The Damned Trilogy

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Most of us have friends, buddies back there. We could try and give ’em a hand.”

  “The attack was made in strength,” Nevan informed him. “The Crigolit continue to bring additional firepower to bear.” He was aware that the nearest cluster of soldiers was staring at him intently, listening hard.

  “Anything else … sir?” The lieutenant’s tone was coldly correct.

  Nevan nodded absently. “I was just thinking that, if anyone was so inclined, we could slip back to the main river channel, using the jungle as cover. Try and hit their reinforcements in the shallows as they come downriver.”

  “Your pardon, honored Colonel,” said the Massood junior officer who stood behind the lieutenant, “but our unit is not equipped with underwater breathing apparatus.”

  The lieutenant glanced back up at her. “We’re Human, Sholdid. We don’t need any.”

  “I am aware of that, but if what the colonel has told us is true, then the Crigolit will still retain the advantage. They will have full underwater breathing capability for the duration of any confrontation. I know that breath-holding capability varies among Humans, but if I recall correctly it is in no wise time-intensive.”

  “The bugs are operating in an unfamiliar and to them frightful environment,” Nevan pointed out. “I suspect only some kind of extensive Amplitur conditioning is enabling them to function at all. I doubt that they’ve been training for or are prepared to engage in any kind of underwater combat. I’ve seen the propulsion systems they’re using. They’re crude and improvised, not representative of the kind of highly refined Mazvec or Korath engineering we usually encounter in these kinds of situations. I have a feeling everything they’re using today was thrown together for this one tentative attack, to see if it works. Their weapons systems aren’t designed for underwater combat either.”

  “Neither are ours.” The Massood’s expression was grave.

  “That’s right.” The lieutenant bared his teeth, causing the Massood to twitch a little more sharply than usual as she dug at a persistent substernal itch. “There are many ways to terminate an opponent underwater.” He indicated his assembled, restive troops, turned back to Straat-ien.

  “As you suggest, sir, I think we might be ‘so inclined.’”

  Nevan considered. If the Crigolit reacted boldly, he’d do well not to return to Base Attila. On the other hand, if they could catch them off guard, particularly now, when they doubtless thought victory inevitable …

  He nodded once, sharply, to the younger officer. “Let’s do some damage, Lieutenant.”

  “I have to voice concern.” The Massood was more than uneasy. “The risk and danger involved are …”

  “We don’t expect your people to deal with water,” Nevan assured her. “Someone needs to take charge of this lifeboat. You can lie in ambush along shore and pick off every non-Human head that shows itself above the surface.”

  The Massood’s ears flicked uncertainly back and forth, and her long lower lip curled downward slightly. She was outranked by this Human but could still call on interspecies protocol to argue further. Trouble was, she couldn’t think of any more objections. Nor was she sure she wanted to. Out in the bay, friends were dying.

  “Gratefulness for that,” she muttered.

  “It’s settled, then.” Nevan turned on his heel and led the way back to the lifeboat.

  VII

  It was very crowded, with the tall, nervous Massood packed in tight among the squat, more muscular Humans, even though most of the latter had sped off riverward on their battered sliders. Clinging to the dense undergrowth, the lifeboat followed at a more leisurely pace. It was not armored and would offer little protection against heavy enemy weaponry in the event its presence was discovered.

  It was not. The hastily organized counterattack hit the startled Crigolit all up and down the delta. Weapons at the ready, the Massood watched in astonishment as their Human companions, stripped of their familiar battlefield armor, dove from the lifeboat and idling sliders to challenge the enemy in the depths of the clear, unpolluted river.

  Caught by surprise in an element alien to them, the Crigolit were no match for the agile, breath-holding Humans. Their hastily engineered motorized propulsion units were designed to push them from point of embarkation to a chosen destination. They had not been constructed with maneuverability in mind.

  Bereft of mechanized aids, the Crigolit could not swim. Devoid of clumsy rebreathing units, they could not survive more than a few seconds underwater. They drowned in large numbers, flailing madly with thin, useless legs and arms. As their respiratory systems were unable to generate sufficient buoyancy in proportion to their body weight, they sank instead of rising naturally to the surface.

  “I’ve got something big moving in, sir.” Conner spoke from his position next to the more experienced Massood pilot who had assumed control of the lifeboat.

  Straat-ien had just returned from a series of dives. Dripping wet, he moved to stand by the sergeant’s shoulder. Nearby Massood eyed him surreptitiously, fascinated by the way in which the furless, naked skin, more like that of a primitive Lepar than their own, shed river water.

  He studied the console screen. A pair of large skids was coming downriver, moving fast. They would mount heavy weapons. The fight for the command module was coming to an end.

  “Get everyone back on board,” he growled tersely. “We can’t stand up to field equipment. We’ve done all we can here.”

  Conner nodded understandingly.

  One by one the divers were informed of the deteriorating battlefield situation as they returned to the lifeboat. Even so, they were understandably reluctant to leave. So were the Massood, who from the air-conditioned comfort of the compact craft had taken their time obliterating those Crigolit who had managed to make it to the surface with the aid of their propulsion units.

  As soon as the last soldier was back on board, the Massood pilot gunned the lifeboat’s engine and sent them racing back toward the open sea. Their actions had not prevented an Amplitur victory, but the swift and unexpected—if modest—counterattack had certainly tarnished the enemy’s triumph.

  Now that it was all over, the Massood officer wondered at her ready compliance with the Human colonel’s tactics. By nature a cautious individual, she was surprised that she hadn’t haggled more strongly for restraint. Her puzzlement quickly faded in the afterglow of a job well done. There was no way they could have retaken the module, but at least they had made the enemy pay for its victory.

  Among the other Human-Massood patrols that had been working the upper delta at the time of the unprecedented underwater Crigolit assault, some escaped untouched through the surrounding swamps to be picked up by special small, superfast rescue and reconnaissance craft hastily dispatched from Base Attila for that purpose. Others were not so fortunate. Losses were heavy. There was no way of glossing over the severity of the defeat.

  Not only was Straat-ien absolved of any responsibility, he was awarded a commendation for his quick thinking in organizing the lightning if ultimately inadequate counterattack. Having only just arrived at the command module when the enemy assault began, he could hardly be saddled with a portion of the blame for its loss.

  There were misgivings but few recriminations at the base. No one had imagined the possibility of an underwater attack by Crigolit; therefore no defense had been designed to cope with it. Planners and Scopers immediately set to making sure it would not be repeated elsewhere. The Weave prided itself on suffering the effects of such shocks only once, and the Amplitur were fast running out of surprises. Eventually they would run out entirely.

  Neither that knowledge nor his commendation left Straat-ien feeling any better as he awaited reassignment. It was the first time in his career that he’d been involved in anything so close to a rout, and it continued to weigh heavily on him as the weeks passed. He didn’t even have Naomi around to console him, since she was off on assignment elsewhere on Chemadii. Therapy helped some. It c
ould ease his days, but not his memories.

  He was glad when the call finally came.

  The presence of the female Wais in the base commandant’s office did not surprise him. Despite the ornithorp’s finery he hardly spared the visitor a glance. For a Wais to make planetfall on a contested world like Chemadii was unusual but not unprecedented. No doubt this one had been assigned to deal with some problems of translation or protocol. Nothing to do with him.

  Krensky leaned back in his own chair and acknowledged Straat-ien’s arrival with a desultory wave of his real hand. The other was prosthetic all the way up to the shoulder, a flesh-toned marvel of Hivistahm design and O’o’yan manufacture. When too much of the original body part was lost for regeneration to have a chance of working, a Hivoo replacement was the next best option. This was not necessarily a comedown. In many instances the artifice exceeded the efficiency of the natural.

  There was no desk and no window; just seats and benches suitable for life-forms of varying physiognomy, a waveform soholo on the curved rear wall, and in the center of the room, a large metallic glass vase of exquisite design, which served as home and frame to a clutch of pale pink and blue blossoming clover. It was real clover, from Earth. He could smell it. The incongruity of its location was matched only by the cost of its maintenance.

  A base commandant could barely afford such luxury.

  The clover might have been able to survive on the surface: Chemadii was not an inhospitable world. But the room lay beneath fifty meters of solid basalt and two intervening layers of compression-injected shielding. Under such conditions the healthy deep green of the clover was a testament to the skill of a dedicated, if displaced, horticulturist. No doubt the garden-loving Wais had a greater appreciation for it than did any of the commandant’s human visitors.

  “Good day, Colonel Nevan.” For someone with a tough reputation Krensky had a disarmingly delicate voice. “I’ve got a special assignment for you.” As any experienced soldier would, upon hearing this declaration Straat-ien immediately tensed.

  Not that the details mattered. Something to do, at last. Something to take his mind off the catastrophe in which he had been an ineluctable, if peripheral, participant.

  “About time, sir. I’ve been going slowly crazy waiting.”

  “Apparently the psychs think otherwise or they wouldn’t have released you to Command. You’ve no right to be impatient. None of the delta survivors has been released for return to duty until they’ve been double-cleared. You know that.”

  “I know that, sir, but I don’t have to like it.”

  Krensky snorted approvingly. “That’s pretty much what they’ve all said. Well, you can relax now. You’ve been passed. As of this morning. Still, I would’ve given it another few days except that I need you for something special.”

  “I’m ready for anything, sir.” Straat-ien waited expectantly.

  “Are you? I wonder.” Krensky’s gaze shifted to the heretofore silent alien.

  “Hello,” it said. It took Nevan a second to realize that the greeting was directed at him.

  The Wais spoke in sweet, ethereal tones. It sounded as if her words were being voiced through panpipes. In addition to being superb linguists they were perfect mimics. In a darkened room it would be difficult even for an expert to tell one from a Human. Or a Lepar, or a Hivistahm, or whomever the Wais would choose to sound like.

  This one, at least, was not as severely overdressed as were most of her kind. He knew it was a female from the slightly duller natural coloring, the marginally less florid plumage.

  Krensky introduced them. “This is Lalelelang of Mahmahar. She’s a historian. Or something like that.”

  A supple susurration of perfectly matched feathers and attire rose to extend a prehensile wingtip. “Colonel Straat-ien, I am very pleased to meet you.”

  He gripped the proffered limb carefully, feeling the resilience in the modified quills beneath the feathery covering while wondering at the alien’s presence. At the same time it occurred to him that he had never before seen a Wais initiate such contact. Like other Weave species they preferred to avoid physical interaction with Humans unless it was absolutely unavoidable. Clearly this Lalelelang was an exception, that rare example of her kind who was comfortable—if not entirely at ease—among the big, contentious primates. Perhaps her demeanor was a function of her work.

  He turned back to Krensky. “About my assignment, sir?”

  The commandant nodded toward the Wais. “Our distinguished visitor is your assignment, Colonel.”

  Nevan blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Consider her profession.” Krensky steepled his fingers and regarded Straat-ien out of hard eyes.

  Nevan didn’t blink. “You already mentioned that … sir. What has that to do with me?”

  “Our guest’s particular area of interest centers on how different species relate to one another under battlefield conditions. Obviously, she needs a guide.”

  Straat-ien had tensed anew. He found himself glaring involuntarily in the direction of the patient Wais. She flinched under his gaze, but less than he expected.

  A sudden unnerving thought struck him. Did she know or suspect something about the existence of the Core? He forced himself to relax. Just because she was a historian who had apparently worked among Humans didn’t mean she knew anything of the secrets of Cossuut’s genetically altered offspring.

  He told Krensky in no uncertain terms that he wanted no part of such an assignment. Krensky was equally adamant.

  “I’m sorry, Colonel, but this determination was approved at the regional level. They wanted someone of substantial rank who is also intimate with field activities. Like it or not, you qualify, you’re presently unassigned and available: you’re elected.”

  “It’s crazy. I can’t have some”—he nearly used several terms he would have regretted—“Wais trailing me around out in the field. There’s unfinished business I need to take care of. I was hoping to be sent back to the delta.”

  “The revenge motif,” said the Wais unexpectedly. He turned sharply.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve always been fascinated by the intricate contortions of logic your species invents to justify its actions, even as you simultaneously recognize their illogicality. Such complex mental-emotional-physical rationalizations are unique to Humankind, and constitute an important stimulus for my studies.”

  It was not the kind of reply he’d been expecting. Though it was easy to generalize about any alien species, he found himself more than a little intrigued by the individual who stood before him, staring up out of bright blue, heavily lashed eyes, unafraid to meet his feral Human gaze. He tried to envision her trailing along in his wake, tiptoeing through the swamps out in the field while trying to keep her perfect plumage pristine.

  The image was ludicrous, the notion absurd. He so informed Krensky. The commandant listened patiently, smiling and quite unshakable.

  “What happens to her if she’s my responsibility,” Nevan asked finally, “and I find myself in a combat situation?”

  “You needn’t worry about me, Colonel Straat-ien. I have been in combat before.”

  “Say again?” Nevan’s tone shifted from accusatory to curious. “No Wais goes into combat. The Hivistahm and S’van rarely, but never Lepar, or O’o’yarn. Or Wais.”

  “I am an exception. To the best of my knowledge, the only exception. I was in combat on Tiofa. In the company of Humans and Massood.”

  Krensky was nodding confirmation. “She’s telling the truth, Nevan. I saw her dossier. She was very nearly killed in action. Mazvec.”

  Nevan hesitated, his gaze narrowing. He was now on completely unfamiliar territory. “You didn’t … you didn’t carry a weapon?”

  “No.” She didn’t tremble at the thought, and took pride in her equilibrium. “Of course not. Not that I couldn’t have carried one,” she added with sudden boldness, “but I naturally could not have used it.” />
  “Right.” Nevan felt a little more confident. The universe had not turned inside out after all. “You really have experienced actual fighting?”

  “Quite so.”

  He looked thoughtful. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Combat isn’t like a poison. Repeated exposure doesn’t make you immune.”

  “I’m quite aware of the psychological ramifications, Colonel Straat-ien. I would have to be in order to successfully pursue my interests. I have devoted my life to the study of how Humans interact with other species in combat situations. While I agree that I personally am not exempt from the mental danger posed by being placed in such a position, I can state unequivocally that I am better prepared to cope with it than any other representative of my kind. Over the years I have developed and refined a number of highly effective pharmacological and psychological prophylactics to insulate me from the danger.”

  “You can’t insulate yourself from combat,” Nevan argued. “If someone’s shooting at you, it’s necessary to shoot back.”

  The image thus conjured caused her to quiver slightly. She hoped they wouldn’t correctly interpret the sudden slight fluffing of the feathers on her neck and spine. It was doubtful that they would. The two males before her were, after all, only Human soldiers, albeit of enhanced status. Such types were usually not attuned to the subtleties of interspecies expression.

  “I will rely on you to do any shooting, Colonel Straat-ien.”

  Nevan discovered he was smiling in spite of himself. Though still disgusted with the situation, he had to admire the alien. “You’ve got guts; I’ll give you that.”

  “‘Guts.’” Her Huma was superb, but Human colloquialisms followed no formal rules of gestation, being as haphazard and unpredictable in their development as the species that propounded them. So she hesitated slightly before replying. “Yes, to your way of thinking, I suppose that I do. You might be interested to know that my colleagues think I am borderline irrational. As I do not regard it as a prerequisite for my job, I naturally disagree with them.”