yourself. But I do know that this matter is too important to be left to the likes of self-serving scientists.”

  A group of gamboling S’van came near, and the trio went silent until they had passed. “Are you something uncivilized preparing to propose?”

  “I would not think of it that way,” Teoth argued. “I am only saying that those who are closer to the people should take it upon themselves to carefully monitor the situation.”

  The two xenologists regarded the prisoner thoughtfully. Its occasional volubility notwithstanding, it remained as much of an enigma as when they had first encountered it.

  Half the pair was S’van. He was typically short and squat. A dense black beard practically obscured his face. More thick, wiry hair was visible where his wrists and ankles emerged from his clothing. His eyebrows threatened to obscure his vision.

  His Massood associate towered over him, her uniform of ship-duty vest and shorts snug against close-cropped silvery fur, gray cat eyes alert to the captive’s every move, black-tufted ears flicked alertly forward. Her muzzle and whiskers were in constant motion. As she worked she picked at her short, sharp teeth, a type of grooming as natural to the Massood as breathing.

  “I don’t understand it.” The S’van spoke in a soft, reassuring tone much like the recordings Ranji was familiar with. It was as tranquil a voice as a Vandir’s. Certainly his interrogator was anything but physically intimidating. Hardly a being to be afraid of, Ranji told himself. The S’van’s manner was at all times cordial and civilized.

  The Massood female was much more physically impressive. Taller than Ranji but not as strong, her attention was concentrated on the compact device she carried. Probably recording everything he did or said, he decided. Not that he minded. He had nothing to hide and could do nothing to prevent it in any event.

  He paid close attention as the finely tuned translator they had given him interpreted their conversation.

  “His responses are typically Ashregan,” the S’van was saying. “Even to the trick questions I composed.”

  “That is my opinion also.” The Massood gazed at the silent prisoner. “Mentally and emotionally he is completely Ashregan. Physically he is unique. You have seen the preliminary medical report?”

  The S’van bobbed his head. “Internally he’s as Human as your average soldier from Earth. The differences between Humans and Ashregan are modest, but distinct. In this one they’re absent except for the notable exceptions of the skull and fingers. He displays the familiar Ashregan bony ridges over recessed ears, the same expanded eye sockets, flattened nose, and the longer fingers with the extra knuckle on each.” He gazed at the pocket readout screen that rested alight on his lap.

  “Of course we’re not supposed to concern ourselves with physiology. That’s for others to delve into. We’re supposed to be working on his mind, not his guts.”

  “What do you intend to do with my mind?” Ranji inquired politely. “Do you think this will do any good?”

  “There!” The S’van xenologist was pleased. “That’s the most Humanlike response he’s given yet. No Ashregan would volunteer such a sarcastic remark in the course of an interrogation.”

  “I was not being sarcastic.” Ranji leaned back in his chair. “You don’t understand my people at all. We may look a lot like your Humans but our thought processes are completely different … thank the Purpose! Your obtuseness on this matter is wearying.”

  The S’van was not easily baited. “Oh, I don’t know. I think the psychological data base we’ve managed to construct from interviews conducted with thousands of your kind down through the centuries has resulted in a pretty accurate profile of Ashregan thought processes.” He chuckled and stroked his tangled steel-wool beard. Among Weave races the S’van were reputed to have the most highly developed sense of humor, together with, perversely, the otherwise utterly barbaric Humans.

  “There should be a Human xenologist present,” said the Massood, hastening to add, “I intend no suggestion of incompetence, D’oud.”

  “That’s all right, though I’m not sure I agree with you. I don’t know that a Human xenologist would bring any more insight to this process.”

  “What are you going to do with me?” Ranji asked them. “Different interrogators give me different answers.”

  D’oud belched. His Massood companion looked pained. “You are being taken to a Weave world for study. You confuse us. We are convinced that you are some type of mutant, though whether natural or induced it’s premature to guess. That will be for the specialists to determine.

  “We tend to think that many of your Humanlike physical characteristics are the result of Amplitur interference, of an attempt on their part to develop more effective warriors. Bioengineering on a large scale is standard Amplitur modus. We know from Koba that you are not an isolated example and that there are others of your physical type.”

  “I don’t have any Human properties.” Ranji contr
olled his anger. “I’m entirely Ashregan.”

  “So you have repeatedly insisted.” The S’van’s eyes glittered. “I’m sure you’re telling the truth as you believe it. The reality will eventually emerge only from unprejudiced analysis.”

  The Massood’s upper lip curled by way of emphasis. “Your type is taller, stronger, faster, and according to the reports more aggressive than the average Ashregan. In short, Humanlike. How the Amplitur have managed this we do not know, but they can pick apart DNA as easily as I would dismember a small food animal.”

  “The Amplitur have done nothing to me. I am Ashregan and only Ashregan. Analyze all you wish. You’ll find nothing to support your ridiculous suppositions.”

  The S’van sighed as he flipped off his readout and rose. Clearly the interview was at an end. It was Ranji’s turn to smile.

  “I’ll be happy to talk with you whenever you like. There’s always the chance of winning an enemy to the Purpose.”

  The two xenologists departed. “We need much more in the way of in-depth study facilities,” the S’van was saying as he exited Ranji’s cubicle. “These cursory interviews do not—” the door slid silently shut behind them, cutting him off in mid-declaration.

  Shortly thereafter it reopened to admit a familiar bulbous, guileless face. A student of alien expression would have noted immediately that the smile with which Ranji greeted this new arrival was quite different from the one he had so recently bestowed on his interrogators.

  “Purposeful greetings to you, Itepu.”

  “Warm water and light currents.” The Lepar had acquired the habit of bringing Ranji’s meals to him personally. It gave them more time to talk. Itepu enjoyed their conversations, so long as the Ashregan kept them simple. There was much to learn from him, and Itepu liked to learn.

  Ranji swung his legs off his bed and bent to inspect the meal. As usual, the foodstuffs were unfamiliar but edible. The ship’s automatic providers knew what to prepare. The Weave had been taking its share of prisoners for hundreds of years. The workings of Ashregan physiology were neither mysterious nor complicated. The meals might not delight him, but they would keep him alive.

  His captors were treating him well, even to providing him with Ashregan eating utensils. He made use of them as the ever inscrutable Itepu looked on silently.

  Their deceptive friendliness did not fool him. Everything they did was for the sole aim of securing the cooperation of a valuable specimen, nothing more. If they harbored any illusions about turning him to their way of thinking they were in for an extended period of disappointment. He dug into the meal enthusiastically, knowing he would need his energy for the arguments to come. A prisoner he might be, but that did not mean he could no longer serve the Purpose.

  “How did the session go?” Itepu leaned back slightly, using his strong tail to balance himself.

  Ranji poked something pink and fleshy into his mouth. Useless to wonder about drugs. He had to eat and drink in order to survive, and if they wanted to medicate him they could do so at any time without having to resort to subterfuge.

  “I think they went away frustrated.” He chewed as he spoke. “I also think they’re a little afraid of me. That’s good. They should be afraid of me.” He picked up a lump of baked grains and glanced across at the Lepar. “You’re afraid of me, too, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am. Like any civilized race we find the very notion of combat unsettling and those species who engage in it quite terrifying.”

  Ranji tore a chunk off the brown loaf and waved it at his visitor. “But you’re not as afraid of me as you would be of a Human.”

  “The Humans are our allies. I am not afraid of Humans.”

  Ranji swallowed. “In addition to fighting, I’m trained to observe. My interrogators learn from me, I learn from them. I think you’re lying.” Itepu said nothing.

  “My visitors keep telling me how many Human characteristics I have, how they’ve been ‘bioengineered’ into my friends and me by the Teachers to enable us to fight more like Humans. I see how they react when they speak of such things, and it doesn’t matter whether they’re S’van, Hivistahm, O’o’yan, or Massood. It’s been very enlightening.

  “I know from my training and studies that Ashregan and Humans look a lot alike. It would be foolish of me to try and deny that I look more like Humans than most of my kind. But that doesn’t make me Human, or mean that my genes have been tampered with. It means only that I’m a taller, stronger, more dangerous than usual Ashregan. I don’t understand why your scientists keep trying to make something very simple into something much more complicated.”

  “I would not know,” replied Itepu quietly. “Such matters are beyond my comprehension.”

  “Yes. The Lepar are a simple, straightforward people. That’s why we don’t understand why you cannot see the benefits of joining with the Purpose. Despite what is said for public consumption, you are looked down upon within the Weave. That would not be the case within the Purpose, where all species are treated as equals. You would be one with the Crigolit and the Ashregan and the Amplitur Teachers.”

  “It is true that we are simple.” Itepu spoke slowly and carefully. “But we are intelligent enough to be realists. No matter what you say, all species are not created equal. Since we realize and accept this, it does not trouble us. From that realization stems our contented independence, which we will never trade for some obscure alien ideal.”

  Ranji sighed and pushed the remnants of his meal aside. “More skewed thinking. If we are allowed more time together, I hope to reveal the truth to you.”

  Itepu gestured with one thick-fingered hand. “I am touched by your concern for my welfare.”

  Stymied by his inability to convince, Ranji reached for the container of fortified liquid. The contents were pleasantly tart.

  “I like you, Itepu. I like you and your fellow Lepar a great deal. I think that in some ways you represent the best of the Weave, though you remain as misguided as any. There’s an innocence about you, an honesty, that’s absent from your sophisticated allies.”

  “I like you, too, Ranji-aar. I am glad that I was permitted to accompany you. It must be a terrible thing to know that one is so far from one’s companions, alone among aliens.” A slight quiver ran through the amphibian, culminating in a sharp twitch of his tail. “I know that I could not long stand it.”

  “That’s because you’re not a fighter. Don’t condemn yourself for lack of abilities you were not born with. Each of us has a different role to play in this temporary existence.”

  “In the current that meets itself.” Tiny black eyes regarded him from the middle of an unintentionally comical face. “Are you so sure you know what your role is?”

  “No question about it.” Ranji settled back on the bed. “To fight for the Purpose. To make my family and friends proud of me.”

  “As I am sure they are.” Itepu straightened, holding his tail off the floor. He smelled of the scummy water in which he and his companions spent their off-duty hours. “It must be a wonderful thing to be so certain of everything, to know always what to do, what is right and what is wrong. Sadly, the Lepar are a stupid folk. The universe confuses us. We have difficulty choosing from among infinite possibilities. If only the cosmos were a simpler place. Then we could be more confident, more like the S’van, or the Ashregan, or the Amplitur.”

  “The Teachers?” Ranji blinked, surprised.

  “Yes. The Lepar think there is much to admire in the Amplitur. It is their attitude that troubles us. Their attitude, and their intentions.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like that,” said Ranji earnestly. “You could change.”

  Itepu touched a wall plate and the door slid aside. “I think we would rather see the Amplitur change.” He paused in the gap.

  “I hope no harm will come to you, Ranji-aar of the Ashregan. I hope you will live out a long and contented life among your own kind. There is much about you that intrigues me. Much that I, simple represe
ntative of a simple people, can never hope to understand.” The door closed behind him.

  VII

  The authorities went to considerable trouble to keep his arrival a secret. He was the only passenger on the shuttle which transferred him from the Underspace transport to the surface of Yula. There he was promptly hustled into a small, self-powered air-repulsion vehicle. It was a lot like an attack floater save for civilian appointments such as darkened windows and comfortable seats.

  He and his escort sped through a city of modest size and alien architecture. Soon they were traveling through rolling green hills dotted with small agricultural establishments. Fields were lush with crops: green, yellow, brown, and purple. Clearly Yula was a comfortable, prosperous world. Civilized. Peaceful. Its young people did not run mazes or simulate warfare.

  Ranji felt sorry for them.

  The fluffy, fast-moving clouds scudding past overhead were painful reminders of home. A few raindrops hit the vehicle’s shieldfield and evaporated. He wondered how his parents were doing, how long it would be before they learned of his disappearance in battle. He tried not to think of what their reaction would be. Saguio would handle it best of all, he thought. Cynsa was too young to understand. All of them would take comfort in the knowledge that he had sacrificed himself fully for the Purpose.

  Except that he had not sacrificed himself fully. He was still alive. As long as he could still think clearly he knew he would not willingly go on living just to satisfy the misguided curiosity of Weave scientists. He would find a way to resist, somehow. For the honor of his parents. For Kouuad, and for doomed Houcilat he was fated never to see.

  There might yet be opportunities to serve the Purpose.

  His captors were taking no chances. They had honored him with an escort of not one but two Humans—both males. A lone Wais driver sat in solitary splendor in the forward compartment, separated from the prisoner by a transparent shield. The two males flanked Ranji, their sullen, narrow faces focused straight ahead. If anything, they looked bored. Ranji was impressed, but far from awed.