The Damned Trilogy

by Alan Dean Foster

  Listening to her talk was like listening to music, Nevan mused, though the effect was less when she spoke in an alien tongue like Huma instead of their own. It was seductive. He found himself being persuaded.

  It helped that he had no choice in the matter.

  He spoke slowly, for emphasis. “If I agree to this, when we’re out in the field you’ll do exactly as I say. I don’t give a shit how many degrees, or honors, or delegations of prestige you hold among your own kind. When I say jump, you jump. When I say shut up, you shut up. If I tell you to roll yourself into a ball of feathers and lock yourself in a chest, you comply. Instantly and without question.”

  “So long as you don’t ask me to fly,” the Wais replied dryly. “As you know, we lost the ability to do that millions of years ago, although we can still glide for short distances. We traded the power of flight for intelligence. However, if you order me to fly, I will endeavor to try to the best of my ability. I must warn you, though, that sports were never a favorite activity of mine. “While the Wais did not share the ready, raucous sense of humor of the S’van or the cavalier boisterousness of Humans, the concept was not utterly alien to them. Their trenchant subtlety was usually lost on other species.

  Having immersed herself in the study of Humans, Lalelelang had perforce been required to investigate their sense of humor as well, and as such was able to modify her own sufficiently to make it comprehensible to the two men standing before her.

  “Well, you’re without question the most unusual specimen of your kind I’ve ever met,” Nevan told her.

  From his posture and expression she deduced that he’d accepted her. Human attributes in those areas were so blunt and unequivocal that even an adolescent Wais could be trained to interpret them.

  “I have simply prepared myself to do my job,” she explained. “I don’t expect to be welcomed, but I promise you that I will not encumber your movements or interfere in any way with your normal daily activities, whatever they may involve. Think of me, if you will, as nothing more than an ambulatory recording device.”

  He recognized the self-effacement for what it was: a ploy to ingratiate herself into his confidence. Not that it mattered. “All right. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway.”

  “That’s right, Colonel.” Krensky looked satisfied, a difficult task accomplished. “I hope you two will get along. Anything that contributes to good interspecies relations benefits the war effort.”

  “Yeah, right,” Nevan muttered. An “ambulatory recording device”? Why not? His thoughts switched to business, which involved reassignment to the field. Preferably to the strike force that was being assembled to try and retake control of the Delta.

  He had to admit that she did a good job of keeping in the background as preparations were made.

  It had been decided soon after the disaster that there was no point in trying to recover the captured command module. The intention was to hit the enemy hard and fast, before they had time to establish themselves too securely. In an attempt to do exactly that, artillery and self-guided missiles had been pounding the region ever since the defeat, complicating the enemy’s efforts to install permanent facilities in the area.

  Overall command of the strike force was given to a general officer. Humans and Massood would go in on fast sliders, bypassing the outer fringes of the delta, where the old command module had been located, and striking boldly for the enemy’s main bastion of supply, which was located farther upriver. If they could take that, then the Crigolit forces that had established themselves throughout the delta would be forced to rely on aerial resupply while attempting to fight off the Weave attackers. A successful first strike would also cut them off from active reinforcement.

  Of course, the strike force might also find itself cut off, behind enemy lines, once again leaving the enemy in control of the region with their position stronger than ever before. Boldness always entailed risk.

  Lalelelang observed all the preparations intently. Humans handled the requisite logistics with a forcefulness and precision that was comparably lacking in their social and personal relationships. It was not unreasonable to contend that they spent their entire lives in one kind of combat situation or another.

  Only with the Massood, their companions in combat, could they ever truly relax. The Massood appeared to reciprocate, but non-Humans could see this supposed familiarity for the sham it was. The Massood were nearer in temperament to the Wais or S’van or any of the other Weave races than they would ever be to Humankind. Even among the tall fighters, distaste remained for a species that actually enjoyed combat instead of treating it for what it was: a necessary evil that went against every tenet of civilized society.

  She found all of it fascinating. Filling up bead after storage bead, she realized she was accumulating more material than any one individual could annotate in a lifetime. Her best students would have to carry on in her wake. It bothered her that she was acquiring material that she personally would not have the opportunity to analyze in detail. There was little glory in fieldwork, and the eventual accolades would go to others, those who would be fortunate enough to collate, explicate, and publish. Such thoughts troubled her only occasionally.

  After all, she was not in it for glory.

  VIII

  Weave forces struck the delta just before sunrise on a day when the morning mist was thick on the river and its tributaries. Straat-ien’s troops sped up a chosen byway on glistening, camouflaged sliders and a single command sled, advancing on a heavy, monotonous hum that would be difficult for enemy aural sensors to pick up. Somnolent wildlife barely had time to flap or splash out of their path.

  His group was equally divided between Humans and Massood. Noting the unease of the latter at traveling for so long in such close proximity to open water, Lalelelang hardly had time to be nervous herself.

  The sliders rendezvoused at a long, low island, one of dozens that split the main river into the hundred channels which constituted the delta. They overwhelmed the installation that the Crigolit were in the process of constructing in the island’s center.

  Lalelelang heard but did not see any actual fighting, for which she was grateful. Centered on the big air-repulsion sled, the command post that Straat-ien had established was responsible for directing fire and lines of assault, not for forcing the enemy front. She encountered both Massood and Humans who had been injured, but her training and medicine kept her own endocrine system in balance and allowed her to continue work unabated.

  As ordered, she stayed close to Straat-ien. She felt that in the days leading up to the attack she’d come to know him fairly well. He struck her as in no wise exceptional: simply another competent Human officer, highly efficient and effective in concocting battlefield strategy in concert with his Human and Massood subofficers. Though she did not have an opportunity to observe him in combat, she had no doubt he could handle an actual weapon as efficiently as any of his more lethally equipped brethren.

  He was shorter and more muscular than most. Though he still towered over her comparatively diminutive form, she was more comfortable speaking to him than to the average Human, who stood taller still. Even during combat, in moments of uncertainty and tension, he was invariably polite to her, having lost his embarrassment at having a Wais dogging his heels much of the waking day. She thought she detected a grudging admiration for the manner in which she was comporting herself in conditions that would have reduced any other Wais to a shivering, immobile clump of feathers cowering in the nearest available dark corner.

  Despite that, there were moments when he seemed inordinately suspicious of her, wary beyond reason. She tried but failed to find reasons for these occasional, unpredictable shifts in attitude. It was as if there was something quite intimate he was desperately trying to hide. Some personal failing, perhaps. She was not particularly interested in how this affected him, her interest being wholly professional.

  Intrigued, she tried venturing casual questions whenever he manifested overt
suspicion. This only made him warier, to the extent of threatening the excellent working relationship she had patiently built up out of her detailed knowledge of human psychology. She promptly backed off, deciding to wait for openings rather than trying to force them. It wasn’t as if she had nothing else to record, nothing else to study or occupy her time.

  Watching Straat-ien as he directed forces and propounded strategy was quite fascinating. Not once did she ever see him, or for that matter any other Human, express concern over arrangements designed to ultimately result in the deaths of a large number of intelligent beings. That was the terrible Human gift, of course: that this they could do which no other species could. Every day she was presented with astonishing and often appalling new perspectives.

  Sometimes the Humans displayed impatience with their more cautious Massood colleagues. The tall, slit-eyed warriors accepted these spirited admonitions gracefully, but only, she knew, because in matters of combat it was the Humans who usually made the right decisions.

  Once the offensive was under way, Nevan pretty much forgot about his Wais charge. He was suddenly too busy to worry about her, and she kept her promise to keep out of his way.

  Halfway into the assault, the Crigolit counterattacked in strength, flooding the delta with floaters and skids. Gouts of flame and the destructive colors of coherent energy beams sliced through the swamp growth and roiled the water at the fringes of the pseudo-mangroves. Self-seeking missiles of intentions nefarious waited just beneath the surface of the water or hid behind trees, poised for some suitable target to stumble unaware into range. The rapid pace of engagement quickly rendered untenable the prospect of either side calling in heavy air support.

  Single- and double-piloted floaters and sliders darted through the forest and across narrow ponds and tributaries, seeking confrontation. Larger skids and sleds utilized onboard VR projection systems to blend as closely as possible into the swamps.

  Within the armored, camouflaged confines of Straat-ien’s command sled, Lalelelang was somewhat divorced from the actual fighting, though she was surrounded by plenty of confusion and shouting if not blood. Massood and Humans rushed about, the Humans exhibiting the usual facial and skin-color changes, the Massood displaying more frantic twitching and scratching than usual.

  The sled was the largest craft that could be utilized in such an attack. Anything more commodious was apt to make an easy target for long-range enemy ordnance. It could carry command electronics, a substantial crew, and some heavy-weapons systems of its own. Such vehicles were the nerve centers of any fast-moving offensive. Lalelelang thought it crowded and uncomfortable but admirably efficient.

  At least, it so appeared until the undetected explosive charge, which probably executed its stealthy approach entirely underwater, erupted from the river beneath them.

  Automatic sensors assumed control of the sled’s engines and reacted evasively. The Korath-designed, Acarian-built weapon detected the incipient escape effort of its chosen target and immediately engaged a proximity trigger. The result was a powerful, shaped-charge explosion just below and to the right of the dodging craft. Glassine and metal and flesh disintegrated as the sled lurched.

  Alerted by the weapon, several dozen Crigolit riding individual floaters arrived subsequent to the blast. They swarmed the sled from all sides, attempting to capture and take control rather than simply exterminate the wounded inhabitants.

  Anyone not directly responsible for flight operations drew arms and rushed to confront the attackers. That included suddenly superfluous order-givers like Nevan, who pulled his sidearm and joined a group of Massood hurrying toward the point of attack. Unnoticed and ignored, recorder humming imperceptibly, Lalelelang trailed close behind.

  She never saw the Crigolit who dropped from the ceiling. With their sextupal limbs they were capable of utilizing surfaces denied even to the agile Humans. Twisting in midair, it landed on its four feet just to her left and aimed two hand weapons in her direction … and hesitated. Startled by her appearance, which conformed neither to Human nor Massood, it took a few seconds to determine whether she was friend or foe.

  That was long enough to allow a hand to reach over the front of the Crigolit’s visored skull and yank sharply backward. The slender neck snapped like a twig, releasing a small, narrow fountain of green, copper-tinged blood from the quivering torso. It splattered Lalelelang, the sticky wetness matting her feathers and staining her attire, dripping cloyingly from her beak and neck. Finding that she was beginning to shake violently, she fought to calm herself by focusing on the necessary and immediate task of cleaning the small lens of her recorder.

  The decapitated body before her trembled for a moment longer on its quadrupedal appendages before collapsing like a broken child’s toy. Stepping out from behind the corpse was Nevan, the Human she had in preceding days come to think of as relatively sophisticated and progressive for his kind. His eyes were dilated and his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps as his highly efficient respiratory system supercharged his muscles with fresh oxygen.

  The Crigolit’s head hung from five remarkable, powerful digits. Nevan flung it aside and it bounced several times on the deck. Though fighting swirled around them, she kept her attention on her protector, wishing she could retreat somewhere long enough to take some additional medication. She was afraid that if she did she might miss something of value.

  Though she continued to shake, she did not, somewhat to her surprise, go catatonic. Years of training and conditioning were paying off. Straat-ien kept staring at her. His stance and expression hinted at approval, appraisal … and something more, something she couldn’t quite define.

  Then he was gone, whirling to rejoin the fight.

  The Massood had a difficult time with their assailants. Not only was it important for the command sled to maintain its position and function in the greater conflict that was roiling the delta, those on board had to fight off the harassing Crigolit as well.

  It occurred to Lalelelang that if the sled’s defenders were unable to defeat the attacking enemy, it wouldn’t matter whether she lost her shakes or not. No doubt the Amplitur would be delighted to have her: they didn’t see many Wais prisoners.

  The efficiency of the Humans in repelling the attackers was appalling to observe. The distancing exercises she had devised received a strenuous workout. Repeated checks of the recorder helped her to half convince herself that she was not witnessing actual fighting; merely recording a demonstration. Lives were being lost all around her only in the abstract. Such practiced self-delusion enabled her to maintain her emotional equilibrium amid hellish conditions.

  Halfway through the battle to retain control of the sled, a singular incident ensued.

  An entire squad of Massood, some limping, some otherwise wounded, was retreating down the corridor in which she found herself when they were confronted by a single Human noncommissioned officer: a slightly built, dark-haired individual who addressed them sharply via his translator unit. Being almost as fluent in Massoodai as she was in Huma, she understood both his comments and the sibilant replies they provoked.

  The Human’s argument did not strike her as especially persuasive in light of the apparent injuries several members of the squad had suffered. They halted before him, staring rather vacuously. Then, one by one, they turned to retrace their path. Clutching his own sidearm, the Human noncom started to follow, when he suddenly noticed Lalelelang staring in his direction. Amid the chaos and confusion of battle their eyes locked for an instant: hers wide and blue, his small and black-pupiled. She wanted to look away but found that she couldn’t.

  Then the Human was gone, back down the corridor.

  Doing her best to ignore the deafening screams and echoing explosions all around she struggled to analyze what had just happened. The conversation she had overheard had contained no semantic surprises that she could recall. It had been straightforward, uncomplicated, and brief, and her knowledge of the languages involved was at least the equ
al of that of any of the participants.

  Nevertheless, the six Massood, hell-bent on retreating, had been convinced by a single unimpressive Human to put aside all concern for their injuries and return to combat. Their expressions had cogently reflected the fear and panic they’d been feeling. Yet a single Human had somehow helped them to brush all that aside.

  Something screamed past her head and she half ducked, quivering violently. The incident was for pondering later, in surroundings more conducive to analytical thought. It was all there on her recorder. That was the task of the moment: to record, not to dissect.

  Under the direction of Nevan, the sled’s captain, and the Massood officers and Human noncoms, the invading Crigolit were driven from the craft. Thus repulsed, the surviving attackers stood clear on their floaters and resumed their assault on the vehicle itself. At this critical moment, when the enemy had finally decided that the taking of prisoners was not worth further sacrifice and destruction therefore had become the order of the hour, a dozen sliders crewed by fresh Massood arrived on the scene in response to the command sled’s ongoing omnidirectional cry for help.

  Suddenly the Crigolit had their claws full defending themselves from attack from behind. Battered and oozing smoke but still airworthy, the sled was able to drift off into the meager but very welcome cover of a cluster of forest emergents.

  Despite her pledge to stay near in the confusion of battle, Lalelelang had become separated from Nevan. It took her a while to find him. He’d returned to the damaged but still functional central command room.

  At her arrival he smiled, carefully keeping his teeth concealed so as not to offend. The expression of recognition was brief, and he returned rapidly to his work. This she observed, her recorder still humming softly. Though she carried spares, she was glad it had not failed on her. The material it now contained was quite irreplaceable.