The False Mirror

by Alan Dean Foster

  She stared back at him as if trying to see past the Ashregan mask, past the narrow-minded dedication, to the real individual within. Then she shrugged and turned away from him.

  Later that night she said, "You're awfully young to be a Unifer. That's a command rank among your kind."

  Pistol close at hand, he kept an eye on her as he ate ravenously from one of the self-heating food packs he'd found among her supplies. "Humans also advance rapidly."

  "Yeah, but we're born to be warriors. We don't have to be 'suggested' into it."

  Finishing the food, he carefully slipped the empty packet into a hole dug for the purpose and covered it over. "You Humans. You're as unfamiliar with the other races as you are with the Purpose. All you know is fighting and killing."

  She smiled. "It's something we're good at." Of apology in her confession there was none. "We know other things, too. But when you get a reputation for something ..." She paused a moment, then slid closer to him. "You're so damn Human-looking. Except for that face, and your fingers. A keyboardist's fingers."

  He picked up the pistol. "That's close enough."

  "Take it easy. I just want to see something. You've got the gun. If I make any sudden moves you can shoot me."

  Slowly she reached out and gently traced the ridge of bone that ran from the back of his right cheek along the side of his face and up over his recessed ear. Her fingers withdrew, touched the flattened nose, and retreated. His skin tingled from the brief contact.

  "Well, it's real, all right," she said, sitting back.

  "Of course it's real. What did you expect? Plastic?"

  "I don't know." She sounded somehow disappointed. "It's just that the rest of you is so Human. I half expected everything else to be fake."

  "Nothing about me is fake," he told her.

  When she didn't comment he opened another of the food packets and waited patiently for it to heat. Steam began to issue from the perforated lid as the container expanded, drawing moisture from the air as it cooked. The result was chewy and full of meat bits.

  When he'd finished half he offered her the rest. Without hesitation she accepted and ate, scouring the packet clean.

  A quick search of the area turned up a hollow filled with small branches, leaves, and other forest detritus. After hanging the backpack and service belt high in a nearby tree, he bunched the debris into a soft bed. She was clearly surprised when he offered it to her.

  "This is for my comfort, not yours," he explained. "There's no way you can roll off that or even stand up without crunching dried stuff and making noise. I'm a light sleeper and I have very good hearing."

  She eyed the mound of dry fluff. "Sometimes I toss in my sleep."

  He gestured with the stinger. "Better train yourself fast to lie quietly."

  When he awoke just before dawn the mound was empty. But she had not fled. Instead he was startled to find her curled up against him. He reached for the pistol, only to have her hand cover his. The resultant struggle was brief, and indifferent.

  She was extremely close and she felt very Ashregan.

  "It's all right," she whispered. "You probably can break my neck if you want to. But there were things I wanted to, had to know. I got curious, that's all. I'm only Human." She pulled away slightly.

  "That doesn't explain why you're still here."

  She rolled onto her back, staring at the sky. "I'm not sure I've got a better explanation. All I know is that you could've shot me, back there. You didn't."

  "I've already explained that. You're useful both as a source of information and as a hostage." He was watching her closely. "There has to be more to it than that."

  She seemed to reach some critical inner decision. "It doesn't matter. My colleagues are going to run you to ground eventually. Damn my curiosity. I didn't really want to be a Tracker. I should've gone into Research." She moved against him anew.

  He sensed it was not to attack.

  9

  When he awoke the following morning she was sitting off to one side, deep in contemplation. The thin stick protruding from her lips gave off wisps of aromatic smoke at periodic intervals, Reflexively, his fingers felt for the pistol.

  It wasn't there.

  Nor were they alone any longer. Three other Humans sat off to his right. The two males were enjoying their morning meal while their female companion paid close attention to Ranji, the grid of the narco cylinder held firmly in her left hand aimed unwaveringly at his face.

  Seeing that he was awake, the nearest male turned in his direction and spoke politely through a translator.

  "We decided to let you sleep. After the race you've ran us we figured you must be exhausted, and we want to deliver you in good condition. Don't think we'd have caught up with you yet if we'd done much sleeping ourselves."

  His gaze shifted from the new arrivals to the Human Heida Trondheim. She sat parallel to him on a smooth rock, her slim form outlined against the rising sun, knees drawn halfway up to her chest.

  "Sorry," she said. "I told you my friends would catch up with us."

  "I thought-" he started to reply. What had he thought? What could he conceivably have been thinking?

  It was simple enough. He hadn't been thinking. If he'd been thinking he would have shot her.

  He'd been very tired, and she had been warm, and comforting, and understanding, and had raised intriguing issues of mutual interest, and the two of them had been very alone.

  The look on his face must have been close enough to its Human equivalent for her to recognize. "You know, I thought about helping you stay free for a while. I really did." She shifted her legs around. "It must be terrible to be all alone so far from friends and family and familiar surroundings. But it would only have postponed the inevitable, and you had two loaded weapons. You might've shot at someone, and they might've shot back. I didn't want to see you killed."

  "Why should you care?" He stared searchingly. "What difference does it make to you what happens to one enemy soldier?"

  "Because I'm not sure you are an enemy." She sucked on the slim, silvery stick. Fragrant haze momentarily obscured her expression.

  One of her male counterparts glanced at her. "What's that supposed to mean, Heida?"

  "Have you looked at him? I mean, taken a really good, close look at him?"

  The woman holding the gun on Ranji responded. "We all saw the images. They were pretty detailed. He's supposed to be some kind of a cross, isn't he? A mutated Ashregan?"

  "Maybe," Trondheim murmured. "Or maybe something else."

  "Not our business to propose answers." The man pulled a tab on his empty meal pack and watched as it turned to biodegradable powder. "We track; Research and Development pontificates."

  Ranji marveled at his calmness. He could have been angry at her but he wasn't. After all, it wasn't as if she'd betrayed an intimacy. Their brief interaction had been nothing more than a scientific experiment. She'd as much as said so. They were representatives, albeit compatible representatives, of two different species. She could not "betray" him if she wanted to.

  If he was angry at anyone it was at himself. For succumbing, for letting down his guard. He drew what consolation he could from the knowledge that nothing in his training had prepared him for what had transpired the previous night.

  They were very careful with him this time. Everyone had heard the story of his escape, and they were determined not to repeat the error of his earlier escort. The sled that arrived to pluck the Trackers and their prisoner off the mountain carne equipped with limb restraints and a lockable compartment hastily installed for the benefit of a single important guest. It afforded him privacy while easing the minds of his hosts.

  He saw Heida Trondheim several times during the flight back down the mountain as the sled retraced in minutes terrain it had taken him days to cross on foot, but they did not speak. He did not feel so inclined and she appeared uncertain and hesitant.

  The sled sped through orchards and across fields of rippling grains
. Eventually it approached another range of mountains, lower and less impressive than those which had given Ranji temporary shelter. The sled hovered while a barrier in one yellow-brown hillside parted. It closed behind the vehicle as it ducked inside.

  He'd expected an underground base. The Weave would not be likely to place it on the surface where the import of its presence might disturb the civilized inhabitants.

  The apartment they gave him was spacious, even luxurious, his quarters commensurate with the importance they attached to him. That did not make it any less a cell. There were scenic viewscreens on which he could call up custom landscapes, but no windows. A cursory inspection of his new home suggested strongly that he would not be escaping it any time soon.

  Well, he had managed to unsettle them for a couple of weeks, he still had the tenets of the Purpose to console him, and he was alive and intact. Opportunities to create mischief might again present themselves.

  He was provided with captured or synthesized Ashregan entertainment and food. It was rather more hospitality than he would have expected from Humans, but then he'd seen no Humans since his arrival. Apparently the base was staffed principally by Hivistahm, O'o'yan, S'van, and of course, Yula. One day a chelatinous, alien Turlog stopped by to gaze inscrutably, its eyes weaving lazily at the tips of extensible stalks, but no Humans came to visit him.

  There were periodic interview sessions conducted by methodical Hivistahm and, once, a pair of Massood. He spoke freely about himself, refusing only those queries which he thought might have some slight military value. They did not press him on those questions he declined to answer. Not yet. This was because they were far more interested in him than in any information he carried.

  The medical tests and examinations were far more intimidating, though he was never hurt or subjected to any painful stimulation. It was the unfamiliarity of the equipment and procedures, the fact that he had no idea what to expect, that he found daunting.

  Once they slid him on a pallet into a machine that enclosed him like a cylindrical coffin and bathed his body in light of alternating colors and intensity. As with similar tests, he emerged physically unscathed but mentally apprehensive, and as always no unpleasant aftereffects resulted.

  They took samples of his blood, of his waste and his skin, hair, and bone. He was probed and prodded, scanned and scoped, calibrated and appraised. It went on endlessly. In all that time he, saw not a single Human, and why should he? They were soldiers, warriors, not scientists and research specialists. They did not study; they destroyed.

  He was not especially displeased, only piqued by their absence. It would have been disconcerting, for example, for Heida Trondheim to have been among the personnel examining him. Far easier to remain dispassionate and aloof in the presence of querulous Hivistahm and S'van.

  The idea of suicide did not occur to him. That was an alien concept familiar to him only from studies. Killing oneself constituted an offense against the Purpose by depriving it of an otherwise undamaged and potentially contributory intelligent mind. It was a gesture that could be conceived of only by truly alien beings. Like Humans.

  He was not let in on his examiners' discussions and so had no idea if their extensive studies of him were resulting in anything useful. When not under observation he tried to relax as best he could, maintaining mental alertness and physical conditioning so that in the event his captors grew lazy or overconfident he would be ready to seize any opportunity to escape or cause trouble that might present itself. While one lived, one could still serve the Purpose.

  Twice a day they took him topside, as he came to think of it, for a stroll in a secluded, fenced, parklike area, where he could exercise, bask in the sun, and smell cultivated Omaphilian flora. Though only a single guard accompanied him on his sojourns, he did not delude himself into thinking he could get more than a few steps away from the complex by climbing the vine-covered wall. They would be alert for anything so obvious; therefore, he made no moves in that direction. His captors were not stupid. The presence of only a single escort was proof in itself no others were needed.

  So he spent his time learning the names of various trees and flowers, and toying with the odd-shaped pink-hued fish and multishelled domesticated cephalopods that swam in the garden's central pool. Once while he was topside it rained, and the evident delight he took in the unfettered natural phenomenon almost moved his Massood guard to sympathy. Almost.

  Then came a day when the routine was broken. He knew it was going to be different when Humans instead of Massood arrived to escort him. As they exited the familiar elevator they turned him left instead of right.

  "What's up? Where are we going?"

  The big, burly dark-skinned Human on his immediate right didn't reply. He earned what appeared to be an unnecessarily large weapon. Ranji eyed it longingly, but knew that even if he could appropriate it, it would do him no good to do so. Each weapon here was attuned to its individual owner's unique electrical signature and no one else, not another guard and certainly not a prisoner, could make it fire.

  "Is something the matter?" The farther they walked, the larger unpleasant thoughts loomed in his imagination. "I'm not scheduled for anything at this time of day."

  "Look, buddy, I don't know nothing." The translator managed to convey the other Human's gruffness along with his words. "I'm just taking you where I'm supposed to. I don't know what happens after you get there any better than you do, understand?"

  "I understand," Ranji replied, though he didn't.

  They took him to a room he hadn't visited before. In addition to a small table and chairs it contained the ubiquitous wall-mounted communications screen, some medical equipment of modest complexity, couches, and potted plants. Except for the instruments it looked more like a lounge than an examination room. He thought it deceptively welcoming in appearance.

  Not unlike Heida Trondheim, he thought. She sat on one of the couches and turned in his direction as soon as he entered. Instead of her camouflaged Tracker gear she wore a light rust-and-white-colored uniform. Detailed patches lined her right sleeve. He was surprised to see her but uncertain whether to be pleased.

  Two other Humans looked up from the medical equipment. One was exceptionally short, almost as short as a S'van. Ranji knew it was not a member of that highly intelligent race because of the absence of the characteristic S'van hirsuteness. Both wore identical high-necked beige-and-black suits. Neither looked much like a warrior.

  The room's population included a Massood of advanced maturity. She was slightly stooped, and most of her cranial and facial fur had aged to a rich silver hue. Ranji had no idea if it was due to her many years or to other circumstances, but for one of her kind she was unusually self-possessed. Her whiskers and nose hardly twitched at all as she examined the new arrival. She was surrounded by several Hivistahm and O'o'yan but, rather surprisingly, no S'van or Wais.

  The two guards remained outside, flanking the open door. A farrago of round and vertical pupils stared back at him.

  "Please sit down." The taller of the two Humans spoke perfect Ashregan. Startled, Ranji complied. Obstinacy would gain him nothing, and besides, rejection for its own sake burned proteins.

  There followed a pause as awkward as it was brief before a mature, extremely self-possessed Hivistahm approached him.

  "I am First-of-Surgery." The scaly green alien studied him with a fearlessness remarkable for one of his kind. Or perhaps, Ranji decided, it was merely scientific detachment. Whichever, he was duly impressed. "I the honor have in charge of the examination to be placed."

  "Examination?" Ranji determinedly avoided looking in Heida Trondheim's direction. "What are you charged with 'examining'?"

  "You. Truly it has enlightening been to observe you these past weeks."

  "Sorry I can't say the same." He indicated the assemblage with a sweep of his hand and was gratified to see several of those present flinch. "Why the party? Are you going to let me go?" He smiled thinly.

  "Actually,
we are not quite sure what to do with you." Ranji turned toward the speaker. The shorter Human's Ashregan was not as fluent as that of his companion, but despite an atrocious accent his words were comprehensible. "You are an anomaly."

  "So I've been told. I'm glad you're confused."

  "Perhaps you can that help us to resolve," the Hivis-tahm hissed softly. "We would like you some pictures to look at."

  In response to his gesture an O'o'yan handed him an oversized plastic envelope. Delicate fingers explored the interior, brought forth a rectangular tridimensional image.

  "This the interior of your brain is."

  Warily Ranji turned his attention to the flat sheet, conscious of the fact that everyone in the room was watching him intently. Heida Trondheim, too? He chose to aifect indifference.

  After careful consideration he handed it back to the surgeon. "Is there something here that's supposed to surprise me? I see an Ashregan brain. Nothing more."

  "For the moment I would simply like you at all of these to look. Elucidation will follow." The Hivistahm patiently passed Ranji two more sheets. He glanced at each before returning them. They were side and front views of the first.

  The fourth was different.

  "This a close-up image of one small part of your brain is. Truly much reduced." The surgeon extracted still another sheet. "And this another." A slim-boned finger tapped the plastic, the finely manicured claw seeming to sink into the image. "I ask that you in particular note the minuscule white spot which has been in deep red color-enhanced. "

  Ranji's gaze narrowed momentarily before he once more passed the sheet back. "Glad to oblige. Anything else?" So suffused in droll solemnity was the gathering that he nearly burst out laughing. "I'm afraid that as revelations go this misses the mark. I've seen pictures of my insides before."

  "I am certain that you have." First-of-Surgery hung close. "If you do not object I should like for you your attention to devote to them one more time."

  Ranji sighed. If this was some kind of test, at least it was less discomfiting than others he had undergone.