The False Mirror

by Alan Dean Foster

  Sure enough, the Human backed off. But he didn't give up. Instead he grabbed the dangling rear door and pulled himself in. Once safely back inside the vehicle he straightened on the seat and carefully aimed his weapon at the card slot Ranji had utilized to gain entrance to the driver's compartment.

  Ranji's fingers convulsed on the disk. As the rear door slammed shut, a front one opened. After pounding the disk against the front part of the compartment until several buttons and switches had been dislodged, he calmly jumped from the rapidly accelerating vehicle, landing hard on the ground outside and rolling to his feet.

  The look on the Human's face as the vehicle sped away with him locked securely in the back was worth the pain in Ranji's shoulder.

  The man was going to have to shoot his way into the front seat (assuming his attempt shorted out the barrier's controls instead of freezing them) and try to turn the vehicle around or, more likely, call for assistance on its communications system. It was now traveling too fast for him to consider duplicating Ranji's leap. Hopefully the control disk had been damaged too badly to function. In that event the vehicle would not slow down for quite a while. By then Ranji planned to be deep in the nearby woods.

  He trotted back to where the Human he'd kicked lay on his back, groaning softly. Ranji bent and struck the man just hard enough on the side of his neck. The moaning stopped, but not his breathing. Killing him would be against the tenets of the Purpose and would in any event do him no good.

  The man's pockets were full of personal effects which Ranji ignored. There was a military chronometer, which he took, along with another set of the ubiquitous etched cards. A small sealed square contained solid pieces of dark, sweet food. There was also an incongruously ordinary spool of fine plastic thread. Sadly, when he'd been kicked the man had dropped his weapon on the floor of the floater's rear compartment.

  Straightening, he surveyed his surroundings. He couldn't count on pursuit delaying too long, especially if the surviving guard managed to break into the driver's compartment and gain control without crashing the vehicle. Ranji headed for the thick stand of trees off to his right, using long strides to try and leave as little in the way of a track as possible.

  The orchard quickly gave way to dense, uncultivated woods. The terrain grew rougher as flat land was replaced by steep hills cut by gullies and rivulets. Some were dry, others cuddled running streams which nourished thick entwined vegetation. There was plenty of good cover. He smiled as he ran, pretending he was back in the Maze.

  Wild fruit was a natural food source which he planned to sample at the first opportunity. Like the majority of intelligent species, the Yula were warm-blooded. Hopefully he would be able to eat some of the same food which nourished them.

  His intentions went no further than the next morning. He could not flee this planet, could not escape to Cossuut or any other friendly world. From now on his contribution to the war effort would consist of denying himself to his captors. Beyond that, given time and thought, he might also be able to do a little more, if only by disrupting the local peace and tranquillity. He wondered how long the secret of his escape could be kept from the local populace.

  Teoth received the news from Eighth-of-Records, who because of his job had access to information routinely denied the rest of the crew. Together with Sixth-of-Technics they had a conference of their own, during which all of his worst fears were confirmed.

  "The creature escaped from the vehicle in which it was being transported to the study site," the Hivistahm was saying. "As of the latest information I was able to acquire, despite mounting efforts to recapture it, it still running free was in the countryside."

  "I am not surprised." Teoth scuffed at the deck with his fore-center leg. "I almost expected something like this to happen."

  Sixth-of-Technics blinked at his friend. "Truly you do not upset at the news seem."

  Three eyes turned to the slightly smaller of the two Hivistahm. "Why should one be disappointed when one's hopes are about to be fulfilled?"

  The nighttime temperature on this part of Omaphil was moderate. Despite nerves and lack of facilities, Ranji was able to manage several hours' sleep.

  Upon awakening, he scoured the nearby trees for a selection of fruit. Tentatively peeling and eating as efficiently as he could, he filled his belly and then settled down to wait. The queasiness that resulted was due as much to tension as to anything he'd eaten. Only when he was confident that the food he had consumed was going to stay down did he allow himself to drink from the nearby brook.

  Morning had brought a number of animals to the water's edge to quench their thirst. Most were clad in green and blue fur that seemed too thick for so mild a climate. They ignored him, accepting him as one of their own as he washed fruit pulp and seeds from his face and hands. Thus refreshed, he took his bearings by the sun and set off deeper into the forest, his eventual goal being the high western mountains he'd seen from the vehicle.

  They would be frantically searching the length of the road, he knew, but since he'd waited until the floater was out of sight before starting off, they wouldn't know which way he'd gone. Nor were his captors likely to have ready access to tracking specialists on a peaceful, civilized world like Omaphil. It would take time to bring in trained individuals and specialized equipment to hunt him down.

  He couldn't count on any of that, though. He had to assume they were already on his trail. The thought did not discourage him. On the contrary, the more resources they had to divert to tracking him down, the greater was his contribution to the advance of civilization.

  As the day wore on he found himself gaining in strength and determination as he moved along, keeping to the trees that protected him from aerial discovery as well as helping to mask his heat signature. The longer it took for them to locate him, the deeper into the mountains he could go and the more difficult it would be for them to eventually dig him out. If he could find a cave system, he might be able to stay hidden for years.

  By the third day he had begun to gain some real altitude. Continued progress now involved climbing as well as simple hiking. Silently he thanked the Yula settlers who had kept to population centers and left this portion of Omaphil, at least, in its wild, undeveloped state.

  Descending a steep but shallow gorge brought him to the base of a roaring cataract. Where the foaming waters were sharply bent westward by an unyielding wall of granite he found a mass of storm-tossed driftwood that provided him with a fine-grained, water-polished club.

  A subsequent search through a pile of splintered rock produced several sharp triangular chips. His patient efforts to secure one to the end of the club with fibers drawn from a local plant eventually resulted in a serviceable if primitive weapon. He swung it in short, experimental arcs, exulting in the swoosh it made as it swept air aside. Now the means for defending himself extended beyond mere bare hands.

  Hoping to find material from which to fashion a sling, he pocketed some of the hard round pebbles from the bottom of the stream as he followed it for a while before striking off again into the brush.

  On the fifth day he killed a grazing herbivore. It was nearly his size, and skinning it with the crude tools at hand was a messy and time-consuming process. He persevered, however, and when he was through he had acquired an outer garment which not only would shed rain but disguise his smell. If he dropped to all fours and imitated the animal's gait, it might be enough to fool a casual observer into believing they were seeing anything but a renegade Ashregan.

  He had now acquired weapons and camouflage that, although simple, were a great advance over nothing at all. With luck, his pursuers would not imagine him capable of such inventiveness.

  He was beginning to think he could roam the wild, heavily vegetated mountains forever when he was nearly surprised by the Tracker.

  Though there had to be many of them on his trail, this one was alone. No doubt they had spread out to cover as much of the countryside as possible. The procedure struck him as eminently sens
ible. Anyone finding evidence of his presence could immediately call for assistance.

  Unless he spotted them first.

  The bipedal figure was still some distance away, too far for him to make out the species without a scope. Probably Massood, he thought. Their height, sharp vision, and long stride made them notable Trackers.

  Not that it mattered. From now on he would move at night, when his pursuers were likely to be sleeping, and hide himself during the day. Either he would outpace them or they would pass him by. He began searching for his first hiding place.

  In this manner he successfully passed the first week, then a second. No doubt those local authorities whom the Weave had seen fit to entrust with a minimum of information about his escape were frantic by now, wondering where in their civilized midst the dangerous escaped warrior might choose to materialize. Better yet, they might think he'd fallen over a cliff or perished of hunger and scale down the pursuit.

  He was feeling very good about his situation as he worked his way through a night-shrouded grove of tall, oddly bent trees and stumbled over the dozing form of the Tracker.

  Because of the camouflage blanket, the low mound had looked like any other clump of earth. Only when he started across did it yield spongily beneath his feet and emit a startled yelp. A blast of heat lit up the night and singed his ear as a weapon went off wildly under him.

  The blunt side of his club was less urbane, but more effective.

  There were no more shots. The struggling figure beneath the blanket went limp. Ranji staggered backward a couple of steps and sat down heavily, gulping air. Everything had happened so fast that he was only now beginning to sequence the events in retrospect. Gingerly he touched the left side of his head. He could still feel the heat of the bolt's passing. A finger length more to the right and it would have gone through his eye. If not for his extensive training and superb reflexes, he'd be sprawled out on the ground right now instead of sitting up considering his assailant.

  His instinct was to flee. Instead, he forced himself to approach the motionless shape under the blanket. If it was dead, its companions would soon learn of its fate by reason of its noncommunicativeness. Regardless, it might be carrying much he could use.

  After pocketing the surprisingly small gun, he dragged the blanket off the unconscious form and began to fold it neatly. The Tracker's pack lay near its feet. It was encouragingly full and would ride easily on his back. That done, he knelt and felt along the furless legs-clearly not Massood-until he came to the service belt. Undoing the secure-tight he slipped it around his own waist and was gratified to find that though he had to place it on the last possible setting, it fit.

  Continuing to probe the body in hope of finding something else useful, he was mildly interested to discover that the Tracker was female and mammalian, very much like an Ashregan in consistency and shape. His interest was wholly dispassionate. The notion that anyone would find contact with a barbaric, half-mad, crazed Human in any way stimulating made him shudder. Not to mention the fact that the individual in question had just tried its best to melt his skull.

  It moaned softly then, proof that his reflexive blow with the club hadn't been fatal. When he reached the head his fingers encountered the thick wetness flowing from the scalp. The figure moaned again, louder this time.

  He considered how to proceed. The thought of killing another Human did not bother him-he'd done plenty of that on Koba-but the less damage he inflicted during his period of freedom, the easier it would go on him if he eventually was recaptured. Neither side had much sympathy for prisoners who killed while escaping.

  A check of the service belt turned up the expected communications module. With the aid of the translator that had remained in place in his ear and around his neck during his flight, he might be able to monitor the other Trackers' positions as they spoke to one another. That would be more than a little useful.

  Ought to be on my way, he mused. Still, if he lingered until the Tracker regained consciousness, he might be able to acquire valuable information about the size, disposition, and strength of his pursuit as well as the countryside in which he found himself. He was not Amplitur and could not mind-probe, but there were other methods of interrogation-following which he could always render her unconscious again.

  Occupying himself with a cursory search of the pack's contents in the feeble light of the single small moon, he settled down to wait.

  He dozed off more than once during the night, awakening each time with a start at the cry or movement of some nocturnal creature. His concerns were unfounded. The Tracker had not moved.

  As soon as darkness began to give way to morning, he rose and walked to the nearest stream. Using the Tracker's collapsible purifying cup he scooped water from the surface and returned, putting it to her lips until she began to cough. Pouring the rest over her face, he settled back and watched, gun in hand.

  She rolled over and blinked without straightening. When she saw him, she woke up very quickly. Her gaze dropped to his waist, where her service belt rode snugly, then to his feet, where he had placed her pack.

  He must have made quite a picture, he mused, clad as he was in her equipment, his Ashregan duty suit, and the rapidly ripening animal skin. Before speaking, he double-checked his translator settings.

  "Sorry I had to hit you so hard, but keep in mind that you were the one doing the hunting. I stumbled over you in the dark and you shot at me, so I reacted as necessary. You might've killed me."

  "Didn't want to." She had a pleasant voice, he thought, but then there was little difference between the Human and Ashregan larynx. "Supposed to bring you in intact. For study." Now she sat up and felt gingerly of the lump on her head where his club had connected. "You surprised me, too. Might've killed me."

  He made an Ashregan gesture of negativity. "Didn't want to. Keep you alive. For study."

  She looked at him sideways, then smiled hesitantly. As it wasn't a maximum Human smile, with the concomitant obscene baring of teeth, he was able to observe it without flinching.

  He saw the lean muscles start to tense beneath her clothing and leisurely raised the muzzle of the little heat pistol. "Please don't. Unnecessary killing distresses those of us who believe in the Purpose." She relaxed.

  "Better. My name is Ranji-aar, though you probably know that already, along with much else about me. As I find imbalance in the universe personally displeasing, you will be good enough to supply me with your name."

  She hesitated, then shrugged. If he wanted to, she knew he could make life uncomfortable for her.

  "Trondheim. Heida Trondheim. You move fast. You've been giving us a hell of a time."

  "Independence is a great motivator."

  She turned to face him, straightening her legs as she rose, leaning against a tree for support. "Enjoy it while you can. We're closing in on you. This country is swarming with Trackers. Any time now they're going to start missing me." She studied him with interest. "You must be pretty special. I'm told that when news of your escape reached local Command, the authorities went a little nuts."

  "Delighted to hear it. As for your friends closing in on me, they've been closing in on me for days. They just can't seem to catch me."

  Her gaze narrowed. "You don't talk or act like your average Ashregan. Don't look much like one, either."

  He bristled. There it was again, this elementary emphasis on his appearance. "I'm not average," he growled.

  Again her fingers felt of her forehead. "You sure don't hit average." She tensed again and for the first time he saw fear in her eyes. "Are you going to kill me?"

  "Not unless you make it necessary for me to do so. I would rather ask you some questions."

  "Don't expect me to answer freely."

  "You don't have to answer freely." He gestured with the gun. "Feel free to answer under duress." From her service belt he removed a small device the size of his middle finger. It was fashioned of dull gray metal and sported a miniature grid at one end, a single button
at the other. "What does this do?"

  Her lips drew into a tight line as she crossed her arms.

  "Very well. I suppose the only way to find out is to try it." Pointing the grid end at her, he placed his thumb over the button.

  Alarmed, she ducked and raised both hands defensively. Only after he'd reattached the device to the belt did she resignedly explain.

  "It contains a powerful binary narcoleptic gas that activates on contact. Designed for close-quarter capture. It's not harmful."

  "I can infer that from your reaction," he replied dryly.

  Again that hesitancy. "I swear you keep joking with me. The Ashregan don't joke."

  "Some of us do."

  She sat up again, dusting her shoulder off. "I studied the pictures they gave us, but they don't begin to suggest how close to Human your appearance is."

  "All Humans and Ashregan look alike," he replied with the tired air of one who was heartily sick of the subject.

  She shook her head. "Not this much. For one thing you're much too tall, taller than most Human males."

  "I have many friends who are considerably shorter, and others who are taller still. There is considerable physical variation in both our species."

  "It's more than that."

  Her intense gaze was making him uncomfortable. If one disregarded the flattened skull, protruding ears, and tiny eye sockets, she was almost attractive. Her legs made those of the average Ashregan female look stunted, though her fingers were far shorter. He was glad of the intensifying daylight, which tended to emphasize the differences between them.

  "We were told that you were one of a group of specialized Ashregan who've been genetically altered by the Amplitur. Seeing you in the flesh, I can believe it."

  "I am the Ashregan Unifer Ranji-aar," he reminded her stiffly. "Your philosophical and physical enemy. Nothing more than that. Do not think to compose an appeal to any imaginary 'Human' characteristics you think I possess. You will only be disappointed."

  "Well, you talk like an Ashregan, and you act like an Ashregan, but . . ." She was still dubious. "No wonder Research and Development wants to look at you so badly."