The Damned Trilogy

by Alan Dean Foster

  Ulaluable Weave Command had consented reluctantly to the single strike. If it failed to achieve its objective immediately, all survivors were to pull out fast. Command was as yet unwilling to expose the restored Humans, most of whom were still feeling the aftereffects of cosmetic surgery, to the risks of an extended assault and possible subsequent recapture.

  Physically, Ranji and his friends were indistinguishable from the other Humans in the strike force. As none of them had demonstrated any revisionist Ashregan tendencies since their restoration they had been allowed to form fighting squads of their own and maintain their internal lines of command. It was decided it was not necessary yet to integrate them into other Human units. Besides complicating internal communications, separating the newcomers from their own kind could only enforce their sense of isolation. Better for full integration to be achieved naturally instead of by directive. It was also decided that they were likely to fight with greater confidence and skill if surrounded and supported by familiar faces.

  So Ranji was able to have Soratii and Weenn and the rest of his friends around him. Brusque Birachii had been saved, too, and Cossinza, she of the liquid voice and lightning reflexes.

  But too many of the deceived still slaved in the service of enemy Purpose here and on distant Cossuut for any of the Restorees to rest.

  Their salvation would have to proceed one step at a time, he told himself. First the diversion of the Ulaluablian invasion. Then resurrection.

  Cossinza hovered nearby, chatting with those she commanded while experimenting with the novelty of the wide smile. Ranji was the target of many such, for during the past months in Usilayy the two of them had grown close. There had been other women. One in particular he remembered, from Omaphil. But Cossinza was of Cossuut and the other was not, and in Cossinza he knew there was no deception. It was good to have someone besides his brother to confide in.

  But he continued to broker intimacy with caution, and did not tell her everything. Not yet. For her part she respected the hesitancy she sensed. Ranji’s introspective nature was well known to her and her friends. She liked him too much to try and intrude, knowing that when he had something to confess she would be the first to hear of it.

  The heavily armored transport sleds and their outriding sliders roared northward at precarious speed, sometimes barely skimming the surface of plains, hillsides, and lakes. In four days they were beyond the range of ready reinforcements. If they were attacked before they reached their target, Ranji knew, orders were to break off and return. Under such circumstances there would be no time to make insistent suggestions to the contrary.

  But the skies and horizon stayed clear of all except startled local fauna, and the tense strike group raced on toward their objective.

  Because of the extreme danger involved, every Human and Massood in the group, including the sled crews, was a volunteer, of which there had been no dearth once the proposal had been floated. The strike force was split half and half between Humans, including Ranji and his friends, and Massood. A few unusually bold Hivistahm techs had contributed their services, though, of course, not for combat. Their activity would be confined to sled maintenance and navigation.

  Force tacticians hoped to slip at least ten percent of the small, highly skilled strike team inside the enemy’s defensive perimeter before they could fully mobilize to meet the attack. Hopefully these troops would wreak sufficient havoc to turn the enemy’s attention inward, thus allowing the rest of the force to collapse the perimeter at enough points to insure victory. At worst, they would inflict sufficient damage before pulling out to have made the assault worthwhile.

  First-of-Surgery and his staff raised what objections they could, to no avail. Risking a valuable scientific resource like the Restored for mere military purposes struck him and his colleagues as the height of uncivilized absurdity. On Omaphil their opinion might well have prevailed, but Ulaluable was a world under siege, where military needs took priority. Their Wais hosts, who under more pacific circumstances would have agreed with First-of-Surgery’s position, voted against him.

  Besides which the Restored were now considered fully Human. As such, they had Human rights and could do as they pleased. If they wanted to participate in scientific research, they were welcome to do so. It was not the fault or responsibility of Military Command if what they wanted to do was fight.

  Ranji was staring out one of the narrow sled windows at the manicured landscape of Ulaluable speeding past when Cossinza sat down next to him, folding herself into a fixed piece of support foam. There were no chairs on board the transport. Only the foam, which adapted itself freely to a variety of physiognomies. Thus Massood could rest comfortably next to their Human counterparts, and Hivistahm alongside both.

  At present they were traveling through high desert, the sleds keeping low enough to kick sand and gravel into the air, unsettling nonburrowing fauna and plants. Such disruption of their carefully nurtured natural order would have displeased the Wais, but there were none aboard to bear witness to the persistent disturbance.

  “When Tourmast appeared to tell us what had happened to you and the others we’d thought long dead, I was not alone in thinking that the press of combat had driven him insane.” She joined him in staring out the window. “Even after he and those who’d returned with him showed us the proof, I still doubted. It was only when he informed us that he was operating under your command that I began to believe. I’ve always thought you the best of us, Ranji-aar. It’s an opinion I shared with many.” She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like being the first of us to be exposed to the truth.”

  He continued to stare at the alien landscape racing past before finally turning back to her. “Cossinza, do you feel ‘Human’?” He studied her face: pale blue eyes, sharp but small nose, the wide, thin-lipped mouth and prominent cheekbones—a flower seared but not scarred by fire. Strange to look upon a woman without spacious eye sockets or cranial ridges, with a prominent nose and protruding ears. There was less, and yet there was more. Truly beauty was more than bone deep.

  She removed her hand and leaned back into the foam. It flexed to accommodate her form. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve always been Human. It’s hardest at night. In your dreams you tend to revert.” Her eyes focused on the sled’s curved ceiling. “You remember growing up, training, friends and family. Then when you awaken you have to force yourself not to think of them.”

  “I still wonder if our Ashregan parents were willing participants in the deception or innocent dupes forcibly inducted into their roles by the Amplitur. Some days I hope to find out. Other days I hope I never do.” That was a singular ineffable sadness all the Restored shared.

  “We have to rely on each other now.” She shifted on the foam.

  He nodded, glanced back at the window. “You can hate the Amplitur for what they’ve done to us, but at the same time you have to admire them for trying to defeat an enemy through genetics instead of on the battlefield. It would have taken hundreds of years for their interbreeding plan to have had a debilitating effect on Humankind.” He shook his head at the presumption. “No Weave race, and certainly not us, has that kind of patience. Except maybe the Turlog.”

  “I’ve never seen a Turlog,” said Cossinza. “From what I recall of my studies they’re supposed to be pretty hideous to look upon, and antisocial besides.” She sat up in the foam and utilized her translator to address a Massood sub-officer seated not far away. “You there! Have you ever seen a Turlog?”

  “Only in recordings,” the Massood replied pleasantly. “The species is underpopulated.”

  “Would you know where to find one?”

  “Not on Ulaluable. You would have to go to their own world, or one of the major Weave centers.”

  Cossinza nodded understanding, then suggested almost playfully, “We’re both pretty thirsty. How about getting us something to drink?”

  The Massood hesitated, gave them an odd look, then rose an
d ambled off in the direction of the on-board dispenser, his light underarmor gleaming dully. Ranji remonstrated softly with his companion.

  “You shouldn’t do things like that, Cossinza. It’s through lack of respect that dangerous secrets are revealed.”

  “Take it easy.” She smiled across at him. “Some of us aren’t as skilled at this suggesting business as you, Ranj. We need to practice.”

  “Practice on the enemy.” He was unmollified. “Not on allies. If we use our abilities too casually, sooner or later some S’van is liable to discern a pattern. I understand that just about everything amuses them, but I don’t think they’d laugh at that.”

  She replied evenly. “In a little while we’re going to be killing, maybe be killed in return. I didn’t think it would matter so much.”

  “Try to be more selective in the future.” He was deliberately cool.

  Gunecvod reached the dispenser and called for three containers of cold water. As the second tumbler filled he thought about what had just occurred and struggled to make sense of it. His upper lip curled, exposing sharp teeth. He did not feel certain enough to broach his thoughts to any of his companions, but neither could he simply dismiss what had happened as inexplicable and set it aside.

  Unlike any others in his squad, he had many years ago spent time as a prisoner of war on the contested world of Nura. More remarkably still, in that time he had actually encountered one of the dread Amplitur. It had been inspecting the facility where he and his fellow prisoners had been interned. Pausing before him, it had inclined both eyestalks in his direction. To the day of his death he would be able to visualize those protuberant, glistening orbs hovering close to his twitching face.

  Then had come the probe. He’d stood helpless before it, vaguely aware of but unable to resist the intrusion, that gentle violation of his innermost sanctity. For a while the Amplitur had explored his self, unable to read his thoughts but quite capable of interpreting his reactions. Then it had withdrawn and moved on. Other than a patina of uncleanliness which lingered for some time, Gunecvod had incurred no harm as a result of the probe. It was something he would never forget.

  It was also something he had never expected to experience again.

  Yet he had. Just now. There was no mistaking it. Though mildly, indefinably different, it was sufficiently unmistakable to prohibit confusion.

  His first wild, mad thought was that an Amplitur had somehow succeeded in disguising itself as a Human or Massood and slipping onto the sled. Somehow that seemed a feat beyond the reach even of those masters of bioengineering.

  His attention returned to the man and woman who had been among those who had suffered as puppets of the Amplitur. They were conversing among themselves, not looking in his direction. He reviewed what he had just experienced, scrutinized the relevant circumstances.

  If they were thirsty why did they not fetch their own refreshment? Was there something unseen wrong with their limbs that they should make such a request of a Massood soldier? He had not wanted to comply, yet that was precisely what he was doing. And why? Because he’d felt compelled to. Not out of friendship, or understanding, or a desire to be of assistance. Out of a brief, seemingly harmless compulsion.

  He had served alongside Humans for many years and was familiar with their aspect. He could tell there was no tension in these two. They reposed utterly relaxed in their surroundings. Could they be unaware of what at their urging had just transpired? It seemed unlikely. What had the Amplitur done to them? What had they become?

  Yet they and their fellow Restorees had been cleared to rejoin their kind by both Military and Science Command and further, to participate in the forthcoming assault. Against that weight of official evidence he could throw only a transitory suspicion born of unforgettable experience.

  It didn’t matter. There was no misreading the sensation, no mistaking what had just happened to him. The Humans had suggested and he had responded. They had pushed.

  Could any of the other Restorees do it? He didn’t know and felt it might be hazardous to try and find out. From now on he would carry with him the burden of dangerous knowledge. He would have to watch his back, his movements, his very thoughts lest one of them suspect that they had been found out. Nor could he tell any of his family or friends. They would not believe him, and his accusation would surely get back to those under suspicion. He suspected they might readily take steps to preserve their secret.

  He feared the Amplitur, but he feared Humans in possession of Amplitur abilities far more.

  It was all up to him, until he could either find the means to prove his theories to others or otherwise rectify the situation. He knew that he had to do one or the other. The danger was real, real in a way only one who had suffered the probing of the Amplitur could appreciate. Others might not understand. It had already been suggested on more than one occasion that his years in captivity had rendered him slightly unbalanced, fit to soldier but not to mate.

  They were all wrong. His experience had left him enlightened, not damaged. Now it fell upon him to put that enlightenment to use for the goodness of his kind, for the ultimate benefit of all intelligent species. If these mutations were allowed to spread they would constitute a danger to the Weave greater even than that posed by the Amplitur. They had to be dealt with. If not by a benighted, ignorant authority, then by one who knew.

  If necessary, by soldier Gunecvod acting alone and for the good of all civilization, praise be to the Lineage!

  But not now, not in this place. For now he would have to exercise patience. So what he did was gather up the three filled tumblers in his long fingers, still the convulsive twitching of his whiskers and lips, and return to the pair, a pleasant expression cemented in place. If they wanted to talk, he would talk. If they wished to exchange jokes, he would joke with them. He would bend the opportunity to his own needs, use it to learn as much about them as he could. If they tried to push him again, he would not resist. Unless something made them suspicious there would be no danger in succumbing to their suggestions, whereas if he tried to resist there might.

  Command did not suspect. Had these Human-Ashregan been developed by the Amplitur so they could then be scattered throughout an ignorant Weave to wreak destruction of unknown dimensions? But they were going to attack the Amplitur’s headquarters on Ulaluable. Maybe the entire invasion was nothing more than an Amplitur deception, Gunecvod mused, an elaborate tactical ruse designed solely to allow their Human puppets to “escape” and infiltrate Weave forces.

  The Amplitur had infinite patience. Perhaps even their puppets were unaware of what was transpiring, were convinced that the actions they had taken thus far to return to their species were the result of their own discoveries and free will. Perhaps unsuspected mental commands had been implanted deep within their engineered minds, designed to go off next year, a hundred years, from now, when the Amplitur would make known their true and secret intentions and reassert control over their bewildered minions.

  These before him might very well fight hard to dislodge Ashregan and Crigolit and Molitar from Ulaluable. And all the while equivocating Amplitur would sit safely in their ships, watching and silently applauding the success of their duplicitous efforts, sacrificing their ignorant unknowing allies in pursuit of some far more intimate, distant goal. It was a plan of great subtlety.

  Thanks be to the Lineage that he, Gunecvod, had been clever and wise enough to have discerned it.

  This was fortunate, because the man and woman did not, insofar as he was able to tell, try to influence him again. Yet he never doubted, never questioned what had happened, so lucid and powerful had the single experience been.

  Ranji and Cossinza were glad of the Massood soldier’s company. The need to deal with a representative of another allied race forced them to think of something besides incipient combat, helped to keep their minds off potential unpleasantries.

  Gunecvod found them good company, though the woman was much more open and giving of herself than th
e man. This served to confirm what he had already suspected: that the male was the more dangerous of the pair and would require closer attention. Other Restorees came and went, their furless faces flexing like glutinous putty, their thoughts as closed to him as the feral suppuration of their distinctive endocrinology. Throughout it all he maintained an engaging and salutary attitude, seeking to add all he could to the mental file he was assembling on each and every one of them.

  XXIII

  The sleds and sliders of the strike force put on maximum acceleration as they went in low and hard. Defensive electronic firecontrols barely had time to react to reports from querulous sensors, plot, aim, and fire before the sleds were racing past, already beyond range of outer defenses. The attackers needed to penetrate as far as possible before the full spectrum of the invaders’ weaponry could be brought to bear.

  Several near hits rocked the armored sled. Its companion off to the left was slowed by a missile, then fell out of the sky as it intersected the path of a high-energy particle beam. At the speed it was traveling it disintegrated as soon as it struck the unyielding ground, leaving behind a trail of flame, twisted metal, scorched ceramics and plastics, and pieces of its crew, democratically scattered across the gravel-laden surface.

  The Massood pilot of Ranji’s sled wove a path through the intensifying fire, doing her best to make use of available natural cover. It was no task for a predictable computer, not even one programmed with chaos logic. Fireballs and flaring energy beams singed the air around the agile craft, not quite making contact, not quite destroying.

  The invaders had emplaced their installation well, siting major structures against a towering sandstone cliff that restricted approach from east and south. It would have been difficult to hit with aircraft or missiles, and presumptuous air-repulsion vehicles were forced to run a gauntlet of defensive weaponry and sensors located on surrounding buttes and hills. The entire setup was a tribute to typical Crigolit planning and forethought.